#i just think you got a few things crossed up in your suppositions is all

[vermillioncrown]

I have such a soft spot for confièrent put together characters who actualy LIKE themselves!! And take care of themselves!! It’s always really nice to read because in most fics I read the mc is always super self sacrificing and sad - which can be done super well but I’ve always always preferred when the mc actually is confident. Which is part of why I adore bil, thank so much for sharing the fic! Infinite kudos ❤️❤️❤️

aw don't be so unfair to the crusties and dusties of the world lmao

=

different MCs for different stakes. if those fics are for more intense narratives, then it makes sense and someone like SI!Kagami would seem incongruous or more like a parody.

where as they live in civilized society in BIL and have access to running water, and the only hard stakes is if they lose (the basketball executioner gets 'em) they might have to deal with Clown Gloating. Or it's a coin-toss every week whether SI!Kagami will trigger Moonlit Madness on his captain and end up waterboarded in the showers.

i appreciate your appreciation, thank you ✌

#inquiry #Anonymous #on bil #you gotta think about the fics you read #it's... uh... like this example someone wrote about the superspy genre and teen superspy media #if we're doing realistic spy stuff then it can never work bc only the most fucked up people are actually good at espionage #all disbelief must be suspended for the camp of superspyhood #so back out and think like; what are those Other Fics doing? they serious? #it then takes a certain type of person/character to succeed in that narrative #then again anything can (usually) work given implementation but your leeway of 'success' (how did you convey it to your readers) narrows #i just think you got a few things crossed up in your suppositions is all

[robininthelabyrinth]

Spilled Pearls

- Chapter 13 - ao3 -

The wedding of a sect leader with the stature of Wen Ruohan was, as Lao Nie had predicted, an experience unlike any Lan Qiren had ever had before.

It was also, as Wen Ruohan had predicted, loud and full of crowds, things that Lan Qiren didn’t especially like. Luckily, despite being the groom’s ‘brother’, Wen Ruohan wasn’t requiring Lan Qiren to actually participate in any way, and he was just able to watch from a distance.

He tried not to think of Wen Ruohan’s casual admission that he had, in fact, devised the marriage just to deal with the issues with Lan Qiren’s reputation – and Lao Nie’s concern thereof, no doubt – and reassured himself that the bride was undoubtedly well prepared for her new life and would soon find her footing as the mistress of the Wen sect, where she would more than likely be happy in time.

That was how such things went, wasn’t it? Even with his sect’s notorious tendency towards love-madness, the people like his father, who married for love, were the exception and not the rule…

(He also tried not to think about the fact that Wen Ruohan accepted all the toasts for his wedding using a drinking bowl in Gusu style, painted with a border of vermilion birds, or the fact that, despite Lan Qiren having gifted a set, it was the only one of its kind on the table, leaving Wen Ruohan's new bride to drink from a much fancier gold-gilded bowl – but that was more because he didn’t understand what it meant, and wasn’t sure he wanted to.)

“Did you even get a chance to see him?” his brother asked when they returned, looking coldly disapproving.

“I did,” Lan Qiren said, thinking to himself less of the dinner that they’d shared with Lao Nie and more of the brief moment when the Lan sect delegation been about to leave, a servant appearing and whisking him off briefly back to the family quarters where Wen Ruohan, looking as composed as ever, pressed a too-familiar hand to his head and told him that he was sure he’d be seeing him again soon. “He didn’t say much.”

Nothing his brother would care about, anyway.

His brother nodded, looking unsurprised, and dismissed him, remarking unnecessarily, “You missed the first few days of classes,” as if Lan Qiren wasn’t aware of when each season of classes started for the disciples better than him. After all, Lan Qiren hoped to become a teacher one day, when he tired of traveling, and to do for future generations of the Lan sect what his teachers had done for him, and he took it as seriously as he did anything else.

The seasonal classes were his favorite, largely because such classes were open not only to the Lan sect disciples but to certain guest disciples – typically the children of rogue cultivators that the Lan sect wanted to encourage to join the sect, which meant that they had to pass through the same rigorous standards applicable to the usual sect disciples. Lan Qiren had always thought it was a shame that their classes were so limited in scope, although he acknowledged there wasn’t much to be done about it; after all, how many sects would be willing to send their children to be taught by outsiders?

A puzzle for another day.

For now, Lan Qiren made his way to the classroom, taking advantage of the lunch break to settle his things in his familiar seat at the side of the room. He hoped that coming in during the middle of the day would reduce the number of whispers that seemed to invariably greet him these days – luckily much more inclined to see him as a source of information rather than a victim or, worse, a perpetrator – but he didn’t have much faith in it.

“Hey, you’re in my seat.”

Lan Qiren looked up: it was a female disciple. Her face was unfamiliar to him, which suggested she was a rogue cultivator – while men and women lived separately in the Cloud Recesses, they came together for meals and other such events, and despite his introversion, Lan Qiren knew most if not all of his peer group by now.

“Sanren,” he said politely, rising and saluting. “Forgive me, but this has always been my seat.”

She frowned at him. “You didn’t claim it at the start of classes.”

“I missed the start of classes due to an unavoidable conflict.”

“I’ve been using it all week,” she said, and looked at him expectantly, as if anticipating an answer.

Lan Qiren wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say here. “I’ve been using it all my life. What’s your point?”

“So you’re not going to give it up for me?”

Lan Qiren stared at her. “Obviously not.”

She grinned toothily at him. “All the boys give up their seats for me. I understand that it’s a matter of etiquette.”

“Whoever told you that was lying,” he said flatly.

“Oh, I like you,” she said, and crossed her arms – an aggressive posture, although her tone, like Wen Ruohan’s, seemed more amused than anything else. How strange to see a sudden resemblance, when they very clearly had nothing else in common. “How would you know? Maybe it’s in the rules.”

Well, that was a mistake.

“Really,” Lan Qiren said, and smiled. “Why don’t we examine that supposition?”

She blinked at him, suddenly wary, but it was too late: if there was one thing Lan Qiren knew, it was his sect’s rules. Learning how to beat people over the head with them on purpose was a more recent development, and he was still working on fine-tuning that – most people started begging for mercy while he still felt irritated, but when they continued listening with apparent interest, as the rogue cultivator girl did, he swiftly forgot that he was trying to make a point and shifted over to actual enthusiasm for the subject.

“Cangse Sanren!”

Lan Qiren’s listener started and very nearly fell over – she’d put her chin on her hands at some point during the discussion of the origin of the rules regarding interactions between men and women, and hadn’t accounted for that when twisting to see who was calling her.

It was a mixed group of sect disciples, with some of Lan Qiren’s cousins and disciples of other surnames that he recognized, plus a few more that were likely rogue cultivators’ children as well.

“Oh,” she said. “You. What is it?”

“I see you got caught up in one of Lan-er-gongzi’s boring rule lectures,” one of the disciples said – one of Lan Ganhui’s friends, with Lan Ganhui himself nearby, grimacing at him in an attempt to make him stop. Lan Ganhui had gotten a lot more likely to leave Lan Qiren alone ever since Lan Yueheng had decided to befriend him, even intervening to make his friends leave off, but this time the other disciple ignored him, his eyes too focused on those ahead of him to pay him any mind; he was smiling intently at the rogue cultivator girl in a way that was clearly attempting to seem charming. “Don’t feel like you have to listen to him just because he’s main branch, you know! No one else does.”

“You shouldn’t say that,” one of the others muttered, glancing warily at Lan Qiren. It wasn’t apparent whether he was concerned about Lan Qiren’s rank, personality, or family connection.

For his part, Lan Qiren just felt tired. He would like to think that they were all part of the same sect, learning the same things, but he knew that wasn’t how the world worked. There were good people and bad in every sect, and the undercurrents that came with any community were inescapable.

“You’re joking, right?” the girl – who had the title of Cangse Sanren, apparently – said unexpectedly. “His explanation is three times more interesting than the stupid learning by rote we’ve been doing so far.”

“Learning by repetition has a long history of being the most effective way of learning something,” Lan Qiren objected. “Even the most unrepentant scoundrel would learn the rules by heart if he had to copy them down for a month, and then when that was done and the foundation built, you could get started on explaining the why of them.”

“But repetition’s not as interesting,” Cangse Sanren said. “I really liked that story about Lan Yi.”

Lan Qiren looked at her suspiciously. He’d never outgrown his tendency to speak in a dull monotone – one of his peers had once compared it to the thudding of grinding stones in a mill – and it was the rare person who actually appreciated the rules the way he did. His teachers, of course, and some of the other more studious disciples did, but even with them he’d be hard pressed to say they actually liked his rambling.

She held up her hands. “Really! I feel like I understand why she put the rule in place now, whereas before it felt like I was just learning the rule for the sake of learning the rule.”

“That’s because you need to learn the rules before you learn the background,” he said. “The rules are a house built without nails, each piece in its place doing its part to maintain the whole - one rule backs another, while being supported in turn. Only once you know what the rules are can you move to understanding the reasons behind them.”

And from understanding to accepting, allowing our ancestors’ wisdom to act as a guiding light that clears the fog from your path, he wanted to say, because he loved the rules, truly and sincerely.

People made fun of him sometimes, thinking him boring or stuffy or overly strict, with no flexibility and too little empathy, saying he was obsessed with the rules for no beneficial purpose, but to him the rules were a gift from the past to the future. The Wall of Discipline represented the accumulated life experience of dozens if not hundreds of Lan sect disciples before him, turned through debate and contemplation into advice they thought would be able to help guide those that came after them to living a good, clean, happy life. As their descendant, how could he fail to honor that which those people, who had loved him without knowing him, had strained themselves to give him?

In just the same way, it was his duty to love the future generations that had yet to be born, to act as the bridge to that unknown future, entrusted by his ancestors to carry to them the rules that would be both his inheritance and his legacy. Those nameless faces dressed in Lan white, unborn children with his brother’s face or even his own, of his cousins and fellow disciples alike, all those souls that had yet to enter this world but who he loved so much already – if he could spare them a single iota of pain through his own experience, how could he not do so, and gladly? How could he not do everything he could to give them everything he had received from the rules, that sense of pride of their history, the strength and wisdom that could be passed down no other way? How could that be a burden?

Lan Qiren had never really had the chance to explain any of that to anyone, his tongue too stiff and clumsy to convey what sometimes he felt could only be expressed in song or poetry, and he did not have such a chance now: as usual, the other disciples were already laughing, dismissing him as a teacher’s pet, overly rule-bound, obsessed with homework and test-taking, a boring old fart whose soul was prematurely aged.

“What’s wrong with being old?” Cangse Sanren asked, her voice flatter than it was before, and the boys in front of her suddenly scrambled to start apologizing so fast that Lan Qiren was left wondering what exactly he’d missed.

“Class is starting soon,” he said instead of asking, though he promised himself he’d ask around later. Surely someone would know. “Everyone should take your seat – no, Cangse Sanren, as I’ve said, that one is mine.”

She grinned unrepentantly at him and stepped back over where he’d kicked his foot out to block her. “You win, this time,” she said, and took the seat next to him with absolutely no remorse for whoever might have been sitting there before. “Watch yourself, stick-in-the-mud.”

Lan Qiren glared, though somehow Cangse Sanren’s teasing didn’t feel as annoying as the other disciples’ usually did. Even if she did make several more attempts on his seat over the course of the day, causing him to have to fend her off or think ahead to evade her latest attempt.

He initially thought that she might try to come to class early the next day to try to claim it before he did, but instead she dragged herself in only moments before class was due to start, face haggard as if waking up at the very tail end of mao hour was the equivalent to rising at yin, although she was back to her regular form soon enough, bright and clever enough to make any teacher fond of her.

This became something of a pattern, in fact – sluggish wakening, intellectual jousting during class and an unspoken competition over the seat that had formerly been reserved for him outside of it. In the afternoons she usually went off with the more martially minded disciples, while he spent his time in the library or musical halls, though at some point she started dropping off random foodstuffs by his door in the early evening as if she thought he was too thin.

“Maybe she has a crush on you!” Lan Yueheng said enthusiastically; bizarrely enough, he seemed to like romance as much as his explosions or his math.

“I think it’s a little closer to treating me like a stray cat that she found and took a shine to,” Lan Qiren said, shaking his head. All the boys in the sect would have paid in gold and jewels for Cangse Sanren to give them a second look, and she didn’t care one whit for the best of them; there was no need for her to go courting when she could get three serious offers of marriage just by winking. “Give them here, I’ll redistribute them to the younger children.”

“You can’t do that!” Lan Yueheng looked offended. “It’s her sincere offering! From the heart!”

“It’s food she purchased in town,” Lan Qiren said doubtfully. “It’s not as if she baked them herself. Anyway, I can’t eat this many sweets without getting a stomachache. What else am I supposed to do with it? Let it rot?”

“Qiren-xiong, you’re the most unromantic person I’ve ever met.”

“I’m going to assume that’s a bad thing,” Lan Qiren said, not taking offense. “Do you want some? Last offer before they’re gone.”

“…well, I mean, if you’re going to give them away anyway…”

He told Cangse Sanren what he was doing the next day, as a matter of politeness in the event that she wanted to stop once she knew what he was doing, and she just laughed – she always laughed at just about everything, he’d found. She didn’t stop delivering food, either, which he might have expected, though she did shift over into items that were easier to distribute.

Their entire mode of interacting was simultaneously very annoying and also not, and Lan Qiren didn’t have the slightest idea about what to do with it.

And then he got his first letter from Wen Ruohan.

#mdzs #lan qiren #cangse sanren #my fic #my fics #spilled pearls #sect leader lan

[becausethathappens]

Spare Change

4k - college - Link is furious, so Rhett tries to calm him down.

For @peachworthy​ and anyone else who thinks swearing is hot.

-

Link is mad.

Link is pacing.

Rhett tries to help.

“Why don’t you just scream into a pillow, like you always do?” Rhett offers.

“I did that!” Link cries. He makes a show of going over and doing it again. Rhett can’t help his instinct to recoil at seeing his friend yell like that. 

Link’s car has been towed. Link can’t go on a date with the girl he’s been trying to court all week. 

On top of that: Link doesn’t have a credit card (all he’s got is cash) and it says right on the tow sign they don’t deal in it. Somehow Link missed the whole thing, the first time around, when he parked wrong or whatever. But now going to have to borrow his Mama’s card just to get the truck out of impound. 

All this and he still has to cancel on his date tonight.

“I didn’t even see a line!” he yells again, recounting the events that have unfolded. “How am I supposed to take their word for it without a picture, either! And like I said, if you can’t see the line, how are you gonna know when you’ve crossed it?!” he decries.

They’ve towed his car because he parked outside the student residential boundary lines on the main street. Everyone knows this is how the city of Raleigh makes most it’s coin. Shoving parking tickets on unsuspecting co-eds.

Link never thought they’d tow his freaking car, though.

Well, his truck. To be specific.

He feels stifled, cornered, and hot. Very hot. His skin is boiling, red and he wants to punch the pillow he’s just released after screaming into it. 

His only permanent means of escape.

At least, unless he borrows Rhett's car.

“I can’t believe they wouldn’t even give me a warning! Or wait five minutes! I was only in rec center for ten minutes picking up freakin’ — these freakin’ things,” Link spits the words as he picks up and tosses the flowers back down on his desk.

They’re rumpled, now, with his tense hold and actions. Rhett gets up and fidgets with them, trying to smooth the foliage back into the nice shape it started in.

“Link, it’s okay, Lindsey is gonna understand,” Rhett explains.

“It’s not — it’s — there’s — why’s it always —  I’M SO MAD!” Link ends with, apoplectic and beyond any other way to articulate it.

“That’s okay!” Rhett tells him, since he has every right to be upset. 

“I...! Ughhhh!”  He walks over and bangs his right Reebok heel against the closet door once for good measure.

It makes a noisy sound as it bends at the overhead slide hinge that keeps it on track. Link kicks it again, seeming pleased with the audible response from the wood bending and cracking loudly in the room, like a smack to the face.

“Link!” Rhett reprimands, sure that they’ll be in trouble with their resident advisor for damaging property if Link keeps it up. 

“I’m sorry, I just! I just wanna — ‘s just been one thing after another, this year!” Link growls, continuing his pacing and returning to the wooden door again. “I’m just so — so — ARRGH!” Link fumes and before Rhett can jump up to intervene, he watches his friend punch the door.

“FFF—reak! Dang it!” Link screams.

Rhett watches, eyes wide.

“Shit!” Link yells as it hits. It gives with a loud, snap-crack and Rhett’s mouth makes a perfect “o” in reaction. 

Link’s hand goes to his mouth catching his own language. “Shit!” he cries again like he can’t stop, muffled by his hand. 

Afterwards, he’s panting and Rhett is left standing to the side staring in a bit of awe. He didn’t know Link had that in him, to be honest. “Shit, there’s a hole!” Link exclaims.

Their eyes both guiltily dart to the half-filled swear jar on Link’s desk. Usually he’s the one keeping after Rhett for saying “Hell!” or “Damn!”

Although Rhett’s said all the bad words, at some point or another, it is unlike either of them to spew out a ton of foul language in a string as Link has. 

“Swear jar?” Rhett says, mostly in question. He can tell Link’s much madder than the other times they’ve punished each other for cursing. His willingness to let it go is rife in his tone, but Link shakes his head, madder at himself for having swore and willing to pay the price.

He saunters over to his backpack and finds his wallet. “No, no, I earned it.” He tsks himself as he pulls out a few singles and strides over to the jar, tipping them in.

“You overpaid, there, bo,” Rhett advises, watching the bills settle. It was a quarter a word and Link put in three dollars. 

“‘S for the door,” Links says, shrugging. “I don’t know what the Hell I ‘s thinkin’!”

He closes his eyes. “And for that Hell, too,” he adds. “And that one!” He throws his hands up. “ARRgh!”

“Link!” Rhett yells as he slots another single dollar bill, adding to the overpayment, but cushioning the extra curses all the same. “Link, it’s — you — it’s fine!”

“It’s not fine!” Link yells. “I’m screwed. And now I’m cursing like a sailor watchin’ my favorite football team lose the playoffs!”

Rhett makes a face. “What, we talkin’ the Army-Navy game, or what?”

“Damn it, Rhett!” Link snarls. Then he closes his eyes and makes a face at his own words. “Damn it, Rhett!” He paces around, throwing his hands back around, gesticulating. “I feel like I’m trapped in some sick dirty mouth loop!”

“That sounds… why does that sound worse than the cursing?” Rhett says, joking. “Maybe you should add another dollar?”

Link sighs, dramatically, and does so. 

“Link, I was — you don’t have to actually — Link, it’s okay!” Rhett stammers out, eyes bright. He comes at Link with his hand out, like he’s asking to be heard out. “You had a horrible day, you should be allowed to vent a little!”

“Vent a little?!” Link shoots back. “I put a hole in the door!”

“Yeah, okay, maybe that wasn’t your finest moment, but you’re pissed!” Rhett explains. “I get it!”

Link throws his hands up as if to say, at least there’s that and not much else.

“You should get a pass.”

“A pass?” Link questions.

“Yeah, just for tonight.” Rhett puts his hands on his hips. “You already paid for a week’s worth of curses with my exchange rate,” Rhett jokes. 

Rhett didn’t curse much, but all the other money in the jar was his. Link’s never so much as taken the Lord’s name in vain before.

Link spares a sidelong glance and hustles back over to his backpack to return his wallet. 

“Go ahead, man, you’ve earned it. Blow off some steam!” Rhett advises.

“So, you just want me to start cursing?” Link asks, joking with a touch of condescension. “Like some — some degenerate?”

“Degenerate?” Rhett asks, laughing. “Who said anything about being a degenerate?”

“That’s who curses, Rhett!”

Rhett looks Link over and decides to try and get his mind off what’s eating him by messing with him. His favorite pastime. 

“You should say the ‘F’ word, Link,” Rhett urges, suddenly, overcome with the desire to corrupt Link. He’s a bit ashamed of it, but another side of him insists that it would be hilarious to see Link snap and start saying filthy things, even for just one night. 

Hearing him say Shit! is enough to get Rhett interested in hearing more.

Link frowns. “Fornicate?”

Rhett smirks. “Yeah, but the bad version.”

Link’s eyes go wide. “Rhett!” he puts a hand to his chest, finally settling on a posture that indicates he’s nearly at his wit’s end. Rhett beams at him. 

This is as much about teasing Link to take a night off being Mr. Perfect as it is about Rhett noticing that Link screaming Shit! also did a lot to calm him down. If he curses more, maybe he’ll feel better altogether. Plus, as established, Rhett found it hilarious to watch unfold.

In his opinion, it’s certainly worth a shot.

“C’mon, Link — let one rip!” Rhett teases and Link’s brows furrow.

Unfortunately, Rhett’s efforts to cheer him up are doing the opposite for his mood in the meantime. Link looks actively annoyed at the supposition.

“Will you please — ? We’ve established I’m having a terrible enough night as it is and I don’t need your added bull —” Link stops, then goes silent off at Rhett’s delighted expression.

“My what?” Rhett teases more. “My bullshit?”

Link’s eyes flick to the jar. Rhett makes a show of grabbing a quarter from his laundry money holder on his own desk and walking over to put it in the jar. 

“Yeah, that,” Link bullies. 

“Well, too dang bad, Link,” Rhett says, splaying his arms wide and taking in that Link is at least partly distracted from his terrible night, even while he spoke of it. “Rules are that so long as I pay up, I’m fine.”

Link huffs.

“This is —” Link starts, voice rising again in agitation.

“Uh, huh,” Rhett encourages.

“You’re such a —” Link begins and ends. Rhett’s eyebrows and eyes both dart up then turn crooked, waiting for any addition to that comment, but it never arrives.

Link starts pacing again, faster, back and forth between the dorm beds and their door. 

Rhett merely nods, waiting for more.

Finally, something in Link stops him in his tracks. Whether it’s the constant grinning nods from Rhett to egg him on, the long itinerary of Bad Things that keep on Happening, or just that Link is filled with an urge to punch the closet door again and he knows he can’t do that. 

So, he snaps, “IT IS BULLSHIT!” full volume at Rhett.

Rhett’s head nods even more swiftly, taking a deeper path up and down, like he’s bobbing over steady waves to stay afloat.

“IT’S ALL BULLSHIT!” Link repeats at the same charged decibel.

Rhett still nods more, as if to tell him to elaborate further, but Link’s anger stagnates his thinking. He just wants to keep screaming that, so he does. “IT’S ALL SUCH BULLSHIT!”

“Yeah, it is!” Rhett calls back at him, like he’s cheering him on in the stands.

“And you?!” Rhett puts a hand on his own chest as if to answer silently who me? Link’s, fired up again and pointing in Rhett’s direction. “You don’t get to have fun with this, you’re — you’re just as bad!”

“YEAH! I AM!” Rhett calls out, uncaring about being thrown into the mix as well.

“When you drove us to the rec center last weekend, we double-parked with our hazards on and took twice as long!”

Rhett exclaims, “We did!” in agreement.

“ASSHOLE!” Link yells at him.

Rhett nods. 

Link tears his fingers through his hair, overwhelmed at how out of hand his words have gotten, so quickly. His eyes stray back to the swear jar where he knows he has at least a few words to go. Disturbing though the thought, he considers also that he has more money in his wallet. 

He knows how far he’s strayed, already, from that change in priorities alone. When he looks back at Rhett, who is still giddy, waiting for him to say more, he gives up. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, in absolution.

Rhett gasps. 

He’s been waiting for Link to say that, most of all, and is shocked by how quickly they’ve arrived there. Hearing it spoken so casually, on top of it all.

“Fuck,” Link repeats again, in surprise that the word actually tumbled out of his mouth so smoothly.

“I don’t even think I’ve ever hardly thought that word before, let alone said it, now I can’t f — fuck, now I can’t stop!” Link growls at Rhett, furious at his role in what feels like a downfall.

Rhett is still aghast. His mind racing. 

He’s been waiting for the delivery and is amazed to hear Link actually do it. His mind has been picturing this as a funny joke, but Link is just standing there, mad, yelling fuck, again and again, accusatory. Rightly so. 

Rhett knows he drove Link to this, in part for his own amusement, but it doesn’t feel funny at all anymore. His cheeks feel warm.

Link’s face reddens further at Rhett’s lack of response. 

He gets up in Rhett’s face and Rhett feels himself start to back up so quickly he nearly stumbles to sit on the bed. He needs to concede this fight because it’s clear there’s a lot more pent up anger than he’s realized inside Link. 

He thinks back to the door and looks around. That did calm him briefly, but surely he can’t just punch the door again. “You should yell,” Rhett ekes out the next best thing. What Link shouted after the punch. “Yell it.”

He means the f-word, still. The way Link is saying it, it feels immoral to be saying it, too.

“FUCK!” Link yells, at his continued badgering, whether it’s in fulfillment of his request or not, Rhett couldn’t say. His body shudders in fear at how loud and direct an outburst that was.

Now, he’s worried their dorm mates are going to think they’re in an all-out fight. Rhett’s eyes scan the bed and he grabs a pillow. “Yell into this,” he offers, handing the pillow over.

Link, still looking annoyed, takes the pillow. He shoves his face against it and screams, “FUCK!” at what must be the very top of his lungs.

Rhett has to brace himself against the top bunk. He’s waiting for the punchline. 

It still hasn’t come.

Link, meanwhile, has pulled his bright red face from the pillow and takes in air in pants, looking over at Rhett. Rhett is sure he’s never looked so tough, so masculine, so — Rhett’s stomach lurches.

He knows that can’t be healthy. To consider any of those traits as a burly or cool, but he’s too concerned with why they’re making his insides tingle to interrogate it much for himself.

He offers to take the pillow back and Link hands it to him. Instead of putting it on the bed, Rhett holds it in his hands. He’s speechless, he thinks, but his head is pounding too hard to know why his mind directs him to his next request. Muscle memory, perhaps. 

Normally, Rhett would wrestle with Link until he got the anger out, but that feels absolutely impossible to initiate right now. With Link this mad, somehow Rhett worries that even being bigger and heavier, Link would find a way to win that match, looking as livid as he does.

 “Um,” Rhett starts, unable to figure out what more to say, now that Link’s gone through all that. He holds up the pillow. “Punch this,” Rhett says, not thinking about the fact that said pillow is still in his grip. He’s more focused on the mental image of sweaty, angry Link punching things again.

It’s what helped him relieve tension before, after all.

So, he pushes the pillow forward again, centering it where Link can take an easy swing in the middle and miss Rhett’s hands entirely, and waits for Link to make a move.

Soon, Link does swing, deftly, landing a soft punch on the object with a huff. Rhett can see some of the tension lock up and release from his shoulders. It’s not gone, but it must be helping. Rhett knows shooting hoops when he’s pissed always did the trick.

Link then punches again, firmer, this time, shouting, “Fuck!” along with his movements.

Then again, then a third and fourth time, until the pillow gives way and flies back towards the chair behind where Rhett stands. “Shit!” Link calls, watching it settle on the desk chair to their right. 

Rhett considers that is likely to keep happening, once Link builds back to that momentum, so he turns back and squares up. He holds a palm out behind another palm. He doesn’t ask, but Link can tell he’s being told to punch into Rhett’s open hand like it’s a boxing or pitching warm-up.

Link pulls back and slams his fist into Rhett’s palm. The taller of the two staggers back, but doesn't flinch. He puts his hand back in the same spot waiting for another. Link gives just as hard again. 

On the third hit, Rhett finally falters. The sting of the punch is too much for him to let on as harmless, when he waves his hands around the air to ease the throb. He grabs a throw blanket and drapes it two or three times around his upper chest, then motions for Link to aim there instead. 

Link gets a good hit in and Rhett is sure this way is going to last even less than his naked hand did, but he has to try to keep at it. Link is so angry, but he looks so good hitting like this, like he could star in a cologne ad or work at Abercrombie & Fitch at the mall. Rhett has to let him get the tension out. 

That’s Rhett’s job as his best friend.

Eventually, the pain is too much and he needs a break. Rhett puts a hand up in pause and sits himself on the bottom bunk and waits for Link to say something. They’re both panting with the same amount of exertion they use when they wrestle, but they still have all their clothes on.

For some reason, Rhett’s mind takes note of that.

He realizes he’s been staring at Link when Link starts to return the gaze. “Why’re you looking at me like that?” Link asks. 

Rhett blushes. “Like what?” He can’t see his face to know.

“Like I’m a sideshow exhibit,” Link tells him, throwing his hands back up in derision. “Or — or, I don’t know a piece of undercooked meat, almost.”

“What?” Rhett asks, blanching.

“Like you’re sizing me up to fight,” Link clarifies. 

Fight — Rhett considers. Quite the opposite. His mind thought Link meant piece of meat — to bite. Which sent a chill up his spine. “I-I wasn’t…”

“You were!” Link says, still crackling with tension. Rhett doesn’t have any part of his body to absorb it, any longer, he feels useless to help.

“Link…” Rhett starts to say, looking up at Link. Link still has an arm on the top bunk but now he’s leaning down a little, friendly but threatening, and Rhett’s insides start to turn over in knots. 

“You want to pound me, admit it!” Link says, impatiently.

“What?!” Rhett replies, stunned.

“You,” Link says, pointing at Rhett. “Want to pound me,” he starts only to stop and point at himself. “It’s clear as day on your face.”

“What?!” Rhett yells at him. 

“You want to pound me, Rhett. You’re so predictable,” Link elaborates, plainly. “Go ahead!”

Rhett’s eyes nearly bug out of his head. “Link, I-I…” Rhett trails off, his face blotchy and drawn.

“C’mon,” Link begs, leaning forward down at Rhett, taunting him. “Hit me!”

Rhett registers his words, understanding finally that he means to physically fight him, not to pound him as in fuck him. In Rhett’s defense, that word has been thrown around pretty casually for the first time ever and he’s racing to keep up with everything Link is doing.

Unfortunately, Rhett comes to this conclusion after he’s already leaned upwards and started kissing Link on the mouth. 

Once he’s there, realizing the grave error he’s made, he breaths a huff of air in humility as he feels Link’s mouth open in turn. Then Link’s tongue darts out to push into his. 

As the wet tip bursts in and out, rapidly, and Rhett contemplates that it’s like Link is still hitting him, in this tiny only-in-his-mouth kind of way. So, maybe Link was right and he did want to pound him but only via the mouth. Since it also felt so good, Rhett starts returning the kiss, rapid pace, and pulling Link closer. 

Link groans under his guidance, but it’s a good groan. Link rests a thigh over each of Rhett’s and sinks back on his knees, sitting over Rhett, as they continue to twist tongues. Rhett doesn’t know what to do with his hands, so he moves them around to Link’s back and they naturally drift towards gripping his ass while he holds him.

Link moans into his mouth at the feeling.

Eventually, Link pulls back, leaning so there’s enough space to speak his shock. 

“Fuck, Rhett,” Link mutters. Rhett feels his dick throb and thrust up towards Link’s lap as he shifts. Rhett’s not sure when he got this hard, but it suddenly feels like he has a steel rod stuffed down his sweats. “What are we doing?” Link breathes out. “Was that — were we just kissin’? What the Hell is going on?” Link questions, desperate and aroused.

Rhett humps up another time and Link keens at the sensation. 

“I think my body just wanted to help relieve the tension of, uh, you know, all that anger and — " Rhett starts to explain, but he’s helpless to the feeling of Link rolling around in his lap and generating even more friction between their overlapping arousal. “Guess it preferred the idea of this over punching you.”

Link rocks his hips and giggles through his own enjoyment as he watches Rhett squirm. “I’m a little biased, but yeah,” Link says, grinding down more. “This does beat a punch in the face, I’ll give you that.”

They’re both panting and rubbing on each other more before Rhett reaches down to touch Link. “Honestly, I think I could —” Link says, grinding with extra effort in a way that makes Rhett feel Link’s erection evidently as it presses against his midsection. He grinds back into that area specifically.

“Yeah, same,” Rhett agrees, circling his hips in time with Link’s.

Nothin’ like some good old dry humping, for what ails ‘ya, he figures. 

Link leans down and either forgetting his initial shock or abandoning it, he captures Rhett’s mouth in another kiss. 

Before long, they start gasping for air from one another’s open mouths while their faces stay pressed together but not kissing, as they grind harder and harder where they sit. 

Rhett reaches a hand down and fondles them both at once, rubbing his sweats against Link’s khakis. Link throws his head back in pleasure. “Feel better?” he asks, hoping this has been as erotic and pleasurable for Link as it has been for him.

“Oh, shit, Rhett, yeah,” Link moans, waist canting in time with Rhett’s motions. While gripping Link’s ass, Rhett’s moved his right hand up his back to steady him with how harsh the kisses are, each time. The hand that moved to Link’s back has stayed under his tank and drifts to his front. Rhett feels around for a nipple and squeezes once when it finds purchase. 

“Oh, fuck, yeah, just like that, oh my God, fuck, FUCK!” Link bellows out, suddenly aware that Rhett is sucking kisses into his jaw and throat as his other hand, the one not on the nipple, still squeezes his ass.

“I’m gonna — I can’t stop — I’m about to,” Link begins several attempts to warn Rhett, but comes before he can finish or Rhett can respond.

Rhett’s eyes go fully wide again, in amazement, feeling Link’s dick throb and spurt laid against his own. It’s enough added heat and friction that he feels his own orgasm begin to crest unexpectedly. He hasn’t come that quick in years. Maybe ever.

Link pants through his come down, but doesn’t move to get off Rhett right away. They both remain still, clutching each other as they sit tangled limb over limb. 

“D-Did we just have sex?” Link asks, mortified, but still draped over Rhett.

“Technically,” Rhett confirms. “But it was non-penetrative, so we’re still good, I think.”

“Oh, okay, yeah,” Link says back, his eyes far off. 

“You sure that’s okay?” Rhett asks, looking for Link to meet his gaze and assure him that is.

He does, but he speaks his mind, to clarify anything not given away by his crooked grin. “No, I was askin’ ‘cause I wanna do it again.”

Rhett’s eyes light up.

“A lot,” Link explains. 

“Fuck,” Rhett moans, softly, brushing a thumb to Link’s lower lip. 

He joins their mouths again.

Link cuts the kiss short, with a hand between them, however, and gives Rhett a stern look. Rhett knows in that moment and any proceeding it, he’ll do anything Link asks of him. 

Rhett’s glazed eyes spin focus to Link’s face again to figure out what that will be this time. Link nods his head towards the half-empty jar on his desk. 

“Pay up.”

#why is mean link always so hot #things i wrote #🍋 #@peachworthy

[pretoriafics]

Russian Roulette - Pt. 1

Hey there! I have been with this idea well-kept for a time, but just now I could finally write it. Hope you like it!

About this series: You are an Au Pair, who is living in America for the past 7 months. You become friends with Scott and Stiles and begun to notice that they have some secrets. Worried, you use your smartness to find out what the hell is going on with your friends, and simply bump into the supernatural world despite all the effort the boys made to keep you away from it. It seems like you are diving deeper and deeper into this dark world, mainly after you found out that you have a werewolf soulmate. In this series, you will find: Alternative Universe, Soulmate plot, Angst, Fluff. Word count: 1.261 Pairings: Foreigner!Reader x Platonic! Scott and Stiles Warnings: English is not my main language <3 Yeah, it was based on Russian Roulette by Rihanna Russian Roulette series: Chapter Two RUSSIAN ROULETTE MASTERLIST TEEN WOLF MASTERLIST

"Wake up, dear! School day!"

You had knocked on the door twice and slightly, waking up Sarah Britton, who was five years old. It was a beautiful and sunny Monday, and mainly another day of the job for you.

You were an Au Pair: Basically, a foreigner nanny who is hosted by an American family - called "host family" - while taking care of their children - called "host kids" -, and study at the same time. It is an exchange program, and you already had completed seven months in the United States.

Sarah and her older sister, Natasha, with her nine years old, despite not have the same blood as you, was almost like your children. You were fully passionate about them, and the girls love you the same way.

Sarah rolled through the sheets, letting out a low groan.

"Just more five minutes, pleease..."

"No, hun, you need to wake up. Come on, you'll get late! Nat's already downstairs."

She sits up on the bed, rubbing her eyes, lazy. When you saw her getting into the bathroom, you go downstairs to check Nat when, finally, the song of the bell echoes through the house. And when you open the front door, you saw those two little troublemakers you were waiting for.

"Good morning, sunshine!"

You gave Stiles a low chuckle, taking a step to the side, letting Stilinski and McCall enter the house. Scott gave you a warm hug.

"Morning, (Y/N)!"

You retributed the hug, with a huge smile on the face.

"Good morning, boys! Your breakfast is in the kitchen. Be fast, or Nat will eat it, and you'll go to class starving."

Stiles was the boy next door. He and Scott were one of the first people in the city who you had met. You remember like it was yesterday when you were lost, and Stiles and Scott offered you a ride on Stiles's Jeep - since your English course was next to their school. Since then, you took a ride with them every day. You were so funny, and so sweet, that you become friends quickly. Since then, Scott and Stiles were used to having their breakfast in your home. Both of them walked through the living room to the kitchen, and Stiles smiled at Nat.

"Wow! Are you eating that much?"

The girl returned the smile for him.

"Yeah, be careful!"

Scott and Stiles sat on the chairs, ready to eat. Sarah came down a few minutes later, and then, when everyone had finished their breakfasts and the girls took the school bus, you, Scott, and Stiles got into the Jeep. You were going to the school, and the chat was nice and funny as always. But, then, a weird matter arouse inside the Jeep.

"Uhn, so..." Scott looks at you from the passenger's seat. He seems cautious. "The officials have been saying that these attacks through the town were from animals."

You arched your eyebrows, disbelief with that information.

"Well, I don't know what kind of animal just simply rip humans that way. Don't you guys think there's something weird?"

Scott opened his mouth, and he and Stiles stare at each other. You had the odd impression that the words simply ran from them. Stiles clears his throat and starts to talk.

"Well, my dad saw the body personally, and he also thinks it was an animal."

"Sebastian also saw the body personally, and he thinks it's everything too weird."

Sebastian, your host dad, was the co-worker of Sheriff Stilinski. He was like a dad for you, and it was common for you to talk with him about his work. You always create suppositions about his investigations with him when you saw something in the newspaper, and he always thought of how funny your theories were.

"I'm just saying" Scott started to say again "that you have to be careful. You'll be going to a party on Friday, aren't you? Did you really need to go to this party?"

You rolled your eyes.

"Of course I need. I mean, my time here is limited, do you know about that? An Au Pair just can stay in America legally for two years. I'd already had seven months, and I want to enjoy every weekend, and every party, before going back to my country. Come on, Scott, I need to enjoy this experience! Also, I heard that it will be a full moon night on Friday." Scott's eyes become wider but you didn't stop to talk "Seems like the sky will be pretty romantic, and, you know, it would be cool if I found a nice guy to see the stars with me."

"But..." Stiles began to talk "You aren't afraid of die?"

"Guys, I'll be okay. It's just a party. You're overacting."

Stiles parked on the school, and you come out of the jeep. Stiles and Scott were weird, and they seem worried about something.

"Come on, boys!" You crossed your arms in front of your body, with your eyes narrowed like a cat's eyes. "Do you think you guys can make a fool of me? I know you're hiding something." This time, it was your turn to look at them worryingly. "You can talk with me if you're in trouble. Don't be afraid of it, I'm pretty sure I can help you. Come on guys, what the heck is going on?"

They contracted his mouths. Oh my Gosh. They were holding a laugh in a moment like these? Are they kidding with you? Scott was the first to open his mouth to say something.

"You meant to say 'what the heck, (Y/N). The neck is the part between the head and the chest, the place you put your necklaces."

"...Oh." You blush. "Heck. Okay. But I'm talking seriously with you. I know you're hiding something, and I hope it's just teenage bullshit. Please, don't do something that will ruin your lives."

Scott and Stiles's hearts ached a little bit with your puppy's worried eyes. You were smart, and all of your smartness was a dangerous thing in Beacon Hills. You could put yourself in danger being like that.

"'We're fine, okay?" Stiles said for you, with a comforting smile that didn't get any effects on you "You don't need to worry with us."

And, then, Scott was looking to the front of the school. He was serious at this time.

"Stiles, we have to go."

When Stiles looked in the direction that Scott was staring at, his face became pale as a candle. Your gaze followed their gaze, and you found a guy next to a black car, with sunglasses and a serious face. And, gosh, he was creepy!

The boys come back to look at you, with a fake smile, and walking away from you. Scott and Stiles wave their hands for you, saying goodbye, and Scott's says loud:

"Bye!"

With a soft smile, you wave your hands to them.

"Don't come back to your houses more dumbs than you already are!"

You turn around and cross the street, walking on the pavement towards your English course. But, then, you stopped walking. You turn around and see, from the other side of the street, Scott and Stiles talking with the creepy guy. The conversation between them sounds serious for you, and you had the impression that the creepy guy from the black car not just had known something about the secrets of Stiles and Scott than also was part of it.

And you were determined to find out about everything.

#teen wolf fic #teen wolf fanfic #teen wolf fanfics #teen wolf imagine #teen wolf imagines #teen wolf fics #scott mccall x reader #scott mccall x y/n #scott mccall x you #scott mccall imagine #scott mccall imagines #stiles stilinksi x reader #stiles stilinski x y/n #stiles stilinski x you #stiles stilinski imagines #derek hale imagine #derek hale imagines #derek hale x reader #derek hale fanfic #derek hale fanfics #derek hale x you #derek hale x y/n

[outerbankspreferences]

Caught Pt. 2 - JJ Maybanks

Caught Pt. 2 – JJ Maybanks

Word Count: 1952

MASTERLIST

JJ’s movements stop at the sound of his full name. No one used his full name. JJ looked back down at her. “I thought you said he wasn’t getting home until tonight.” He spoke while pulling at of her causing you hiss at the over stimulation. “I thought he wasn’t, he said he had to work and then he was going to Sarah’s.” Y/N spoke trying to find your underwear JJ had thrown across the room, “where did you throw my underwear?” She whispered as if they weren’t already caught. JJ tossed her a new pair out of her dresser along with some shirts and his t shirt.

Once the two of them were dressed JJ reached for the door knob. “Now or never” he chuckled to small girl behind him. What he couldn’t see was the anxiety rushing through her. Nether had ever talked about what it was they were doing. Nether confirming whether they were together or not. They had been hooking up for a couple of months now but that was it ever was. It her Y/N every time he came over, would sleep with her and then just leave. She would never tell JJ but it always made her feel worthless, like she was nothing more then the tourons he would normally hook up with.

 What she didn’t know was that JJ was head over heels in love with her. When the two of them started hooking up, he stopped meeting up with tourons. he didn’t realize he was in love with her until after their first time. For her to trust him that much meant something to him. When the two of them were together everything was different. It was like he could finally something good in his life. He wanted to keep this to himself for the fear that she might slip away form him if everyone knew.

 The two of them walk out of her room and down the hallways. The floor boards creaking beneath the weight of their feet. The floor had been making the same sound earlier, expect the young couple were eager for what awaited them then, not so much now. Y/N was practicing her speech repeatedly in her head. She could feel the anxiety bubbling in her chest and she went to grab JJ’s hand for comfort to find him already reaching out for hers.

 The two made it into the kitchen to find John B taking a very large shot of whiskey before glaring at the both of them. He scowled at them holding hands, and Y/N could already tell he wasn’t taking this very well. She was the first to break the ice, speaking in calm voice, “we never meant for you to find out this way.” John B just raised his hand to cut her off, looking over at who he thought was his best friend. Now he was questioning it, John B trust JJ with his life, and especially his little sister, never did he think he would cross this line. “How could you do this?” He asked the blonde, “I’m sorry, but I love your sister John B.” JJ spoke up and you gasped.

 Nether of you had said those three words in the 3 months you’d been hooking up, and you had wondered if JJ was feeling the way you had. JJ took another deep breath before speaking again, “I know in my head that it’s wrong. She’s your little sister and I’ve known her since she was a little girl, but she makes me feel things I don’t always understand, but they’re good things JB. When I see her happy and smiling, she makes my day just a bit better. When she says something stupid and then starts to laugh, I realize that I want to hear that laugh everyday. And it’s killing me because she’s your sister man, I didn’t mean for it to be her, but it is and I can’t say that I’m sorry about the way I feel.” JJ pleaded with the brunette, hoping he could hear the truth in his words.

 The two men looked between each other almost having and internal conversation that Y/N had to witness. John B was trying to see everything with reason, but Y/N noticed how red his face was getting, she was also keeping an eye out for the tell tale signs of his hidden anger. She squeezed JJ’s hand to acknowledge she heard every word he said, silently encouraging him to continue.

 He was about to speak again when John B’s fist connected to his face causing JJ to let go of Y/N hand and stumble back words cursing. “John B!” Y/N exclaimed rushing over to JJ, “are you crazy” She hollered at him. JJ pushed her out of the way before taking a swing at John B, pushing him into the wall. Before she knew it the two boys were fighting on the floor. At one point JJ was on top landing a punch to John B., and John B. would tackle him down to the ground. She had seen the two boys fight before, but nothing like this before.

 She was lucky that Pope and Kie had decided to stop by and could hear the yelling from the driveway. Pope moved Y/N out of the way, and pried JJ from John B’s death grip, “hey-hey, let go man! What the hell is going on here?” He shouted at them, and all three of you shared the same look. She stood in between the two boys, John B was fuming his face red and contoured to anger. JJ looked like he was on high alert, not sure if his friend was going to take another swing at him. “Oh yeah JJ, go a head. Tell them how I just caught you sleeping with my sister.” John B spoke in a matter of fact tone, and then stomped out the door slamming it behind. The loud bang made Y/N flinch and heart drop to the bottom of the floor. “You what?” Kie was the first to speak but she wasn’t surprised. She and Sarah had their supposition about the two of you.

 She pushed past Kie to follow John B outside ignoring the protest from their friends to give him some space. “John B wait. Just let me ex-.” She tried to speak before he cut you off. “There’s nothing to explain Y/N! I know what I saw.” He hollered at the younger girl. JJ was coming up behind him. “She’s not ready for this and you know that. You are not going to break her like you do every other girl on this island. She might tell you that it wont bother her, but it will. When you break her heart, you will break her.” John B yelled at JJ.

 It was like the two boys were talking about something else. Y/N really didn’t understand what John B was saying but JJ knew. John B had confided in him multiple times about how losing your dad had hurt you. How not having a mother hurt you, and how he was scared that when you found love, that it might not be requited and he wanted to keep you from that hurt. It was a big reason JJ started hanging out with the younger girl more. He wanted to help his friend keep an eye on you and at first he thought it was because he loved her like a sister but he soon discovered that wasn’t what was going on. He fell in love with her like a lover, there wasn’t a time he didn’t want to be around her. “I’m not going to hurt her. Not because she’s your sister but because I love her. I don’t know what I would do without her man. She makes everything so much better and I’m not really sure why. Maybe it’s because she’s always so calm, or maybe she’s got a great sense of humor, hell man I don’t know. I do know when I try and think about how much I love her it scares me. It scares the living shit out of me that one day she might leave. So maybe your worried about her, but I don’t think you need to worry about your sister man, I think you need to worry about me. Because if she leaves me John B. I know I won’t survive without her.” He took a deep breath looking at his friend.

 All five people were silent. Everyone taking in the words that JJ just spoke. It was one of the few times JJ had an outburst of emotion like that, and the first time he’s ever had that kind of emotion towards a girl. “I’m sorry that it was your sister man, but I’m not sorry about the way I feel about her.” JJ almost whispered like he didn’t want anyone to know what he was saying. Y/N could have sworn her heart dropped at hearing those words. She always loved JJ, and just assumed that it was a puppy love crush, she would move on sooner or later, but she never did. Y/N kept looking between the two boys, waiting for one of them to speak. “I don’t need your permission JB. Don’t let this get between our friendship.” The younger girl spoke up.

 John B thought over all his options. His sister was right, this could potentially ruin not only his friendship with JJ but his relationship with his younger sister. He had noticed the change in her behaviour lately. She wasn’t always moping around the house depressed and sad like normal. She had a little of her normal lovable attitude back thanks to JJ. “Okay but no more sleeping in the same bed. And no PDA, I don’t want to see you macking on my little sister.” Both Y/N and JJ let out a breath of relief looking at each other. Both you and JJ giggled to each other already excited to break John B’s rules.

 JJ motioned for you to follow him to the end of the dock were things were a bit more private. The two of you walked awkwardly together slightly bumping shoulders. You both sat on the rale of the dock looking into the water not speaking to each other. “I meant what I said Y/N.” JJ spoke but you didn’t look over. JJ admired the way you looked in the sunset. The colors compliment your skin tone that was just starting to tan in the spring heat. The way your hair moved in the breeze that had picked up. “I know.” The young girl spoke and JJ started to panic. Maybe she didn’t feel the same way for him as he did for her. Maybe he just completely embarrassed himself in front of their friends for feelings that she might not even have.

 “I love you too JJ. I always have. I thought you were just with me for the sex.” She spoke, and JJ cringed at the reputation he had. JJ took her hands in his and she looked at him, “never once was this ever just ‘sex’. I fell for you so hard, and I don’t think I want to see you with anyone else.” He spoke in a serious tone. He moved a little closer to her, putting his hands under her chin to lift her face towards his. Their faces were inches apart when Y/N closed her eyes waiting for the kiss to come, “John B. said no PDA.” JJ whispered to her. “Oh to hell with John B.” She spoke pulling him in for a deep kiss.

TAGLIST:

@drewstarkeysbitchh @lemur46 @jjmaybankzz @taylathornton

#jj maybanks #jj maybanks x reader #jj maybanks x you #jj maybanks imgaines #jj maybanks x yn #jj maybanks outerbanks #jj maybanks obx #jj maybanks one shots #jj maybanks fluff #jj maybanks angst

[that-damn-girl]

(6) Bucky and The Bed

Completed

Chapter 5

Bucky and The Bed Masterlist

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x (cis)fem!reader

Words: 5700+

Summery: You and Bucky are stranded in the middle of a snowy nowhere when there is an 'electronic blackout' during your mission. With no back ups or any way to contact your team, you take refuge from the worsening weather in the only cabin you find  in miles. Not to mention, with no power, Bucky has become your personal heater and there's only one bed.

Chapter type: Soft smut. Fluff.

Chapter/Trigger warning: Smut. 18+ only please. Language.

A/N: A huge thanks to @buckeroonie323​​ for beta reading this chapter! You’re amazing! I've worked quite hard for this, so some feedback would be appreciated. Hope I've been able to deliver how well it was in my mind. Also, thank you for continuing to read this series. Hope you like this part!

Bucky Barnes had done many daring things. Being a soldier in captivity with his control laying with strangers, he had no other choice. Not that they left any. After years of torture, he knew had to do it, to break free, to end the torment, to discover himself. Being an Avenger, it was his duty.

Bucky Barnes had done many daring things in life, and this very well could have been one of them - a higher ranked one even.

It seemed as if everything had hit pause in that moment all of a sudden, in and around Bucky. Although his breathing was hitched, his heart beat fast, thumping with trepidation inside his chest, so much so he swore it bumped against his ribs. Fingers cupped your cheeks were warm as he held you, yet a cold nervous stillness settled in his arms and the rest of him, keeping him rooted. 

The rattling windows were all but a distant noise, blocked by the booming of his heart in his ears. As evident, his heart was very much active, but his brain wasn't. There were no thoughts flowing through it. All he could acknowledge were the thoughts of you, of your closeness, of the feel of skin against him, of your lips in front of him; all that was so close and yet so far.

Like the daredevil he had felt a few moments ago, all confidence and fearless courage prompting him; everything died down the minute he leaned down. 

As he got closer to you, his mind started working again, immediately pushing itself into overdrive, making him cease right before he touched your lips. A million thoughts coursed through his brain, knocking some unwanted consciousness into him. 

A sliver of gap between your parted lips teased him mercilessly. As if mocking him for thinking too much, for taking so long. Challenging him to give into his temptations, to remove any distance. Prompting him to think of the reward if he leaned just a tad bit more. 

Everything in him had wanted to do just that. Every fibre of his self begged him to take some action. To touch you, to taste you, to feel you, to bask in it.

His brain had put a stillness to the moment Bucky didn't like. All the reasons why he had stalled kissing you resurfaced. No, you were right in front of him, millimetres apart. He wasn't going to pull back. He had spent too long thinking what was right and wrong. What he deserved or didn't. What he should or shouldn't. He didn't want to be responsible anymore.

Numerous things had been denied to him over the long course of his life. Some by villainous men, some by time, some by fate. 

He wasn't going to let his own mind deny him you. Not anymore.

It was your and only your denial which mattered. If you did deny him, sure, he'd be heartbroken but he would respect your wishes no matter how much it'd pain him. Luckily enough, there were no signs of such from your side.

It had only been a handful of seconds in reality, but felt no less than long dreadful hours to him. With you so close to him, any sense of reality was lost in him anyway.

Lips hovering atop your open ones a hairbreadth away, he glanced down at them and then to your closed eyes. You looked to be trusting, inviting him, summoning him to do what his heart desired the most.

Longing tugged at his heart. To feel your smooth lips against him, to clutch you in his arms and never let you go, to make you feel special and loved, to tell you the extent of feelings he harboured for you. It had to start somewhere first.

Taking your lead, Bucky closed his eyes and took the leap of faith, closing the last of the unsought gap between him and you.

With the tenderness of holding a delicate flower, Bucky's lips slowly brushed against yours as if testing the waters, barely getting a taste of your supple skin. Your hands looped around his waist, caging as much of him as you could in your loving embrace. It only left him yearning for more. 

Tilting his head, he gently grazed his lips against yours again, softly caressing your lips. Warmth flooded his nerves with every fond contact. Though it had hardly been a touch, he was already in love with the feel of your lips on him. 

Lightly, Bucky took your lower lip in between his, gently sucking on it before moving to the other. He Conveyed the adoration, the love he had for you in every delicate touch of his lips. 

Cradling your face in his warm hands, his thumb caressed your cheeks, making you warm from the inside. Your arms moved clutching the sides of his waists, bunching up the thick wool of his sweater in your fists, refusing to let go of him in case you were dreaming.

The moment so affectionate, so warm, so tender, Bucky never wanted to leave it. His heart raced with the feelings of an adolescent kissing their first love for the first time. It all felt so good, he needed to know, to be assured it was real.

Diving deep into the pool of faith, one of his arms moved down to circle your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. He pressed hard on your lips in a beat, making you gasp at the suddenness of his advancement - which was very much welcomed by the way.

The kiss was hard as his lips moved against yours, but slow enough to let him savour it, enjoy it, cherish the feel of your supple lips. Soft moans escaped you as he kissed you with passion. Bucky knew he'd never forget those sweet little sounds for the rest of his life.

None of his imaginations could compare to this, surpassing all his suppositions. Your lips were soft and warm, moving against his with such ease as if they were as if they were two conjoined pieces of a puzzle. 

Nothing had ever felt more right, more perfect than this. Bucky doubted anything ever would.

Your hands travelled gingerly from the side of his waist upto his hard chest and to his neck - but not before roaming and appreciating his expansive front. Gliding fingers through his smooth, silky hair, your hands curled around the back of his neck, gently running your nails through his scalp.

Bucky purred against you. Tightening his arm around your waist, he further leaned into you. His dark brown locks fell like a veil on the sides of his face, slightly tickling your jaw with the ends. You steadily stood on your toes for him. His hands trailed the sides of your body to your thighs, gripping onto it. Catching his message, you gladly jumped and curled your legs around his waist as he secured you in his hold.

Walking towards the bed as he kissed you dearly, he sat on the edge with you straddling his lap. One of his hands trailed along your thighs, his palm generously cupping cupping the curve of your ass in his large hand and appreciatively rubbing it, squeezing it from time to time.

Bucky tentatively licked your bottom lip, seeking your permission. Slowly, you parted your lips more, granting him all the access he needed. Instantly his tongue slid into you, grazing the tip of your tongue and moving across the rest of yours in light darting motions. 

A childlike giddiness pumped through his heart. Smiling gleefully in between the kisses, neither Bucky nor you could believe that after such a long wait, it was finally happening. Being in an embrace so loving, so caring, kissing sweetly and with passion; it felt no less than residing in heaven.

It didn't take long for the kiss to turn hot and heated. His tongue swiftly played with yours as your and his lips passionately danced together. There was more need developing in your movements with each fleeting second. All the pent up feelings from months were poured into that one kiss.

Already a little stimulated from all the activities, Bucky nearly choked when you grinded your hips on his. It was slow and light at first, but kept on increasing gradually. Feeling daring and encouraged, Bucky grabbed both your butt cheeks in his warm hold and guided your sinful motion on him. 

Eventually you felt him harden beneath you with each salacious roll of your hips. Even through all the layers, you could tell he was long with an impressive girth. Just thinking of all the fun you'd have with him, especially with him inside you made heat pool in your center, making you pulse with need. 

Reaching behind you, you brought his metal arm from your ass to your breasts. Bucky was hesitant at first, but he soon cupped it in his hand, gently squeezing it with affection. 

"Wait, Y/N," Bucky abruptly broke the kiss. Resting his forehead against yours, he and you panted heavily. You were worried you'd crossed a line, but then he said, "I don't want this to be a one time thing. I lo-"

Bucky paused, processing what he was about to say. He always knew he'd dearly liked you, much more than a just friend would. But did he…? 

He looked at you, at your mesmerizing eyes, at your beautifully swollen lips. He registered the warmth coursing through him, not only because you were with him, embracing him, kissing him; but because you were with him - whenever he needed you, as a friend and more, trusting him endlessly. All your moments spent with him flashed through his eyes, his heart brimming with feelings he couldn't describe. In that moment moment he realised the one thing he was dumb enough to see before.

He...he did love you. And he hadn't even known it. 

Because Bucky Barnes was truly a specimen of an idiot.

Your breath was hitched. As you looked into his eyes, his blue orbs assessing your face, your heart stopped beating. Was he going to say what he was going to say? Would he really mean that? Another glance at his eyes, and you knew he would. 

This sent you reeling with unsure feelings cramming your brain. You liked him. You most definitely liked him. But love? Did you love him? Your heart was telling you one thing, but your mind refused to accept that you would have fallen for Bucky without even knowing it. But you didn't want to deny it any longer. Yeah, you did love him. You had loved him all along with all your heart. 

And so were you. Two idiots in the same boat.

Glimpsing at your wide eyes, Bucky wondered if it was wise to outright say what he wanted to. He didn't want to scare you off after all. Your surprised expression gave him all the more reason not to. 

Bucky gulped before he said, "I like you, Y/N. I really like you a lot. Not as a friend. It's so much more than that. I mean, not that you're not a good friend. You're great and I'm very lucky to have you as my friend. But I want us to be something more than that, you know-"

A quick kiss to his swollen lips as you cradled his face, you pulled back, “I know, Bucky.” You giggled. It was sweeter and innocent and oh so lovely to his ears, making him put on a bashful smile.

You were a little upset upon not hearing the L-word you wanted to, but you didn’t let it drag the rest of your mood down. Perhaps it was for the best to not rush it. There was all the time in the world for you.

You softly said, “I like you too, Bucky. And this won’t be a one time thing. Not for me at least. I want this to work. I want you and me to work.”

He let out a sigh of relief, “Me too, Y/N. Me too. I can’t tell you how happy I am to hear this.” With a boyish smile gracing his face, he pulled you closer and cupped your cheek, “Be my girl, Y/N?”

Your bright eyes shone exuberantly, showing how elated you were. With a grin just as excited, you whispered, “Gladly.” 

You went back to kissing him frenziedly with over pouring passion. Hands zealously roamed each other’s bodies with soft but eager touches, committing every cranny, every nook to memory. A sense of belonging lingered in the back of your heads. To anyone else, you belonged to him and he to you. 

Desire burned through Bucky veins at the thought of calling you his. There were too many layers between him and you for his liking. He was desperate for some skin on skin contact with you. Pulling back for a second, he immediately discarded his sweater before joining your lips in another fervent kiss. 

Bucky clutched the bottom of your sweater and tugged it upwards. Breaking up the kiss, you helped take it off of you before kissing him again. One by one, the layers separating him and you were cast away until a thin shirt covered both your heated bodies. 

In an instant, Bucky rolled you over and pushed you up on the bed, climbing on top of you. Keeping some of his weight on his strong arms by your side, he pushed down onto you, covering every inch of your expanse with his. His metal arm came up and massaged your breasts. Through the thin material, your breasts were much more soft and tender. He could also make out the shape of the hard nipples, and he wasted no time in stimulating it with his thumb.

Kissing him heatedly with arms wrapped around his neck, you spread your for Bucky and curled them around his ass. Taking the hint, he started rocking his hips against yours through the sweats. His hard member rubbed against your centre, leaving you yearning for more.

His lips moved along your jaw before attacking your neck, littering your skin with short warm and eager kisses. His scruff rubbed against your cheeks in the most delicious way. "Bucky…" You moaned breathlessly when he found that spot near your ear, softly nibbling and sucking on it. The thought of him marking you with the added stimulation of his hand and hard shaft on your body was enough to shut your brain with nothing but lust clouding it.

Your hands snaked down between your bodies, fingers dipping under the waistband of his sweats to take it off. He promptly stopped you from doing so, “Are you sure about this, Y/N?”

Taking a deep breath, you nodded, “I’m sure Bucky, this is what I want.” Bucky nodded and enveloped your lips once again.

After a while when you attempted to lower his sweats, his hands stopped yours again. "You really sure, Y/N?"

"Yeah, I'm sure-" Bucky watched realization struck your face. Your expression became something akin to horror as you rushed out, "Oh my god! I am so sorry, Bucky. I should've asked if you were okay with this. I- I didn't mean to force you into something you didn't want to-"

"No, Y/N, I know. I trust you." Bucky kissed below your ear. He sat back on his knees and you followed pursuit. "It's just- It's me, not you. You're beautiful, you're sexy. I want you, I really do. I think you can already say that by, well, this." Pointing to the tent in his crotch, he gave out a nervous humourless laugh. Your cheeks flamed up.

Bucky hastily raked his hands through his hair, "I don't know how to explain this."

"You don't have to explain anything, Bucky." You softly said.

He grabbed your hand in his. Focusing solely at the joined hands as he said, "No, just listen, please. It's- It's been so long, you know. I do want to go all the way with you, if you want to. But everything- I mean, having sex right at the moment, I don't think I can jump head first into that…" 

Gently cradling his face, you made him look at you, "Thank you for sharing this with me, Bucky. We won't do anything you aren't ready for. I am sorry for assuming things earlier. Just please keep communicating with me like this, yeah?"

Sincerity was etched clear in your eyes. Bucky's heart swelled with the care you had shown him, how understanding you had been of his feelings. He nodded, burying his head in the crook of your neck, "Yeah, you too, Y/N." Slowly, he raised his lips to your ears before whispering in your ear, seduction lacing every note his voice, "But they're are other things we can do."

Goosebumps travelled down your spine at how sexy he sounded. But his comfort came before your libido. You asked, "You sure, Bucky? We don't have to do this if you don't want to."

"I want to, unless you don't-"

You kissed him fiercely, pushing his shoulders so that he laid on his back. Climbing on top of him, you straddled his waist, "Yes, Bucky. God, I want you so much!" 

You traced his neck with wet kisses as you made your way down him. Stepping on the warm rug, you went down on your knees in between his spread legs. Running your palms on his beefy thighs, your fingers inched towards his waistband, "This okay?"

"It's more than okay, Y/N." Bucky watched with blown eyes as you pulled his sweatpants down to his ankles and off of him. Your eyes went slightly wide with surprise as you took in his intimidating length. 

It was big and girthy as you had anticipated, but the veins protruding at his sides was an unexpected fortune. Taking some time, you marvelled at his impressive member. Licking your lips, you gingerly wrapped your fingers around him, careful not to put too much pressure at once. 

Bucky threw his back, enjoying the feel of someone else's hands on him other than himself after so long - especially when the someone else was you. Leaning forward, you placed a long warm and wet kiss on his head.

"Ah, Y/N," Bucky moaned lasciviously. A dollop of precum escaped his slit. Slowly and carefully, you ran your thumb over his head, sweeping the precum off him and daubed around him, only to watch more precum resurface through his slit.

You pumped him leisurely, using more of his precum as lubricant. Flicking your wrists every now and then, you studied Bucky's face. He breathed heavily above you, his lower lip clutched between his teeth. You wanted to pry his plump lip and nibble on it yourself, but you focused on the job at hand, quite literally.

Bucky leaned on his elbows to look at you playing with his pole. His pupils were blown, heavy with lust, almost looking black in the dim lighting. Glimpsing from under your eyelashes, you winked at him before diving to trail slow, soft, sensuous kisses on his shaft. From top to bottom and back up again after rounding his balls. Cherishing every inch of him you could reach.  

You couldn't wait to taste him. Sticking out your tongue, you ran it over the huge vein on his underside. Bucky visibly shuddered beneath you. He took a sharp inhale when you wrapped your mouth around him, his brain shutting down instantly. 

You started light, bobbing your head up and down only around his tip. It had been a while for you too, so you didn't want to test your limits just yet. Moreover, watching Bucky's face contorted in pleasure was too big a delight for you to hurry and get over with it hastily. You wanted to draw it out as long as you could. Watching him unfold under your hands was no less pleasurable for you either.

Determined to show Bucky the time of his life, you swallowed him deeper. Though you couldn't deep throat him, you took in as much of him as you could, your hands expertly took care of the rest of him.

Soft pants escaped Bucky as you worked on him with your mouth and hands. His senses were heightened. He couldn't transform into words how good he felt with his cock in the heat of your mouth, your lips enveloping him. The velvety touch of your tongue felt magistical around him. He was so hard it was almost painful, but the smooth slippery feel of your mouth and tongue soothed him, calming his insatiable hunger for you.

You hollowed in your cheeks, swallowing him further and increased the pace of your bobbing. "Shit, doll! Just like that!" Bucky cried and couldn't keep his weight on his arms anymore with the rush of feelings coursing through him. Dropping on his back, he tightly grasped the sheets in his grip with a desperate need to hold onto something.

Noticing it, you grabbed his hands and brought it to your head. He was uncertain at first, but with your insistence he slid his fingers in your hair and clasped it into a makeshift ponytail. He tried not to, but he couldn't help guiding your motion with tiniest but of force. It significantly increased the pace of your mouth on him, but it wasn't uncomfortable.

Knowing he was nearing his climax soon, you stepped up your game. Collecting the spit which dribbled down your mouth on him, you applied a tad bit more pressure as your palms swivelled around his erect shaft. Your wet tongue traced the veins bulging on his shaft.

"Fuck, that feels so good!" His high pitched voice said, sounding hoarse and raspy. It turned you on immensely. You wanted to bring your hands down and relieve yourself, but he was your top priority at the moment.

Your tongue swirled over his head repeatedly, picking up the precum and spreading it as your mouth went up and down on him. One of your hands streamed down to his balls, massaging the pair of them and lightly tugging at his filled sacs.

"Oh…Y/N..." He moaned and grunted helplessly above you, withering as you pleasured him. Your name fell like a worship from his lips. A raw, base urge satiate his need took a hold of him. His grip tightened on your hair. Try as he might, Bucky couldn't stop himself from bucking his hips into your mouth. 

One of your hands went under his shirt, wandering over his taut muscles and hard abs. A sheen of sweat covered his muscles which were tensed under your touch, his body urgently awaiting a release. Reaching his pectorals, you circled your fingers around his nipple. Soon you started playing with it. 

Under all your ministrations, Bucky felt overwhelmed. He couldn't delay it any longer. He stuttered, "I'm- ah, I'm so close.

Bringing both your hands back to his shaft, you put greater effort into pleasing him. Simultaneously flicking your wrists as you pumped him up and down, you moaned around him as you bobbed on his cock hastily. The added vibration edged him further.

With a few more strokes, Bucky grunted loudly, his voice extremely rough, as he released his load into your mouth. You kept stroking him through his orgasm. The sweet and tangy mixture of his cum filled you. It was viscous and delicious and much more in quantity than you had expected. You swallowed as much as you could, but some dribbled down the corner of your lips to your chins. 

After you were sure he had finished shooting his load down your throat, you pulled back and saw him lying on his back, his chest sharply rising and falling as he took deep breaths to calm himself down. His eyes were shut and his hands had fallen off your head, resting limply by his side.

Slowly Bucky opened his eyes, only to watch you muster up the cum from the corner of your mouth in your fingers and lewdly lick it until all that remained were your glistening fingers. Leaning towards you, he clasped your arms and brought you up from the floor and on top of him.

His hands tightly gripping your waist, he instantly kissed you violently, not minding the taste of his cum on your lips. Traversing down your body, he groped your ass in his palms, squeezing it appreciatively.

"That was lovely, doll. You were amazing." He breathed, his voice still raspy.

"I'm glad you liked it." You grinned, feeling proud of your skills.

He turned you over pinning you between him and the bed. He nipped at your ear, "It's my turn to make you feel good now."

"You don't have to-"

He shut you up with a bawdy kiss, his tongue silencing you. "I want to, babydoll."

"Good, because I'm horny as hell right now." You declared.

Bucky chuckled, "Don't worry, baby. You've got me now."

Climbing off of you, he threw his undershirt over his head and helped you out of yours. "So beautiful," he whispered, taking in the sight of your breasts for the first time. Kissing them briefly, he trudged down your body, leaving a trail of warm kisses in its way.

Taking his place between your knees, he pulled your sweats off of you before curling his hands around your thighs. He hauled you towards him, placing each of your thighs on his shoulders.

Bucky fixed moist kisses on your inner thighs, tardily inching towards your center. Running a finger through your slit, he bemusedly watched your juices glistening his digits and said, "You're so wet, doll."

You nodded eagerly, "All for you, Bucky."

The dark haired man in between your knees growled with hunger. His calloused finger leisurely circled around your clit, teasing you mercilessly. Your legs tightened around his shoulders, pulling him towards you, urging him to act fast.

Relenting, Bucky's calloused thumb collected some of your juices and pressed your clit to your body, massaging the sensitive tissues. Though he hadn't pleasured a woman in a long time, he did remember some of his tricks. Using them wisely, he worked his experienced fingers on you. 

He brought his other hand up to your pussy, fingers running through your slit. Finding your entrance, he inserted a single digit in you, making you gasp loudly. Your heat enveloped him at once, your walls snuggly around him. 

His finger was thicker than you'd imagined, and felt exceptionally bigger in your tight space. His thumb kept rubbing your clit as his finger pumped in and out of you slowly. You got wetter and wetter by the second, making it easier for his fingers to  work on you.

Bucky soon replaced his thumb with his mouth. Plump lips draped over your clit as his tongue played with it. You moaned obscenely under him. Sucking on your nub faintly, he used his tongue flick  over it, occasionally licking it, lapping at it like a hungry beast. 

Desire ablazed your nerves, a coil in your abdomen tightening. The warmth of his mouth on your sensitive nub, his moist tongue fiddling with it, his finger buried in your heat - it all felt exquisitely wonderful. 

Glancing down at him, you saw Bucky hard at work with your pussy. Watching him between your knees, so intimately close to you, you blushed hard, tinting cheeks red. You'd always had an image of Bucky carnally pure and innocent. It was known to you that he was not a virgin. On the contrary, as per the sources, he'd been quite a ladies man back in the day. 

With you, however, he'd been no less than a gentleman. True, you had imagined Bucky with you in situations like these countless times, but they were nothing close to the reality. You never knew you'd see this side of Bucky; this naughty, hungry, definitely not at all innocent side. To know you brought out this carnal side in him, it only turned you on more.

Mewls escaped you as he ate you like a man starved for decades, which he probably was. Your juices were sweeter than honey to him. Though it was his first time, he already loved tasting you, lapping up all you had to give him endlessly. Your sweet juices were no less than ambrosia to him.

"Bucky…" You lewdly moaned when his fingers, glassy with fluid coating them, slithered towards your chest. Cradling both your breasts in each palm, Bucky adoringly squeezed them, loving the softness of your breath in his hold. He was sure groping you could easily be his favourite pastime.

Bucky softly kneaded your boobs in his palm, his fingers gyrating around your rock hard nipples while tongue worshipped your clit. One side hot, the other side cold. The varied temperatures ecstatic on your heated skin. 

Bucky increased his pace on your clit, your body thrumming with bliss. He drove you closer and closer to  your edge. You shut your eyes, thoroughly enjoying all the sensations coursing through you. You kept grunting and moaning, chanting his name like a prayer. 

Your sinful moans were better than luscious melodies to his ears, especially when his name toppled out of your lips so sensuously. He was already addicted to the sound of his name from your lips.

Set on showing you a good time like you had done for him, Bucky skilfully swirled your sensitive clit with his tongue. Greatly overwhelmed, you squirmed underneath him. 

He brought his hands down to your waist, keeping your wiggling form in place. Goosebumps were raised all over you as his hands left your nipples, suddenly exposing your skin to the cold air.

Gingerly putting his finger inside you again, Bucky stroked in and out of you softly and smoothly, getting you accustomed to the intrusion. His mouth never left your nub, his tongue drawing various patterns around your clit with increasing intensity.

The coil tightened further in your belly. As he passionately ate your pussy, you became a moaning mess for him. Feeling the need to grab onto something, your hands travelled down to his head out of their own accord, gripping his dark silky locks tightly in your hold.

Bucky carefully inserted a second finger in your heat, which you were more than ready to welcome. Sensing you were close to your end, he doubled in his efforts. Squelching sounds filled the room as he rocked his fingers inside you. 

Unconsciously, you bucked up your hips as you chased your nearing orgasm. So close to it, you stuttered unintelligibly in between moans, which Bucky could faintly make out as you urging him to keep going as he was. 

Your back arched as he curled his fingers inside you, successfully finding that spot after some tries. His long, slender fingers repeatedly brushed against it. Your eyes rolled back in your head with overflowing delight and your toes curled.

His mouth and fingers worked in tandem on you, driving you over the edge. You didn't even have the time to say something when white hot pleasure coursed through you as you violently came, your legs shaking around Bucky's head. 

Bucky hungrily gulped your release, not letting a single drop go to waste. When he pulled back, his chin was glistening with your fluid. Licking his lips, he wiped the residue with the back of his hand. 

As he crawled over you, your eyes were still shut and you breathed heavily. A blissful glow adored your face, a content smile playing on your lips; looking candid under the soft golden light of the fireplace. Fluttering open your eyes, you saw Bucky hovering over you with a merry grin. 

"You were great, Bucky," Bringing him down to you, you kissed his moist puffy lips. Bucky reciprocated, slowly moving to lay on his side beside you without breaking the kiss. Basking in the fulfilment you felt, you strayed from his lips to his cheeks, nose, eyelids and forehead, kissing every inch of his face.

"So good," Bucky felt your appreciation for him pouring through each kiss as you cherished him. His arm snaked around your waist, keeping you close to him - to his heart, which beat only to your rhythm. 

Your lips traversed down his neck to his left shoulder, placing soft kisses to the harsh ridges along the conjuncture bit by bit, not at all rushing in the slightest. Bucky hid his face in your shoulder, immensely grateful to know that when you said you liked him, you did mean all of him.

Soon you settled against his hard warm chest under the mountain of blankets, feeling safe, secure and loved in his arm. Fingers cosily interlacing together, your naked bodies pressed into one another without any hesitation or shame. Content and exhausted, it didn't take you long to slip into slumber in his loving embrace.

Playing with the tip of your locks, Bucky watched you sleep peacefully with a love sick smile. He still couldn't believe how the day had worked out; that you were his girl, willing to accept him with all his flaws. It felt like a dream to him, as if he'd been living in his own crafted fairy tale. 

He wanted to thank the stars and the gods above for bringing him to you. For giving him the fortune of not only being your friend but something blissfully more than that. For deeming him deserving enough of your love and trust. 

He briefly wondered if any of it was under Thor's control, if he was the one Bucky needed to express his gratitude to - or any of his unknown family members for that matter. 

Regardless, he had you in front of him at the moment and he only wanted to focus on you. Thanking you in his heart instead, he placed a gentle kiss on your forehead - a promise of his love, his loyalty to you, and closed his eyes to join you in slumber. The feel of your skin flush against his reminded him that it was indeed his reality which granted him the joy of being with you.

For now, and hopefully forever.

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Chapter 7 

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[i-did-not-mean-to]

Never say never - Chapter 13

Here's a new chapter of my main story (I forgot to go on posting lol)

Fandom: RPF- Richard Armitage

Characters : OC x RA

Rating : Mature

Warnings : RPF (and factually incorrect and very soppy)

°13° ­~Victoria~

She had expected questions and intrusive crowding, but her friends and their friends, sat motionless around the table still. Victoria saw that they had unpacked every single book and movie she had bought and put them into piles, though she could not discern the logic governing the separate piles.

“Have a nice chat?” Liza asked after a moment of Victoria just standing in the door, wordless, chewing on her lower lip.

Victoria, in turn, gave an assenting grunt and handed Martin back his phone with a grateful smile.

“More information, please?” Angie demanded, crossing her legs, and putting her folded hands upon them like a school mistress ready to listen to the recitation of a particularly hopeless student. Victoria bristled.

She had to dig her heels into the floor to keep herself from turning around and fleeing the room. Adulthood somehow boiled down to the absence of the heavy, constraining hand at the back of her neck, and Victoria had a tendency to bolt every chance that she got. Afterwards, she always felt ashamed because she knew that she had not solved anything by just leaving a situation in which she felt uncomfortable, but she had not learned how to face her instincts and overcome them.

For her, it had always been a matter of being able to follow her reflexes or being forced to go against them.

It pained her to discover that her instincts were all wrong and, what was worse, not only did they neither soothe nor protect Victoria herself, no, they also usually ended up hurting someone else.

“We…we talked. I said he’s welcome to come here if he cares to. He said he’d help me set up any other furniture I might need.” She felt and sounded sheepish, Victoria knew, but she didn’t know how to make that very normal conversation sound like the outrageous exchange of dark confessions the others apparently expected.

“Oh, so I’ve been made redundant? And I had hoped you’d let me watch the movie with you.” Hiddleston winked at her.

Big breath, Victoria told herself, this was good, this was healthy, don’t run, stand your ground.

“You’re welcome here, little fairy-lord. You can come watch the movie with me.” She said in a tiny voice.

“Oh goodie good good, we have made piles of movies we want to watch along with you…on your fancy new TV…” Angie clapped her hands and, finally, Victoria understood the piles. “You naughty girl, you.” Liza laughed.

“Naughty?” Victoria blinked. She did not see why she would be naughty for watching movies. Had her father been right, and they corrupted the impeccable morals he had tried to instil in her? Were movies the devil’s dark corruption after all?

Martin had called it “porn”, she remembered, and a cold shiver ran down her spine.

“What are you talking about? Have I done something wrong?” Panic seeped into her voice now and she was starting to feel a little dizzy. She knew that Liza sometimes made crude jokes, but up to this point, she had never been the butt of these jokes.

“Liza!” Angie hissed, rushing to Victoria’s side to soothe her with shushing noises and tender caresses. “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.” She said, but Victoria could hear that she was lying, as noted before, Angie was a terrible liar.

“Yeah, low blow, I’m sorry. So, what else does Armitage say?” Liza lifted her hands apologetically and leaned back in her chair, knowing that Victoria would most probably shrink back from her if she was to approach right now.

“He wanted to go over some comments in the script with me. We might meet up if he finds the time. I gave him my number.” Victoria narrated in an emotionless voice; her mind still occupied by the accusation of being a naughty girl.

Angie threw a look at her wife that was so earth-shatteringly severe that Liza didn’t even dare make a face at that. Unfortunately, Jenna had not picked up on it and so, still snacking on the pizza crust, she asked: “Really? You gave him your number? Cute.”

Victoria stared at her for a solid 2 minutes; her mouth was bone-dry, and her tongue seemed to be glued to her teeth. She barely heard the warning hiss Angie gave her employee. Her head was spinning; she was entering territories of supposition and innuendo she was painfully unfamiliar with, and it scared her.

“Cute?” She gasped, feeling the tears of helpless perplexity burn behind her eyes, ready to spill over. Victoria had never given this number to any man, because the last time she had given a man her private telephone number, she had had another number, she had lived in another city, she had led a very different life.

“It’s not like that. It’s professional.” She tried to defend herself weakly. It was true, she had met that man twice in her life, and both times, it had been with Liza in the context of that ludicrous side-job she had accepted to keep busy.

On the other hand, she was a single woman and, as far as she knew, he was a single man. She was a recent divorcee; he had never been married. He had slept with a thousand and one nameless women in his life…and she had only ever had one sexual partner and had never expected having to think about another one.

“Fuck.” She cursed. There were no Saints that came to mind to call upon in this situation. She should have trusted her gut feeling and pull out of this whole story while she was ahead; she should have left this first evening right away and never return to that damn room. She should have kept her door closed tightly.

“It’s okay, I’m sorry…I’m sure that he knows that it’s strictly professional.” Jenna tried to calm her, but her eyes were wide and worried now.

“OH! Will he? I’ve invited the man into my home, haven’t I? Like Delilah to Samson, oh Lord…” Victoria groaned, all of her compounded trauma harrowing her to the brink of tears once again. What would he think of her? Did he believe that she wanted to throw herself at him like a common prostitute? Did he expect that? Would he be violent if she refused?

If he thought that her intentions had been indecent, surely, he would not try to contact her in any way or form, would he?

“Like…Vic, do you intend to seduce him and cut his magic…hair?” Liza mocked, but when she saw the expression Victoria’s face, she fell silent instantly. She waved Hiddleston and Martin aside, feeling that they should not draw attention to themselves.

“Vic,” she pleaded, “look at me, girl. It’s okay, you’re safe. It was a dumb joke, nothing more.”

Liza knew that she had gone too far too fast; Victoria was in her living room while it was dark outside, together with 4 people who were attracted to women and yet, she had only made the connection once Armitage had been mentioned.

Devout and faithful, Victoria had only ever known the man she had married, in the biblical sense, and it had been overzealous of her to believe that she might take another lover so easily. There were too many things to unravel before.

“What have I done?” Victoria sobbed and the dam broke; hot tears broke their way out of her system, and she cried pitifully for a few minutes straight, shaking so much that her teeth clattered as if she was standing naked in the snow.

“Victoria? Is there anything I can do for you? You can talk to me.” Hiddleston offered and his calm demeanour managed to pacify her enough to shake her head slowly. “I have acted abominably. I…just can’t do anything right.” She croaked.

“That is not true. You’ve been frightened and overwhelmed at first, but you’ve been a kind hostess tonight. We had fun this afternoon, didn’t we? What is it that upsets you so?” Hiddleston took her hands and brushed his thumbs lightly across them in slow, gentle circles.

“What does that poor man think of me now? He will believe I am completely insane!” Victoria lamented, tears still running down her cheeks in regular intervals. “No, he won’t. He’s not a monster. We all can see that you’ve been through some things, but we’re here to make it better. And, as you said, it’s strictly professional. I’m sure he knows that.”

Hiddleston exchanged a look with Martin. Richard knew, but that didn’t prevent him from maybe hoping that one day, it wouldn’t be so. As far as one could make any assumptions based on Victoria’s erratic behaviour, she seemed half scared to death that it might turn into something that wasn’t all that professional anymore as well.

“You’ve had a stressful day, why don’t we leave you alone? I’m surprisingly free the next few days, so if you want me to, I can swing by tomorrow and while I go have my picture taken, you can choose some more furniture. And then, we finish the movie? What about that?” He coaxed her into calming down until a puffy face and a pathetic hiccup were all that remained of her passionate outburst. “Yes, I’d like that. We can go have cakes in the afternoon?” Victoria replied.

It was easy to like Hiddleston, and that discovery surprised and amazed her. He was kind and unobtrusive; he had a good sense of humour, and, most importantly, she was in no way attracted to him.

Oh, he was glorious, there was no denying that, but he reminded her too much of that friend she had dreamt up as a child – when she had lain in bed, lonely as can be – to be in any way titillating to her. He made her wish that she wasn’t an only child; he made her long for siblings, for someone to go to for advice and solace.

Never would she look at him like Jenna did: with big, longing cow-eyes that were starry with wordless adulation.

Vic’s mind slammed on the brakes again. Jenna did stare at that man like he had literally just fallen from the sky and, when Vic had proposed to go to the tearooms, her breath had stumbled for a second there.

Jenna had a crush on Liza’s friend.

Victoria was utterly baffled. Were things that easy in the normal world? Did people just meet someone handsome and kind, and then allowed their heart to leap into their eyes? Victoria could not fathom being that brazen and reckless.

“He’s right. Let’s retreat. I’m sorry, Vic.” Liza shooed the others out of the room. “Good night, dear Victoria. Thanks for the pizza. I hope we can be friends now.” Martin spoke gently as if to a sick child or to a fretful mare.

“Sorry for being such a mess. Yes, sure we can be friends. Thank you so much for the poppets.” She picked them up gingerly as she followed the others out of the room and turned off the lights in the living room.

“Not the kind of plastic dick people usually keep next to their bed.” Liza mumbled under her breath, which made Victoria skewer her with a scandalised, speechless look. “Sorry, it was too good to miss out on. You know, because…”

Victoria lifted her eyebrows in an expression of annoyed impatience; the joke went completely over her head.

“Richard is abbreviated Dick. You know…” Liza wagged her head from side to side to make very clear that she was only making a very tasteless joke and not attacking Victoria in any way. “Funny.” Victoria commented, her face so stern and forbidding that she would have given Armitage and Macfadyen a run for their money.

“They will not be kept next to my bed…once I get the proper décor for them.” Victoria then snarled. “Décor?” Martin was interested by that comment, his hand on the doorhandle already but his face turned to Victoria, eager to hear how she would proceed.

“I guess I’ll have to go to the pet shop to get a proper set-up where they’d feel at ease.” Victoria shrugged.

“They’re inanimate dolls.” Liza cried out, horrified at the idea that her friend would procure a cave and a hobbit-hole for two toys. “They’re the only friends I have now.” Victoria shot back with a dark smile.

“Ah, come on. I love you, girl. You know that I love you, don’t you? I’d never want to do you harm.” Liza smiled warmly, hugging Victoria to her chest, and breathing in her warm, clean smell. “Go to bed.” She breathed and left.

And so, Victoria went upstairs with her poppets, laying them gently on the pillow next to hers before getting ready for bed. She brushed her hair and her teeth, applied creams and serums, and put her clothes in the laundry basket…only to return to an empty bedroom. For all anybody cared, she could have gone to bed dirty and dishevelled; nobody would ever have known.

Shaking her head, she dispelled those thoughts forcefully. She had made progress today, she had opened her home to other people, and she had taken two different, hasty, and informal meals with them. She was not sure that her friends were aware of the fact that she had never lived alone before in her life and that those experiences were completely new to her, but she felt the excitement of having had acquaintances over.

A couch, she would buy a proper couch for her little sanctuary so more people could come and enjoy movies with her.

She was on the right track, she could feel it, and so she fell asleep, her poppets next to her, with a blissful smile.

~Richard~

He was an idiot. He had nothing to do the next few days, but he had made it sound as if he was terribly busy.

She had assumed that, and he had been too proud to clear the misunderstanding up, which made it only fair that now, the ball was in his court, and he would have to contact Victoria to plan a…meeting.

He would not call it a “date”, because first of all, it wasn’t a date, and second, he didn’t want to play into the hands of Martin and Elizabeth who had been aiming for that kind of thing apparently.

She had sounded breathless but not as hostile as before tonight. She had given him her number and he couldn’t stop fidgeting with the paper; by now, he had saved her number in his phone and on his laptop, just in case that he reduced the poor note to dust by handling it so much.

What would he say though? Should he give her a call or just text? He had said he’d text her, but he wanted to be on the phone with her again; it seemed that they were doing alright on the phone even though she frequently checked out of the conversation to talk to other people.

By now, the others were certainly gone…No, he would not call her again when he had nothing new to tell her. He wondered if she would have reached out if she had his number; women were usually better at that than men.

Sexist, cool, he was going insane at a rapid pace. Pictures of her, kneeling on the floor and praying to her various saints to protect her from whatever it was that haunted her so, rose inside his mind; he wondered if she slept in long, flowing, weirdly anachronistic nightgowns or if she went to bed in an old ratty sweatshirt. Both had their own appeal.

God, it was late, and his mind was wandering in all the wrong directions. He would not think of her in bed, he had no reason or right to do so, she had not given him any cause or encouragement to take that path down a very slippery slope, but he could not forget the small moans he had caught now and again.

Of course, they might have been groans of exasperation and impatience, but even so, there was something within him, deep beneath the parts of his mind he had any control over, that had responded ferociously to the breathless sound.

Maybe, he should just get it over with and send her one of those texts that only informed her of his number…

#fanfiction #richard armitage #never say never #rpf #longfic #romcom #friends to lovers #ao3 fanfic

[noona-clock]

Him - Part 2

Genre: College!AU, Enemies to Lovers

Pairing: Jinyoung x You (Female!Reader)

Warnings: None

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 | Words: 1,726

Unfortunately, by the next morning, he -- Jinyoung -- was not 100% completely and utterly and positively forgotten.

You would say he was probably... 40% forgotten, but even that would be a very generous estimate. Much to your chagrin, you were still thinking about his annoying, arrogant smirk and his obnoxious, perfect face. It was seriously irritating.

Thankfully, it was Friday. And last night you’d sent a pretty satisfying email to Professor Stewart letting him know you had applied for the TA position on his colleague’s recommendation and that you would be an excellent choice for the job. So, as you slung your backpack over your shoulder and headed out to meet your best friend, Teddy, for your usual Friday morning coffee, you tried your best -- your absolute best -- to focus on that. And only that.

But... it didn’t quite work.

By the time you arrived at the coffee shop in the student center on campus, you were practically bursting to tell Teddy all about what had happened. Since you’d been determined to push it from your mind yesterday, you hadn’t even sent him one single message about it. But seeing him in person, you knew you had to get it off your chest, and Teddy was the perfect recipient for this sort of news.

First of all, he loved to gossip. Second of all, he typically gave pretty good advice and insight into a situation. Third of all... he was a drama major. If you ever felt like you might be blowing things out of proportion, Teddy was always there to assure you that you were not.

Since you had arrived at the coffee shop early and paid for both of your drinks last Friday, Teddy was already sitting at a table with your latte ready and waiting for you.

You wasted no time in taking off your backpack and sliding into the chair across from him. “Oh, do I have a story for you,” you told him in lieu of a greeting.

Teddy’s eyes immediately widened, and a eager grin tugged at his lips. “I’m ready.”

You took a quick sip of your latte before crossing your arms over the table and leaning in just a little bit. “Okay, so -- yesterday as I was leaving my class, my professor stopped me and gave me this application for a TA position.”

“Ooh, perfect,” Teddy gasped.

“I know! That’s exactly what I thought. Even though I’ve never taken a class with this professor, and he teaches medieval literature, I still thought it was perfect! Which is why I filled out the application and took it up to the professor’s office almost immediately.”

Teddy nodded quickly, letting you know he was ready for you to continue.

“When I got to his office, there was this guy.”

And with the words ‘this guy,’ Teddy’s eyes lit up. “A guy?! Oh my god, is this a meet-cute story?!”

“No,” you answered immediately, reaching out and placing a hand on Teddy’s arm. “No, it most certainly is not.”

Instead of looking disappointed, Teddy looked intrigued. “Oh, I see,” he murmured through a growing smirk. “Do continue.”

You proceeded to relate the conversation you’d had with Jinyoung, starting with the awkward stepping to the same side to let the other pass by and ending with you practically slamming Professor Stewart’s mail slot shut and marching away from him. You did your best not to leave out any detail, but you also genuinely tried not to exaggerate Jinyoung’s arrogance. You couldn’t remember every single word he said, but you remembered enough.

Unsurprisingly, Teddy’s mouth was agape. He blinked at you a few times, apparently speechless.

But you knew Teddy better than that.

“Oh, my god,” he breathed, letting out a chuckle of disbelief. “Are you -- he really said all that?!”

You nodded as you took another sip of your latte.

“Wow, I cannot believe --”

But you had to cut him off because after you’d set your latte back down on the table, your gaze had wandered over toward the counter...

And who did you see but the man himself.

“Oh, my god, Teddy,” you hissed, your eyes widening as you reached out and grabbed your best friend’s wrist. “It’s him.”

Teddy nearly choked on his cappuccino before whipping around to follow your gaze.

“Which one?” he whispered.

“The one with the dark hair and glasses,” you whispered back.

Teddy didn’t say anything back, but he did slowly turn his head back around to face you.

And you did not like the look on his face.

“What?” you asked warily.

“That’s Jinyoung.”

“I know -- wait, I don’t remember telling you his name.” Your forehead wrinkled immediately in extreme confusion.

“You didn’t,” Teddy confirmed. “I know him. We went to high school together.”

Your jaw dropped, and you sputtered out a “What?!”

Teddy nodded, his lips pursed in the sassiest, haughtiest way possible. “Yep.”

Your best friend looked far too pleased about this, and you honestly had no idea why.

“Are you, like, friends?!”

“Oh, no. I wouldn’t go that far. We know each other, for sure. But he was one of the popular smart kids. Not, like, a popular kid who’s smart, though. Out of the whole smart kid group, he was the most well-known. And, obviously, I was a theater kid. Our groups didn’t really overlap or mingle, but it was a super small school. Everyone still knew each other.”

Of course he had been in the smart clique in high school. How annoying.

...Let’s not dwell on the fact you had also been in the smart clique in high school. That’s entirely beside the point!

“What was he like?” you asked instead. “Was he super arrogant and irritating back then, too?”

Teddy raised his eyebrows, and you could tell by the look on his face that you weren’t going to like his answer.

“Actually... no,” he shrugged. “He was pretty nice.”

Your jaw dropped yet again.

What?!

“Okay, don’t get me wrong. It’s not like he was the President of the Humble Club or anything. But personally, I never would have described him as cocky. He was super smart, and he knew it, sure. But he was also really funny. Like smart funny. Witty. Clever. ...Actually, if he’s anything like he was back then... he’s kind of right up your alley,” Teddy said with a somewhat guilty (but also very gleeful) expression.

“Excuse me?!” you chuckled in disbelief. “I don’t want any part of him up my alley!”

Teddy rolled his eyes and let out a tsk. “Oh, come on. You know what I mean! He’s your type!”

“Since when is arrogant my type?!” you scoffed, extremely affronted -- and also very confused.

“Not arrogant!” Teddy sighed, and you knew he was starting to get annoyed with you. “Witty. Smart. Clever. Extremely good-looking. Maybe he was just having a bad day yesterday! He’s really not that arrogant once you get to know him.”

You pursed your lips and lifted your latte up to your mouth. “Well, I have no intention of getting to know him,” you stated, trying to sound as flippant as you could.

“Oh, well, excuse me little miss close-minded!” Teddy chuckled.

Obviously, you were just about to argue that you were not close-minded -- you just had your pride! But before you had the chance, a shadow crossed over your table as somebody walked by.

...Of course.

That ‘somebody’ was Jinyoung.

And you knew Teddy. He wouldn’t let --

“Jinyoung!” your best friend called out, lifting a hand to get his former classmate’s attention.

See? You knew Teddy.

Jinyoung paused, his gaze quickly shifting to see who had called his name. And when his eyes landed on Teddy, a soft smile actually tugged at his lips.

Damn it! Why did he have to be so attractive?!

“Teddy,” Jinyoung greeted in a surprisingly friendly, polite tone. “Hey. It’s been a while.”

He turned his head slightly, obviously noticing Teddy wasn’t alone. But when he saw exactly who was sitting with Teddy... his smile fell.

“It has!” Teddy replied before hastily adding, “This is my friend, Y/N.”

You locked eyes with Jinyoung, and he replied to Teddy with the most monotonous, unemotional voice. “We’ve met.”

You pressed your lips together to stop from sneering at him, and so much anger was roaring in your ears that you didn’t even hear Jinyoung and Teddy saying their good-byes.

Once Jinyoung had left, you shot Teddy a ‘See?!’ look, your eyes wide and the corners of your lips caustically turned down.

“What?” Teddy chuckled.

How could he be so casual about this?! Jinyoung was clearly evil.

“You heard him! His tone when he said ‘we’ve met,’” you grumbled, doing your best to imitate Jinyoung’s emotionless voice. “He was so cold and mean and arrogant.”

Teddy immediately quirked an eyebrow at you. “Uh... are you sure about that? Because that’s not at all what I heard when he said that.”

You simply looked at Teddy as if he’d temporarily lost his mind.

“I mean, he did say ‘we’ve met,’ but I didn’t hear cold or mean or arrogant. I heard nervous!”

At his words, you bit your lip, raised your eyebrows, and began to avoid his gaze. “I, uh... I think the health center is open, Teddy. You should... probably go get your hearing checked.”

Teddy just rolled his eyes, and you let out a soft, breathless chuckle.

“Seriously, though,” you continued. “I don’t know how you got nervous from that. He was clearly not nervous. He clearly does not like me. And you know what? That’s a-okay with me! I’m not a fan of his either!”

“Well, I think you should give a chance,” Teddy stated with a definitive nod.

“And I think my coffee is getting cold, and if I don’t leave now, I’ll be late for class,” you retorted, standing up and grabbing your backpack and coffee cup.

“All right, whatever,” Teddy sighed. “But you know that when you change your tune, I’m going to rub it in your face. ...Like, a lot.”

It took everything in you not to burst out laughing at his supposition.

When you changed your tune.

Sure. Okay, Teddy.

“That’s not going to happen,” you assured him as you slid your arms through the straps of your backpack. “I can promise you that.”

Part 3

#kwritersworldnet #jinyoung scenarios #jinyoung imagines #jinyoung au #jinyoung fluff #jinyoung fanfic #got7 scenarios #got7 imagines #got7 au #got7 fluff #got7 fanfic #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #kpop au #kpop fluff #kpop fanfic #jinyoung #park jinyoung #got7 #kpop

[guigz1-coldwar]

'Help from some friends': New chapter for "Redemption in a Spirit in a Cold War" is out !

"Help from some friends"

"Park, you know it well that in any circumstances, I've got your back...for always!"

Chapter Summary: After their improvised mission on putting a tracker on Lukas Ritter, Yirina & Park are planning their moves against the Collective, hoping to bring them down in London and for sure, they can't do it alone...

Link of the Picrew here!

To read it on AO3, click here!

Words : +2500

Taglist : @snowgoldwaylon , @clxudtea , @efingart

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It was strange for me nonetheless to have played the dumb MI6 agent to Lukas Ritter, an impression that was most surprising...acting like that...yeah, very strange to say & do actually. He didn't know that we know and my acting surely made him believe that the MI6 still believes that he escaped Perseus grasp in the Soviet Union after fainting to flee from our control and came to England for help and as I thought when I gave him the 'MI6 thoughts', he did buy that I was naive enough to believe his story and all along with it, there was something unusual coming from him but I couldn't know what exactly...

Thankfully, the tracker was still emitting and functioning well as we drove away from the pub to join back Century House, me keeping an eye on the tracking device on the way while Park was driving, the green dot still blinking when the car entered the underground parking as a little screen with the map of London was giving us the exact position of the tracker and by looking at it, Lukas was approximately far away from the pub, the dot moving fastly on the screen.

"So, it's working better?" Park asked as she parked the car in the same parking space as before, stopping the car's engine.

"Still moving as I see" I replied, my eyes staying to look at this screen, watching the dot on the map, moving east and not stopping at any second. "Seems that Lukas is going right into his lair," I presumed.

"With yourself showing your presence, I'm sure that he's going to tell what you said to him," Park suggested, getting the keys of the contact before getting comfy in the seat. "Do you think he'll come over here?" She asked as I talked about it on the way back to her.

"Nope," I muttered, keeping my hands alongside the device on my lap. "Why he would do that? He has maybe bought my story of the MI6 believing his false story but he will not come," I added

"Hmm...you're right," She agreed on this despite her face that was hesitant. "I think he knew well that he could be trapped if he comes here," She continued, taking a look at the device to see where's the dot was, now moving up north after walking 2 streets. Her head was almost a few centimeters from my shoulder, possible for her to lean her head on it. "Sorry, can I just..." She started to ask before she decides to put the side of her head on my right shoulder, not finishing her question.

"Wow, that's..." I tried to say, looking surprised at first before I let her be like that, despite that it was just to look at the device...simple but...lovely to see her doing that. "He's sort of entering a building now," I exclaimed, pointing out at the screen where the dot going off the street but it was more strange when it started to continue to walk inside the building to join the street on the other side of the building before going out again, crossing the street like that in the middle of it...then walking on the road...

"That's weird," Park commented, removing her head softly from my shoulder. "You can't walk in the middle of the road without having someone to stop you," She said.

"Yeah but..." I began before I start to think of why Lukas could be in the middle of the street, and then, there was only one way. "What if he's underground?" I suggested, turning my head around at Park who was curious.

"The Tube?" She whispered, turning her head around to look outside, seeing some people getting inside the elevator. "Perseus could be using a part of it as a hideout..." She thought, putting her left hand under her chin to better think. "That can explain why Lukas is walking on the road," She continued, her right hand moving on the door handle on her side.

"I think that we should talk about this to Zasha & Portnova," I proposed, adding to the fact that we had to tell them about the bugging situation in here.

"Of course," Park agreed, opening her door to step out. "Wait for me here, I'll bring them in for a better talk," She demanded and I nodded at her, knowing it was better for me to stay here to keep an eye on that device.

She then walked away from the car, leaving me alone in it on the front passenger seat, having that device on my lap, and now, my thoughts were all mixed between a lot of things: my apologies I did to Park earlier, my dreams, my talk with Lukas...all of this mixed up and I don't know if I was in fact happy about them...it was so hard for tell & give myself an opinion on it, happy or sad?

I tried to stay focus on the device, the little dot on the screen having stopped itself in the middle of the same road that was looking to be in the north-east of the pub but not this far from it, wondering to myself if that place was somewhere Lukas was always going since he arrived in here with his friend Beck...and now, the not-so-dead Harry Stone, adding to them, the brother of Liliya Petrov, Bellamy, has been quiet in his actions since he tried to kill Portnova days ago. All of them were here for something that was going to happen on the 16th of July...but what?

That question was in my head when I saw Park, Zasha & Portnova five minutes after Park left, coming out of the elevator, me deciding to go out of the car with the tracking device as the heat wasn't helping me, the global temperature in the city too, bad choice from me to have put on me one of Park's grey sweater.

"Should have taken something else," I whispered to myself, going next to the car's hood after I put the tracking device on it, my hands on the collar of the sweater, stretching it a bit away from my neck.

"Talking lonely, Yirina?" Zasha's voice surprised me, seeing the trio arriving in front of me, them at Park's left side and Portnova at the other side as Park was in the middle, holding something in her hands.

"Oh, nothing important," I said, gesturing at them that there was nothing to worry about...except that heat in the parking. "So, did you tell them?" I started, looking at Park.

"Yes, she did," Portnova replied first, crossing her arms as she didn't let Park move her lips in a second to speak before her. "Kind of a dick move coming from the CIA to rig this place with bugs," She exclaimed, taking a look around the parking, maybe thinking that it wasn't safe here too.

"My office, yours, that's why they were aware of our situation with Stone," Zasha added, getting too on the same line of thinking, the four of us thinking the same thing now. "I couldn't believe it first but now, it's real," They muttered.

"That's why we need to talk here," Park spoke up, her eyes moving on the device near me on the hood. "What's the location of Lukas now?" She asked me.

"Still at the same place he was before you left," I responded, seeing that dot on the same spot as before, not having moved a simple inch from where it is now before Park showed to me the thing she was holding in her hands, looking like a map.

"So, let's see where it is in London," She exclaimed before she unroll the map on the hood, showing to us the entire map of London and its surrounding, getting myself near Park along with Zasha & Portnova to have a better look at it. "The pub is here and Lukas went north-east," Park pointed out to the exact location of the pub with her left hand, using the map on the screen of the tracking device to spot herself on it.

"He didn't go this far since we drove away from it," I told, my eyes drifting between the paper map & the map on the screen, Park's left index finger getting close to where the dot was on the latter.

"There," Portnova said, stopping Park in her movement as she was just having her finger right on the spot.

"Brannan Street, right next to a construction site," Park recited the name of where her finger was positioned and it was exact, the place her finger was and the dot on the map of the device were exact.

"And just nearby, there is a metro station: Canary Wharf," Zasha mentioned, moving their hand to point out the two places they say.

"Of course but something isn't adding up," Park whispered, her finger moving along a light grey line that was linking the two metro stations, the Underground line. "The dot says that Lukas should be a bit southern than where the line is," She explained, stopping her finger at where the dot is, moving in fact away from the light grey line of the Tube.

"What it could possibly be? An underground tunnel in construction?" Portnova presumed, walking to the right side of the car to have another view on the paper map.

"Could be it," Park said, unsure to say if it was maybe real or it was just a supposition from Portnova. "If I remember right, there were supposed to have another line linking Canary Wharf to the Westferry DLR station but the line was never finished," She gave up her theory but her voice was sounding rather pretty sure of herself.

"That...it's surely something that Perseus can use at its advantage," Zasha remarked, getting opposed to Portnova by moving on the other side of the car hood like her. "An underground metro line that doesn't appear on any map, unknow to the MI6, they can act from it without been caught,"

"Until now," I declared, putting my hands on the end of the car's hood, palms against it. "Now, we know where they're hiding but how long they will stay here?" I demanded, starting to think that our improvised mission from earlier could have changed some things around. "Since Lukas has been found by the MI6, they will surely try to move away but...no, we can't let them flee or react to that," I asserted.

"You're right," Park muttered, taking a look at me with a little grin on her face. "Maybe we know where's Perseus in London but they're not stupid, they will have suspicions now that Lukas got to meet with you," She continued, turning her head around back on the map. "They will react quickly to that, even moving away tonight if they can,"

"And that's where we come in," Portnova stated, crossing her arms again. "We knock at their door and we storm them,"

"Uhm...just like that?" Zasha narrowed their eyes at her, looking a bit curious about hearing Portnova saying that. "You want the four of us taking on a Perseus hideout where we don't know how much they are?" They asked.

"I mean, we could," Portnova defended, her eyes moving to look at Park, her eyes still on the map. "Can we?" Park got her eyes up to see Portnova curious.

"I don't know, it will take time to mount an operation with the MI6 and only the four of us, it's impossible," Park shook her head about that idea, even me knowing that it was suicide to do that. "We have to jump on them fast but how?" She demanded, tapping her fingers over the map to think as everyone even me was thinking of something...or someone that could help us...

"What about the SAS?" My voice went up, thinking about them in my head before my lips moved to ask that directly, Park's head moving around to look at me. "What about Price?" I added.

"Price?" She repeated in a lower voice than I did and I nod to her, thinking about him well. "You want the SAS on it?"

"Yes, we should have them with us against Perseus," I replied to her, sure of myself of it. "They helped us well during our first track against Stone during that mission in Cuba, we should have them with us," I reminded her of it, remembering that the SAS will do anything to help Park & me to avenge her brother.

"Are you sure about it?" She asked me.

"Park, you know well that the SAS will do anything to help you," I asserted, Zasha & Portnova staying silent and rather to listen to us without saying anything or not moving. "Price said it to me 2 months ago: he's behind us and he's willing to help in anything," I continued, taking a step towards her.

"I don't know," She simply said, turning her head around to avoid me, coming at her closely. "And even, I'm not sure..."

"Park, we need Price and his men with us," I insisted to her, cutting her softly in her words to make her change her mind on the SAS. "They're surely aware that Stone isn't dead...and I'm pretty sure that they want to bury that fucker again if they had to," I stated, putting my right hand on her shoulder.

"She's right, Park," Zasha expressed their feelings towards her on the situation. "The SAS are good men, having fought along with them in Cuba showed it to me," They noted, remembering that day where they were here despite been advised to stay with Portnova.

"Yes, she is," Portnova joined in, agreeing with me & Zasha to bring in the SAS. "As she said, this...Price should come here to help us," She added, her face that could have asked in fact who was Price just by looking at it.

"Everyone's telling you that, Park," I affirmed, keeping my hand on her shoulder. "If we want to put an end to Perseus's presence in London for tonight, call Price," I suggested in a good voice before she looks back at me, a little smile on it.

"I'm going to call him, it's the only way," She admitted finally, making me & the others smile at this news from her. "We need the help from some friends...and the SAS is my friends," She confirmed before she moved her hands on the map to roll it again. "I'm going to make a call in our office, I know that the CIA will be listening but I can only contact Hereford from here," She revealed.

"If we had to take some risks, we can't act too much suspicious to them," I understood her choice even if she was explaining that the only way to contact the SAS was by our phones in our offices, the public one not fully securitized...like the ones now in our offices..."But we have to stay cautious now, we don't talk about it until Price & his men are in here," I proposed, everyone, nodding at me.

"Yes, from now on, if we're discussing in our offices, we don't mention anything about where Perseus is," Park added in, followed by Zasha & Portnova nodding as she was putting the map inside her jacket. "We should go now back to our posts, I believe," She told us, making Zasha & Portnova starting to walk away from the car together, not without nodding again before Park turned around to look at the device and then, me...

"Don't forget the device, Yiri, in case Lukas is going for a walk,"

#cod bocw #cod cold war #cod black ops cold war #cod cw #call of duty cold war #cod #call of duty #cod bell #black ops cold war #fem!bell #yirina grigoriev #helen park #bell x park

[randbwrite]

La Comtesse Chronicles Chapter 1 Part 2

Words: 1907

TW: Blood, graphic violence, death

CW: War, attempted assassination, vampires

B: Near silent footsteps didn’t announce Derrick’s presence so much as the scampering of a happy stoat pattering across the stone ahead of him did. The man was massive, how on earth he could move so quietly was a mystery Rapscallion wanted to solve one day. Whenever he got around to it. 

“They’re waiting for you upstairs.” With his bland tone of voice, Derrick could’ve been discussing the weather.

For all that Rap could be seen to care, they might as well have been. “I know.”

“It’s inadvisable to make them wait.”

“So?” Indifferent shrug.

“There’s a difference between cute and stupid. You crossed a line earlier, and you’re going to drag your feet now?”

“Yep.”

“They want me to drag you if necessary.” Both of them knew how that would end. 

“Aww, I knew you cared!” 

“Never tried to hide it, unlike some people.” 

“Oh stop it, you’ll make me blush.” Rap’s devil may care smirk nearly brought one to Derrick’s expression, but he had to be serious!

“Palavering isn’t going to change the situation...”

“Yeah, but!! If they’re annoyed enough, they’ll give the orders without the imperious preamble and pomp. Here’s your orders and off you go! Works like a charm.”

“Right.” Massive arms were crossed over an equally broad chest, the quirk in his eyebrows reminding Rap his friend really will carry him off if need be. 

A huff lifted a pesky lock off his forehead momentarily, exposing the brilliant emerald orbs beneath. “I’m going, I’m going! I’ll catch ya later. Or not.”

Derrick shook his head, one scarred hand messing up the extraordinarily unkempt rusty mop Rap called hair. He knew what was meant. They couldn’t promise anything, nor really ask, but the unspoken request every time was to take care. Try and survive, eh? Wouldn’t be quite so exciting without the other around. They should probably wonder about how much nonverbal communication went on between them, but such was life. Full of the oddities that made it...so alive.

.....

The board of impassive faces that met Rap would be unreadable to most. Decades of training had refined their poker faces, but everyone has their tells. Tiny twitches, the way certain coifs had been fixed endlessly before he arrived, notebooks, bracelets, rings all adjusted to the nth degree...they should really watch their perfection of accoutrements more carefully. It all but telegraphed their mood. Course they’d never asked him. 

Uhhh...okay, wait. They all had that same creepy dead look in their eyes except one. Dude off to the left, madness gleaming usually signaling blood lust. Did he do anything to tick that one off recently? ...No, not that he could remember...few times over the years, sure. The last prank hadn’t been his, but he took the blame for it. The crazy stunt had gotten a larger contingent of the assassins caught up in it and made them all want to kill him for a few weeks. That wasn’t too much of a deviation from the norm however. With a bit of time they’d all drop it, move on to the next frustration or take it out on their targets. They’re not allowed to kill one of their own anyway. 

Missions were usually handed out by one person. Not a tribunal. Must be another meeting taking place, killing two birds with one stone. This wasn’t set up as a retribution either or he’d sense more of his fellow assassins in the shadows. That’s a delayed relief and he knew it, but hey! He’ll take what he can get.

“So! Whatcha got for me? Who’s incurred the wrath of the great and powerful Assassin’s League? Besides me of course.” 

A minuscule draw to the head assassins’ brows was his reward, but the gleam in the other’s traveled from his eyes to a wide, manic smile. It was also he from whom the instructions came, a mission that per the norm wouldn’t allow for denial in accepting.

“Your target is la Comtesse Arcanum. She will be taking part in a battle between the French army and the German forces. Shoo now. Off with you.”

A noble. Right! That should be easy enough. So why was that gleam now being shared among most of his peers? He almost preferred when they all were content to be blasé about everything to...this. Esh.

Rap was on his way quick enough. It only involved avoiding the booby trap someone had set for him in the hallway to his storeroom. Place didn’t so much count as a bedroom as he rarely bothered to sleep there: gathering up an array of...necessary supplies and hopping a horse he’d leave in the nearest town to the battlefield; he was good to go.

Mission was simple, least to his mind. These commanders tended to do their leading from behind, strategizing based off of reports and keeping themselves safe in a tent far removed from those who gave and lost their lives for whatever ideal or land being quibbled over. Surrounded by soldiers, they thought themselves to be safe. Protected. Untouchable. Heh. People assume in order to be an assassin you have to melt into the shadows. Not true. Humans jump at shadows! They distrust their own even. Disappear into the mundane though...no one will look twice. 

Think about it. Your water boy scurrying to keep the retreat horses fresh? What about the cook’s kid running rations, a medic’s assistant supplying fresh bandages, even an officer with the bearing and urgency demanding he not be stopped for anything or anyone, ducking into the command tent. It was always some variation and pretending to be in a hurry was the only steady requirement. When he got to this battlefield however, he couldn’t stop the swear word from being muttered.

“What the—? Lemon juice.”

No bustle to a central command tent. No commander in that one large, ostentatious tent either. A map, little flags which could surely help anyone intending to spy on their contingency plans, but no female commander. He was going to have to go into the fight himself, and he was beginning to see why they’d thought this would be such great fun. Fun for them.

A survey of the map showed him the general lay of the land, an idea of the commander’s intentions, how she had spread her troops, and where he might lure her to take her out. It wouldn’t be easy as she had plenty of people who were going to be trying to kill her. An entire army as a matter of fact. But if they sent him out there, the army wasn’t going to be enough to take her out.

Something about how the pattern was laid out was bugging him: only when he discerned she wasn’t the singular high ranking officer on the field did he understand. Sort of. Who fought with their own vanguard rather than dividing forces? There must be a purpose for it... He was going to need a vantage of the battle before he went out to join it.

Donning a uniform of the French army, he fished out a spyglass and took a cursory view of the battlefield, suppositions holding true. A maelstrom of blood and chaos was the field, soldiers and grass on fire, blades flashing, one of the soldiers fighting seeming to be made of fire and still plowing on. It was a mess. Rap shrugged and put away his tool. He’d picked out a spot to lead la Comtesse and his target to distract her with, which just so happened to be the second most dangerous force on the field to contend with. Who was on fire. According to the excited rumors in camp, that was the man he was looking for all the same. His own eyes confirmed it from the way the two moved in concert as well, even if logically what he was seeing was defying rationale.

By the time his traps were laid, set for both his target and those who may get between them, the battle had become more of a slaughter than an even fight. It was a matter of time before the opposing commander sounded the retreat; with the lack of officers on the field of battle it seemed surrender wasn’t to be the intention.

Anyone approaching the man on fire had been incinerated, disturbing visions of boiled metal and bent airwaves lending credence to the notion that whatever was actually happening over there and however the frak it worked, it wouldn’t be a bright idea to get anywhere close. Instead, Rap took advantage of the pile of discarded corpses surrounding the indefatigable duo and...played dead. The winds were probably changing soon, based on the way the clouds were moving. He was gambling on the hope this fire man wouldn’t want to risk accidentally burning his commander or allies, never mind the fact Rap had NO IDEA how in the name of insane bonfires anyone could survive being in the middle of those high temperatures, let alone send them off. 

It worked. It worked!! Fire man moved with the wind, using it to carry his incendiary discharges towards his enemies rather than risk his own. A useful breeze, the coat that surely served to project further fear in his enemies and protect the backs of his legs lifted. Just enough. A series of tainted projectiles fired in quick succession, more than half hitting the small target that was the back of fire man’s knee. Good thing Rap had gone with his metal options rather than the more innocuous wooden ones. Easier to hide the evidence afterward, but they wouldn’t have survived the heat. Then again, usually his targets weren’t walking infernos. A notion for further consideration later. Much later. 

It didn’t take long, though fire man must’ve had an elephant’s metabolism to not have dropped immediately, but in under a minute he was finally down on one knee. It would continue to work through his system; the flames guttering along with his strength. The delay gave Rap enough time to move into position though. He would lure the commander to his choice in battlegrounds. Not far from where they were, but just enough that his traps would remain untouched by the unwitting and unintentioned. He held his blow gun aloft, a short sword in his other hand. France’s coat of arms emblazoned on his chest and a very unsoldierly smirk on his lips completed the visage. 

Make her feel rage. Take away her calm. Peel back the strategy and finesse that made her a terror in her element. Force her to step into his world, one without rules of combat, and that would be the only chance he had to take her out. Then again...something made it seem like all his efforts wouldn’t matter. As if she would step just as easily from her realm into his and beat him at his own game. He would not, should not consider defeat. That would mean accepting death, and this had only just begun!

The cocksure rise of lips and brow would not betray fear’s frigid grip trailing sweat down his spine nor the faint tremor of nerves knowing this time, among all the others, the League had no intention that he should come back alive. They might just be right. But he’d never willingly give them the satisfaction.

Standing stock still in the open went against every single instinct in him, nearly all the training he’d received and the adrenaline screaming he move! Fight or flee, pick one!! But for this to work, she had to come to him. A few steps were all it would take and the first of his traps would be sprung...

#tw: blood #tw: violence #tw:death #cw: war #cw: attempted assassination #cw: vampires #oc #dark fantasy #fanfiction #au #ikemen vampire #whump #rapscallion #comtesse #assassin #battle field #derrick #whumpfic

[3pirouette]

AO3 Tag Game

Thanks for the tag @captainjimothycarter

This was a wild fucking ride, and I invite ANY and all of you to hop in my ask to discuss any and or all of this. because I’ve been writing fic since the 90′s... 

1. How many works do you have on ao3? 223

2. What’s your current AO3 wordcount? 1,016,444 (Holy shit I had NO IDEA)

3. How many fandoms have you written for and what are they? 10 Main fandoms (Captain America/MCU/Agent Carter, Once Upon a Time, CSI, Big Bang Theory, X-Men, Doctor Who, X-Files, House, Nolan-verse Batman, Stargate Sg1/Universe) with crossovers that included 9 other fandoms (Operation Endgame, Ravenous, Indiana Jones, Monster’s Inc, 10th Kingdom, The Santa Clause, Outlander, Rocky Horror Picture Show, and Return to Oz)

I also have some questionable Lois and Clark the new adventures of Superman and MacGyver fic I’ve never published. 

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos? 

The Silly Stocking Supposition (995)

The Attractive Enchantress Extension (656)

The Unexpected Evening Encounter (518)

The Descending Spiral Derivation (430)

Nobody’s Baby (406)

I don’t know why it surprises me that the top four are BBT Sheldon/Penny. The Shenny community I was a part of was AMAZING and to this day I don’t think a SINGLE day goes by where I don’t get notifications about kudos on my S/P fics. 

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not. I didn’t in the beginning- I came from ff.net where that wasn’t something you really did unless you DM’d the person, and I felt like it was “inflating” the number of comments. BUT i have since learned how important it is to thank people for their comments, and how much fun it can be to talk to people there, so now I reply to EVERY comment, even if it takes me a while to get there. Because I appreciate you. I really, really do. 

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending? I mean... In most of my other fandoms I was the QUEEN of angst. Especially X-Men. Like- there’s a story where Rogue commits suicide. And the one where Logan watches his children grow old and die because he can’t die. I’ve done a few for Steggy- Steve talking to Peggy’s AI, Steve replacing Peggy’s picture in his compass, Old Steve living through the snap again... My House fics are are pretty angsty... and some of my S/P ones, too. Like- there’s a lot of angst. Probably more than happy endings. 

7. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve ever written? Ha. ha ha. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. 

I mean, let’s start with the ones that make sense, shall we? Cap/Indiana jones. Totally makes sense. As does Doctor Who/Avengers, because Doctor Who can be anywhere, right?? And Outlander/Captain America sort of makes sense because of the time period and them both being in the same war. 

There’s my still unpublished (shh, i know, I know) Stargate SG-1/MCU crossover... As soon as I manage a plot that’s getting posted because I LOVE IT. 

Once you get to the Rocky Horror/Captain America TFA, that’s when things start to take a turn. 

And then there’s the “Anyelle” from the OUAT fandom.... where we shipped all of Bobby’s character’s with all of Emilie’s characters and THAT IS HOW YOU GET CANNIBAL PORN CHILDREN. 

But... but Once Upon a Time really did me in. I crossed that shit over with The Santa Clause, Monster’s Inc, The 10th Kingdom, Stargate Universe, and Return to Oz. 

Seriously? If it makes even the TINIEST bit of sense, I will fucking write it. 

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic? Yeah, but nothing horrific. Just your run of the mill stupidity. 

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? YES. Most of the time it’s pretty straightforward M/F. Sometimes it’s Cannibal. Sometimes it gets a little kinky. 

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen? YES. And it sucks. don’t do this. 

11. Have you ever co-written a fic before? YES. Twice. I did an X-Files series with a friend who I’ve lost track of about Mulder and Scully getting drunk off their asses and hooking up, and then I did a forever-unfinished self-insert fic in the CSI universe. Neither of these are on my AO3 because I don’t have/never got permission to post. 

12. What’s your all time favorite ship? ALL OF THEM. God... I don’t pick ships because they’re cute- I pick them because the CALL to me on a basic level. Mulder and Scully were my first love, Steggy is my latest, but these pairs- UGH. They all kill me and I will happily die with them over and over again. 

13. What was the first fandom you wrote for? The first fandom I wrote anything on paper for was actually X-Files. I started writing stories before I knew fic was a thing on the internet. But I’d been writing episodes of Quantum Leap in my head long before I ever wrote that first (awful and will never see the light of day) X-Files fic. 

14. What’s your favorite fic you’ve written? How can I answer that? Like, LITERALLY HOW CAN I ANSWER THAT? I love them all, and I am so proud of so many of them for so many different reasons!! Don’t ask me to choose amongst my babies. I can’t. 

Ugh, this was crazy and so much fun. 

WHAT ELSE DO YOU WANT TO KNOW ABOUT MY FIC I WILL TELL YOU ALL THE THINGS!

#3P writes stuff #holy shit I love this #I really had NO IDEA ABOUT MY WORD COUNT

[limited-practice]

I saw a request from @shapeofmetal that @rawmeknockout filled fantastically well here and thought yes this is good, this is all great, I’d love to have a go at writing this myself some time. So I did. 

7424 words of explicit Shockwave/Reader are below the cut.

The human mouth is disgusting, and I am going to prove it.”

Shockwave states this coldly and firmly the second you step into his lab. But his optic is bright and wide and he’s already hovering next to you, holding out a tool box as if it’s a long lost treasure he’s graciously decided to share with you and only you, and as such you should turn speechless with awe and gratitude and silently beg to be allowed to help him prove how terrible you are.

You are supremely unimpressed. You haven’t even had the chance to take your coat off yet, and here you are being told by one of the greatest scientists you know that an essential part of you is disgusting.

“The human mouth is a medical marvel,” you argue back, dumping your coat onto the pristine floor of his lab. You lean casually and definitely against a lab bench and look at him in the way he deserves for such invalid arrogance.

“You are incorrect,” Shockwave says.

“I know you are, but what am I?” You shoot back.

“…incorrect.”

“I know you are, but what am I?”

“Incorrect.”

“I know you are, but what am I ?”

“…?”

You cross your arms in satisfaction. “Exactly.”

“Enough.” Shockwave steps closer, the tool box rattling excitedly in his hand. “Sit down. Stop talking. Open your mouth.” 

“Why? What are you going to put in it?” you say, ignoring all three orders.

“An incontrovertible means to prove my supposition that will allow even the most intellectually challenged being to understand.”

Shockwave opens the box.

You stretch up onto your toes and peer inside it. You nod your head repeatedly at what you see and what he’s just said. “Uh-huh, uh-huh. Now I’m no scientist, but there’s a few things in there that don’t look very scientific. Like that long yellow thing and that sharp purple thing with hinges.”

“You are correct.”

“I know.”

“You are not a scientist. You are an inferior life form existing with a poverty of comprehension, life expectancy and universally accepted currency.”

“Hey.” You may have agreed to be a volunteer for Shockwave’s experiments after he approached you earlier with a monetary offer you couldn’t refuse, and because he ignored you when you asked  him why he hadn’t publicly advertised for volunteers and is only asking you, but you’re not going to sit back and take that. “You don’t have to be a dick about this. You don’t know me.” Two of his three statements are correct, but you’ll be floating outside in space without a suit on before you agree with him.

Shockwave looms over you, bright and purple and powerful. You’re not nervous. You’ve never been nervous around him when so many rightfully are and you don’t know why.

“I will tell you something I do know,” Shockwave says. “Something that your human ‘scientists’ and ‘doctors’ have also documented and agreed on.” 

He puts the tool box down on the bench and takes out a long cotton swab from it. “The mouth is one of the filthiest parts of your body.”

You feel your lips tugging up into a smile. “But not the filthiest, am I right?”

Shockwave glances down to between your legs.

“Pervert,” you say, delighted. “I’m talking about my brain.” For added emphasis you tap a finger to your temple. 

“Enough.” Shockwave puts his other arm on your shoulder and pushes you down onto a medical stool. He does so carefully, as if wanting to give you the chance to say no to this.

You sit down on the stool. You don’t want to say no to any of this. 

You stretch your legs out and cross them at the ankle. “Are you trying to find out how many diseases I’ve got in my mouth? Will you be upset if there are too many or too few? Do you want me to stop talking? Or is that what you like most about my mouth? The different shapes it can make; the way my tongue moves; how wet everything is? Would you be upset if I keep it closed and denied you everything you so clearly want?”

And before Shockwave can respond, you preempt him and open your mouth.

“Are you going to slip into a radioactive suit first?” you ask. “Are you worried about your safety? It’s OK, there’s nothing to be concerned about - I’ll go easy on you. And I promise not to bite.”

Shockwave doesn’t answer. But he looks like he wants to. He very much looks like he wants to say something that he shouldn’t.

He inserts the cotton swab into your mouth and runs it along the wall of your cheek, coating the tip in saliva. He then pauses, as if reluctant to remove it so soon. He swipes the inside of your mouth again, this time anti-clockwise and this time slower. He repeats the clockwise and anti-clockwise rotations three times each. Maybe his interest with your mouth really is just scientific.

He finally removes the swab and puts it into a cylindrical container mounted to the wall. “Results from the buccal swab will be available almost instantaneously and will produce an accuracy rate of 99.99%”

“I’m so glad I’m sitting down here because wow, you just blew my mind with that fascinating statistic.”

Shockwave returns to you and doesn’t dignify you with an answer.

“There may be a trillions of bacteria in my mouth,” you tell him, rubbing the side of your face that he’d taken a painless sample from. “But they’re not just there to party. They pay their way and are useful. Essential, actually.” 

“Elaborate.” 

“So if we get germs in our mouth then our body doesn’t just give up and die an embarrassing death - the good bacteria are woken up and put up a fight and prevent us from getting sick. Or at least fatally sick. Sometimes we still get sick but they’ve done their best, you can’t blame them for everything.”

“Is that so.”

“Yep. Well some of the bacteria help out like that, I don’t think they all do. Some of them don’t do much and are just…there. I don’t know how many and what it is they actually do. And I’m not going to count them because one, that’s boring and two, I’m not a snitch.”

You lean forward. “Do you really not know all of this? This is basic biology even the dumb kids in the useless schools know.”

Shockwave reaches into the tool box again. “I am fully aware of the purpose of defence bacteria, how they operate, the ratio of useful to redundant organisms and how inefficient the entire mechanism is. But this has all been documented by others - by humans - and not by a cybertronian. Not by me.”

He extracts the small sharp purple thing.

You swallow. “So you don’t believe them.”

Shockwave puts his hand over yours, which is still on your cheek. “I do not believe them. I trust only my results. My methodology.”

He manipulates the instrument until it transforms into a medical instrument you recognise.

You open your mouth slightly. “And that’s the only reason you’re doing this? The only reason you want to probe me with that?”

“…correct. I need to examine and document the area personally in order to establish an accurate primary baseline.”

“Mm-hmm.” Of all the colours in existence, he chose the one that matches his frame’s colour exactly. “For science?”

Shockwave slides the purple tongue depressor into your mouth and over your tongue. “For science.” 

Shockwave is careful. Thorough. He uses his optic as a focused beam of light to peer into your mouth and examine it. The metal depressor on your tongue is smooth and warm, and whenever your gag reflex threatens to start up, Shockwave adjusts the instrument instantly to help it pass. He exacts the perfect amount of pressure every single time to still it. You’re impressed. But starting to get bored. He’s just looking at you and not moving, as if he’s never seen the inside of a human mouth before and is on sacred ground he knows he needs to tread carefully on. 

You make a sound, and he tears his relentless gaze from the inside of your mouth to your eyes. You raise your eyebrows to ask what’s taking so long.

“Tell me,” Shockwave asks, as he places the instrument underneath your tongue so that you can talk. “What are the carriers for the bacteria, viruses, fungi and protozoa that activate the defense mechanisms of the mouth?”

You roll your tongue on top of the depressor and feel your eyes itching to do the same. You didn’t sign up for a biology quiz. “You mean where do germs come from?”

“That is not what I meant or asked. Pay attention.”

You put a finger in your mouth. You reach as far back as the depressor goes and touch it. You run your finger along the smooth metal until it comes out of your mouth but you don’t break contact with it, you keep going, trailing your finger along the handle of the depressor until you come to the fingers that hold it. You rest your finger on Shockwave’s.

“Oh now I see,” you exaggerate loudly, as if only now the blinds have been lifted from your eyes and you finally understand what he means. “You want to know about things that shouldn’t go in my mouth. The dirty things that could make me sick. The forbidden things.” 

You swallow around the metal. “And you want to know if I know them.”

Shockwave slides the depressor out of your mouth and moves his hand back. But not far enough to dislodge your finger from his.

“What if I said I did know?” you continue. “That I know all of them. That I make a sustained effort to educate myself on biology and physiology not only because it helps me to stay healthy and alive, but because I find those areas of study fascinating in their own right?”

Shockwave doesn’t move and doesn’t answer. You can practically feel his spark contracting as he realises you’re telling the truth.

You tilt your head. If he tattooed his desires across his impressive chest he couldn’t be more obvious in what he wants. You feel your heart beat faster at what you’re going to say next. “But what if I didn’t know? What if I said I didn’t know what shouldn’t be going in my mouth and that I’d…like to?’

It should be impossible, but you can sense his spark expand.

“I…would experiment,” he tells you. “For science.”

“As opposed to the medieval fine arts?”

Shockwave’s optic bores into you. “We do not have time to undertake a battery of tests to determine if every substance is dangerous to human health if ingested orally. My selected carriers have been chosen carefully and will produce…results.“ 

You sit back on the stool and eye him critically. This is the first you’re hearing about ingesting something. He already knows what substances are dangerous to human health. He knows all of them and you, the planet Earth, and the rest of the known galaxy know almost all of them. This seems like a ploy to put things in your mouth and see if they’ll kill you or make you sick.

“You already know what substances are dangerous to human health,” you tell Shockwave. He lowers his hand and you remove your finger from his. “And I, the planet Earth and the rest of the known galaxy know almost all of them. This is starting to seem like a ploy to put things in my mouth to see if they’ll make me sick.” 

You point your finger sharply at him and speak with a fake fiery fury. “And this is the first I’m hearing about actually ingesting something. Is this whole experiment just to see if something will kill me? Is that it? Is it? Are you going to offer me a glowing stick of radioactive waste and say it’s a cybertronian delicacy and then watch me suck on it and melt from the inside and become a puddle of screaming goo as you take notes and call the overworked and underpaid cleaner to mop up what remains of me up? Is it?”

Shockwave actually takes a step back. “Incorrect. As always, you are incorrect. This is for science.”

If he had a medical frame he could detect your pulse and blood chemistry without even needing to touch you. But he doesn’t, and you’re grateful for that. If he wants to know how you’re truly feeling about this session then he’s going to have to put in the hard work and deduce it. 

“Fine,” you say. “I signed up for this ‘non-lethal experiment to determine the limitations of the human mouth’ that you’re paying me for and I’m not going to back out of it. So what’s coming out of the box next?”

But Shockwave doesn’t take anything else out. Instead he crouches down so that you’re at eye-optic level. “I am curious as to how the human mouth and resulting systems react to interior contact with something your scant years of evolution have not encountered before. My hypothesis is not encouraging for you, but facts are facts. And when I’m proven right you will eventually thank me.”

Shockwave raises his hand and flexes his fingers, and you know where this is going. But you’re overcome with a prickly irritation at the casual way he dismisses your species, and decide to play dumb with him. It’s illogical to feel this way, but you’re not a purely logical being. You’re someone better than that. 

You eye his fingers with a careful look of mild distaste. “My hideous ancestors went through a lot of shit to equip me with what I have now, and I’d thank you to remember that.”

You fold your hands neatly in your lap, and transform the way you’re looking at his fingers to one of mild pity. “My teeth are composed of the hardest substance in the human body. They can tear through plants and flesh and all manner of substances with ease.”

“What about metal?” Shockwave asks instantly, bringing up his hand to your face. “Reports indicates that your teeth cannot break it and your fluids cannot digest it.” He waggles his fingers. “But in the name of science this must be corroborated or rejected.”

“You’re not even trying, are you?”

“…clarify.”

“Waving your fingers about like that, ‘accidentally’ brushing my lips with them, flexing and rotating them as if they’re part of your courtship dance and any second now I’m going to be consumed with lust and fall off my seat and whimper on the floor for you.”

“…you are incor-”

“No I’m not. Stop saying that. And stop thinking I’m an idiot.”

“Incorrect.”

“You want me to suck your fingers.”

“…for science.”

“For yourself.”

“I am science and science is me.”

“That was terrible. You didn’t practice that in the mirror before I came here did you?”

“…”

Before Shockwave can get upset and pretend his sulking is a convoluted chain of logical actions that make complete sense, you lick one of his fingers.

Shockwave freezes. 

You lick it again, this time slower. Your tongue moves carefully over the tip of his finger and down the entire length of it, all the way to his hand. He feels surprisingly warm and alive.

“There,” you say, rolling your tongue around your mouth. “It didn’t kill me. And if I come down with alien flu or turn a different colour later on, I’ll give you a call.” 

Shockwave doesn’t move. 

You don’t move.

Soft humming from the medical equipment and diagnostic machines fills the room.

“Incomplete,” Shockwave says. “The test is incomplete. You signed up for a complete test, and that is what will be undertaken.”

“First of all I didn’t sign anything, so if I choose to run out of here you can’t sue me for breach of contract.”

“Are you going to run out?”

“I was thinking of doing a jaunty saunter actually.”

Shockwave examines the finger you’ve licked. You don’t make any effort to move. 

“But,” you say, drawing out the word as you stretch your arms above your head. “I’m a person of my word. We both know enamel can’t crack metal, but in the interests of science we’d better try it out anyway and document it accordingly, shouldn’t we?”

Shockwave cups your face gently, his thumb resting on your lips. “If you insist.”

“If I insist?”

Before you can protest further, Shockwave pushes his thumb in between your lips. You don’t offer any resistance, and part your lips slightly to allow him to put it in. Seemingly satisfied that you’re not about to immediately die, Shockwave rests it on your tongue. Then he puts a finger in your mouth. And when you still don’t object, he puts another one in.

He tastes of electricity and steel and graphite. Like a living battery.

You suck on his fingers carefully. There’s a pulse of blood in your ears and a pool of heat spreading along the base of your stomach, and you’re sure you can feel the energon in his fingers throb as they slide over and around and below your tongue.

His fingers explore your mouth. They massage your tongue, and count your teeth, and stroke the inside of your cheeks. He acts as if he’s an explorer sent on a mission branded with royal assent.

You bite down on his fingers gently.

Not out of fear of hurting him, but out of self preservation. You’ll crack every tooth in your mouth if you’re not careful, and you’ve got better things to do than sit in the medical bay and get a lecture.

You bite down as hard as you dare. Shockwave makes a sound that sounds suspiciously like a whimper. You bite down again and are proven correct.

In satisfaction you pull your head back. Shockwave doesn’t move his hand as his fingers leave your mouth, and you don’t open your mouth wide. You make sure your teeth graze as much of his hand as possible as you retreat from it. 

Shockwave is thrumming. An undeniable thrum of excitement is pulsing throughout his frame just below his plating, and it’s bleeding into you. 

“Was that good for you?” you ask innocently. “Concluding an experiment gets me all hot and bothered too. Except I don’t raise the temperature in a room by ten degrees.”

Shockwave leans in closer to you. “Incorrect.”

“Oh, smooth!“

You lick his closest finger without thinking about it. And when you like to think the temperature’s clicked up another degree, you kiss it.

“I hope you washed your hands before I came in,” you say. You’re sure he did, but it’s the sensible thing to ask.

“Of course I didn’t,” Shockwave says. “Who do you think I am? A human? I sanitized them thoroughly.”

You run your tongue around the inside of your mouth. The unique taste of him hasn’t faded. “Hygiene is important.”

“Obviously.” 

“You don’t want an experiment to be ruined by contaminants.”

“Again, obviously.”

“And you don’t want your subject to suffer needlessly.” You look at his fingers and that pool of blood in your lower body heats up another degree. “You don’t want me to suffer.”

“…there is work to do and I do not like to repeat myself.” Shockwave reaches for the box again. “This next experiment is to determine the range of human taste in order to classify it as either limited, highly limited, practically non-existent or barely existent.”

“Whoa whoa whoa,” you say, holding your hands out with your palms facing towards him. “Slow down on all the accurate scientific jargon there will you, I’m having trouble keeping up.”

Shockwave shakes his head ever so slightly. “I thought those terms were within your sphere of comprehension, but I am obviously wrong.”

“Hey.”

“Here,” he says, holding the yellow thing you saw in the box earlier. “Unwrap this.”

You look at it but don’t reach for it. “Did you know that we have thousands of taste buds on our tongue? Thousands. Almost ten thousand, maybe more. Which means we can taste a lot. Maybe not as much as other species in the galaxy, I’m not claiming that, but we can tell the difference between a good piece of steak and a sorry looking chunk that’s unfit for a starving animal. And so could the animal. You’d throw the meat at it gently to feed it because you don’t want to get too close to it because it looks diseased, but the animal can tell the food’s terrible and has already given up the fight because it’s so disappointed and weary, and it doesn’t move as the meat thumps pathetically into the side of their face and slides down their neck to the ground and they whimper and back away into the shadows without even looking at it and now you’re out of pocket for the cost of it and starting to feel hungry.”

Shockwave twitches and looks at the fingers he put in your mouth. He’s probably wondering if he accidentally dipped them in drugs instead of sanitizing them. He holds two of them up to you.

“How many do you see?” he asks. 

“Not enough.”

This is apparently a top of the class answer, because Shockwave stops twitching and looks calmer. But still impatient. Still thrumming with something not yet satisfied. 

“This experiment won’t conduct itself,” he says.

“Won’t it?”

“The limited range of taste and texture offered by the human tongue must be documented precisely.” He finally unwraps the yellow thing himself and holds it out to you. It’s a thin grey rectangle on a stick and looks as appealing as rancid dish water.

“My range of taste isn’t pathetic.”

“Would you prefer I use embarassing instead?”

“What do you think?”

“I think you should put this on your tongue.” The grey rectangle he’s poking towards you reminds you of a non-frozen popsicle that’s been rolled around in dirt and hair. An abomination of a lollipop. “And tell me what you taste.”

You hold his hand to stop him from poking your eye out with it. And you don’t put it in your mouth or on your tongue as he asked. You can’t. It looks disgusting.

“This looks disgusting,” you say.

“Maybe there’s more to it than meets the eye,” he says.

You feel yourself smile. “Maybe. But why couldn’t you paint it in my favourite colour like you did with your tongue depressor?“

You bring the shape close to your nose and sniff it cautiously. And to your complete surprise it smells incredible. You make sharp eye contact with Shockwave and wish you knew what he was thinking, because he looks like he knows exactly what you are. You breathe in deeply and the scent sets off an explosion in your brain and wow, just- wow. 

It reminds you of freshly minted currency, that perfect slice of cake you once had, and the three other smells you love most in the world. Without breaking eye contact with Shockwave you lick the lollipop. It has the hard consistency of boiled candy and the flavour of genius. 

“It tastes OK,” you lie with difficulty. You lick it again, from the top all the way down to the bottom, smoothing out its sharp corners. It’s one of the best things you’ve ever tasted in your life. A lollipop cooked in a lab by a millions of years old robot scientist who’s got a thing for your mouth is making that mouth fill with an alarming amount of saliva. It’s as if he knows exactly what your favourite smells are and has transformed them into something edible for you. 

You swallow. “I’ve had better.”

“No you haven’t.”

“Don’t tell me what I have or haven’t had.”

“Then save us some time and don’t lie.” 

Shockwave waves the lollipop again. An image slips into your head and you can’t help but ask “Did you wear an apron when you cooked this?” You hope that he’ll answer but you’re not expecting him too.

Shockwave doesn’t answer. 

“I’m not getting paid enough for all of this you know.”

You finally take the lollipop from his hand and lick it slowly. From the base all the way to the top, again and again and again you lick it. You’d sell everything you own for another one of these. You’d commit all manner of crimes for one. Maybe Shockwave will cook you another one. Maybe he’ll give you the recipe and you can cook it yourself. Maybe you can cook it together and wear matching aprons. Maybe you should pay attention to this experiment before he stops it. 

Shockwave’s plating is gleaming. He isn’t moving, and looks bright and powerful and helpless. Perhaps what he’s seeing you do has incapacitated him. Now that’s a thought almost as good as what you’ve got in your mouth.

“Am I not doing this properly?” you ask, your voice unfreezing him. You lick it even slower. 

“How- how does it taste?” Shockwave finally asks instead.

You lick your lips and swallow. It tastes incredible. Delicious. Indescribably fantastic.

“Like cheap crappy candy,” you tell him. “The type you know is bad for you but you still eat too much of it. Yeah sure you enjoy it, but you’re left craving something else, something more substantial. Something more.” You give him a meaningful look that’s open to interpretation.

Shockwave leans in closer to you and takes a moment before he responds. His words are clipped and careful, infused with the energy of restraint. “What flavours do you taste? I have a list of- of all the flavours this product is infused with. I want to know how many you can identify.”

You can now identify seven flavours, but more keep blossoming into existence. But you don’t feel like telling Shockwave this. What you feel like doing is finding out what he’s going to do with you if you don’t.

You suck and don’t speak, filling the room with the sounds of swallowing.

“If…if you can identify all of them you will receive a bonus payment.” Shockwaves’s voice is thick and slow.

You suck harder, and throw in a loud groan of appreciation just to see what effect it will have on him. “I don’t know what you’ve put in this but mmmmmm, oooooooohhhhhh, it tastes so good.”

Something flashes across Shockwave’s optic. A stuttering line of shadow binary, like a line of warning code revealed and suppressed.

“Sooooo gooooood.” You swirl your tongue around it, painting it with saliva and never once breaking eye contact with him. You don’t think you’ve even blinked. “You give me all the best treats to put in my mouth Shockwave.”

An invisible wave of heat crashes into you. You know that his cooling system is silent and that he cools his frame without using fans. They’re noisy and inefficient he once told you, when you asked about modifications he’s made to himself. But he still needs a cooling system. He still needs to vent excess heat generated by reactions he has little to no conscious control over. You can feel his desire bleeding through his plating to fill the space between you, hot and heavy and invisible, like tainted steam you can practically taste.

“Metal,” you tell him truthfully, all thoughts of teasing him gone. “I can only taste you now.”

Shockwave’s optic is burning. 

You remove the lollipop from your mouth with a small pop. A thin trail of saliva still connects it to your lips. You’re pleased to see that it’s barely reduced in size, despite your enthusiastic sucking.

“…apologies,“ Shockwave says quietly. "I- the experiment needs to be reset then. Re-done. I will eliminate all outside variables to ensure purity of evidence collection and retreat from your orbit and stand in the corner.”

You lick your lips, breaking the strand. He can be so wonderfully melodramatic at times. “There will always be outside factors influencing you that you’re unaware of,“ you tell him. "It’s best to just roll with them. So don’t you dare go anywhere else.”

“You are incorrect,“ Shockwave says, with a slight tilt of his head that you’ve long ago translated as a smile. "And that attitude is not conducive to a rigorous scientific study.”

You shrug your shoulders. “But now you can verify that the relationship between a human’s taste and sense of smell is intimate and real. You can have fun noting it in your records. And do you know what else is fun?” You put the lollipop back into your mouth and nod your head towards his interface panel. “Proving you wrong.”

Shockwave follows your appreciative glance down to see what you’re looking at. 

His panel is open and his dick is out.

Neither of you move. You just look. You both just look.

“…how is that proving me wrong?” Shockwave finally asks in genuine confusion. 

"Well,” you say, speaking slowly in order to compose yourself and to give the impression that this is a bemusing turn of events that will soon be resolved instead of escalated and that you’re expecting the former and certainly, definitely, don’t want the latter. “It proves that you don’t have complete control over your all of your actions.”

“…that was not a proposition to be proven false or correct in this session. What is incorrect are you. I have control over all of my systems, and have multiple safeguards in place to prevent them from being overridden.”

You slowly lean forward and give him a Look. “So you…meant to pop your dick out? You gave yourself the order to initiate pre-interface protocols? You’re choosing to conduct an experiment like this?”

“… … …yes.”

You sit back and fold your arms and grin smugly. The lollipop’s stick is poking out of your mouth. “So you don’t really like what you’re seeing me do? You aren’t thinking thoughts that are so explicit they’re literally banned on several worlds? You don’t want to come closer and put something else in my mouth?”

Another wave of invisible heat punches you in the face. 

“…no.”

“You could save us some time here by not lying.” 

“…there is no unit of time that needs to be saved. The experiment is proceeding as planned.”

“Oh is it now.”

Neither of you move. The sound of the medical equipment has receded. All you hear now is the pulse of blood in your ears and the rich, slightly stuttering sounds of Shockwave’s vocaliser. 

“However,” Shockwave says slowly, eventually, “I am adaptable. Realistic. A scientist.” 

“Are these bullet points on a motivational poster you have hanging up somewhere?”

“I understand the benefits that absorbing unforseen actions can have,” Shockwave says, ignoring you. “And am rolling with them.”

“Wwhat?”

“Your reaction is more conducive to further experimentation than anticipated. I am willing to indulge you.”

“Excuse me?”

Now Shockwave is the one sounding smug. “If only you could see your expression, see your body language - if you could feel the heat and analyze the pheromones radiating out of you the way I can then you would know what I know. Which is that you’re enjoying yourself. You like what you see and want more.”

You don’t answer. You hate when you can’t answer back to him immediately. You open your mouth to say something, anything, but Shockwave interrupts you.

“Are you willing to progress with another experiment? Or are you scared?”

He should know by now that you’ve felt many things with him, but never fear. Does he really think that? Does he really think that reverse psychology is going to work on you? But he doesn’t look like he does. He looks like he’s not thinking things through fully, and is speaking mainly to keep the momentum going. He looks like he’s edging from need to desperation.

That goes a long way to mollify you. “Oh I’m terrified,” you exaggerate. “So very scared. But in the name of science I’ll force myself to be brave. So go on then, let’s start another experiment.”

Shockwave doesn’t move immediately. Then he shuffles closer, and wraps a hand around his dick as if to hide it or control it. “An experiment can be stopped at any time,” he tells you softly. “We have the rest of your life to try it another time if you are willing.”

A jolt of warmth blossoms in your chest and most of your body’s blood surges between your legs and you nod. Once again he’s left you temporarily speechless with his care and consideration for you. Bastard.

Shockwave makes a move to take the lollipop from your mouth, but you smack his hand away and find your voice again. “No. I’m not finished with that.”

“But-”

“The human mouth is very accomodating,” you tell him proudly. “We can’t detach our jaw like some animals can, but we can fit a lot in here. We can stretch.” You position the lollipop to one side of your mouth, so that it fits snugly into your cheek cavity as much as possible. “Still plenty of room. See?” You open your mouth to show him.

Shockwave trembles. You nod again, and he takes another step forward. His dick is now perfectly aligned with your mouth but then he pauses. He’s thinking. Calculating. Hesitating. He inches his dick forward and rests it on your bottom lip and stops again. The hot metal weight of it, the alien chrome smell of it, floods your mouth with even more saliva.

“Go on,” you encourage him, licking a bead of fluid from the dripping tip. “For science.”

For a long few seconds Shockwave doesn’t move. And then he slides his dick into your mouth. He does so slowly, inch by careful inch, giving you plenty of time to prepare and relax your muscles. It rubs against the lollipop in your mouth and you’re flooded with flavour. Saliva dribbles out of your mouth and down your chin but you ignore it, instead concentrating on how fantastically full your mouth is becoming. 

Shockwave’s dick hits the back of your mouth and he stops. You instinctively try to swallow and don’t achieve much. Actually that’s not true because Shockwave moans at what you’ve just done. Actually moans. You wonder what other sounds he’s capable of making, and what sounds you can cause him to make. 

You don’t swallow again. Instead you suck. You suck his dick and the lollipop at the same time again and again and again, and Shockwave has to put a hand on the back of your head to prevent himself from buckling and you both make a long noise.

You adjust the lollipop in your mouth, hold it in place, and slowly pull your head back. Shockwave doesn’t resist you, and doesn’t remove his hand from your head as you remove your mouth from his dick, which is soaking wet and dripping. You rub your thumb over the head of it, smearing the viscous liquid around it. You rub him with two fingers, and then your entire hand, stroking his dick up and down to coat it in a mixture of your saliva and the transfluid that’s steadily leaking out of him.

“Please,” Shockwave says haltingly, as he braces himself against the bench with his other arm. “The…experiment has not been concluded.”

“Experiment?” you ask, sucking on the lollipop. “Oh yes - this extra experiment that you haven’t actually told me about. What exactly is it we’re proving or disproving here?”

“I…the…to see.”

“That sounds important.” You stroke him hard and twist, and he makes a stuttering sound of mechanical pleading.

“The…human mouth is a combination of muscles,” he finally stutters, dragging some basic information up from his depths. “It- this experiment is to exercise them. See how far they can…stretch.”

That sounds mildly plausible. 

“I’ve just demonstrated how far they can stretch,” you tell him. “But do you think they can go further?”

“…yes.”

“Well would you believe it, so do I.” You lick the tip of dick and make it even wetter. “I think my mouth can take more.”

“That…yes. It would be complete. The experiment. As well as- This one. The experiment. I need…complete results or-”

“Or you’ll be a failure?” You speak around the lollipop,

your hand now languidly stroking him. “Well we don’t want that. I don’t want that. I don’t want to be associated with a failure. I have a poverty of life expectancy remember, and I don’t want to waste what I’ve got with a loser. So.”

You remove the lollipop from your mouth and hold onto his legs to brace yourself. You then slowly, slowly, take his dick back into your mouth. Shockwave doesn’t move. He lets you set the pace. Lets you do all the work more like. Not that you’re complaining, but you will complain out loud to him later just to annoy him. His dick reaches the back of your mouth again and you feel him relax slightly. 

Your scientist needs to learn to be more ambitious in his experiments with you. More fearless. 

You adjust your angle, instruct your muscles to relax further, and take his dick all the way down your throat until he’s fully hilted inside you. 

Shockwave shudders and grips your head harder. He then realises what he’s done and lets go immediately in case he’s hurt you, but he doesn’t want to break contact with you so he holds the back of your head again but this time lightly, but it’s not enough to stabilize him so he shoots his other arm out and scrabbles for whatever purchase he can find and makes a sound that sounds like dying.

He needs to get a hold of himself. You’re not even moving any more, and he’s reacting like he’s been blessed and cursed with divine revelation all at once. 

You pat the back of his legs to reassure him. 

Shockwaves’s stabiliser pistons finally align and steadies his frame.

And then you move. You fuck him slowly with your mouth. All the way up and then all the way back down. His dick tastes even better than that lollipop, and you suck him with control and purpose. Your chin is wet and your throat is sticky and your heart is thumping harder than you ever remember it doing.

Shockwave is doing his best to stay silent and is failing wonderfully. You wonder if he’ll match your rhythm and fuck you down your throat but he hasn’t, and you don’t suspect he will. Not because he doesn’t want to, but because he doesn’t want to use more than a fraction of his strength in case even that’s too much. His self-control is impressive and welcome, but it’s not complete. 

Shockwave is holding the back of your head lightly, but his fingers are tightening infinitesimally around your hair and scalp every time you suck the tip of his dick and swallow it all the way down to its base. His self-control is not infinite and not indestructible. He’s not dead inside.  

You eventually feel his frame tense and tighten around you, and hear the pitch and whine of his engines straining up a gear. You’re enveloped in heat and know he’s close.

“There…is time for one more experiment,” he manages to say, his voice thick with static.

“Mmmm?” you ask around his dick, your full mouth still moving.

“…apparently saliva can digest various substances and…so can stomach enzymes and…the mouth is part of the digestive system and…if you…if you…”

You’ve swallowed transfluid before and liked it and know it won’t hurt you. You’ve had The Talk with all the medics on board just to be sure, and so long as he doesn’t pour his entire tank down your throat in one go you’ll be fine.

You nod your consent, and Shockwave makes a noise that sounds like gratitude.

He’s a bit less steady on his feet now, a bit more erratic, a bit louder and less efficient in his movements but you’re not. You’re a steady constant in the face of his fast approaching overload, fucking him in a perfect rythym that surprises him more than it does you.

He grips you harder and spasms and his engines scream dangerously loud as he overloads hard in your mouth. A shot of transfluid hits the back of your throat and you can’t help but gag at the quantity of it. You hold his legs tighter to prevent him from going anywhere, because you’re not going to miss a moment of this. You swallow as much as you can, and revel in the mechanical rumbling stuttering sounds his engines make as they fight not to cut out. His silent cooling system is blasting hard, which feels like opening an oven door and putting your face into it. Your hair is stuck to your flushed and sweating face.

Shockwave eventually quietens and stills and begins to regain himself. A series of small clicks indicate his cooling system is powering down. You suspect he’d like to keep his dick down your throat all day if you agreed to it and while that’s not something you’re opposed to, far from it, your mind is already churning with possibilities as to what three hands and a cannon can do while your mouth is occupied, it’s an experiment for another day.

Right now you have your own needs to attend to, and first on that list is to clean up the mess he’s made on you as best you ca. You gave it a good try but you couldn’t swallow everything he gave you, you’re only human, and a lot of it leaked out of your mouth and dribbled down your chin and throat. Your skin is sticky and your clothes are splattered.

You move your head back until his dick pops out, and cup a hand underneath your mouth to catch the gush of fluid that spills out. You look up at Shockwave and raise that hand to your mouth and lap up what’s in it.

Shockwave’s overworked engines make a pitiful sound as they rev back up again. You suck your fingers clean, and then you put your underestimated human mouth to good use and clean him up. 

Your work is not completed quickly.

But finally it is, and you make an effort to casually sit back in satisfaction at completing a job well done.

“So what do you think?” you ask him off-handedly, as your body thrums and fizzes. You wish your own temperature control system was more effective, no matter how noisy it would have to be. Your shirt is stuck to your back and you’re entering the non-lethal stage of dehydration. “Was the experiment a success?”

“I think,” Shockwave says, as he pours you a glass of water from the sink, “That the human mouth is…interesting.”

He hands you the glass and you drink from it without pausing. You know that’s as close as Shockwave will ever come to saying that he thinks the human mouth is incredible, yours especially, and that he wants nothing more than to fill it and worship it again.

“But still a concerning mystery,” Shockwave continues, as he takes the empty glass from you. “It requires further research. A lot of research.”

He kneels down in front of you and puts a hand on your knee.

“In fact,” Shockwave says, his warm fingertips languidly stroking up the inside of your thigh as if the thought has just occurred to him, “the human body as a whole needs to be researched further. One system, one organ, one session at a time.” 

His hand stops on your buckled belt.

“A breakthrough has been achieved,” you tell him, picking up his hand and removing it from your belt. Despite his claims to be highly dexterous, you don’t have time to wait for him to use one hand when you have two.

“It’s a minor miracle.” You unbuckle your belt, pull your pants down, lean back against the wall and put one hand behind your head to cushion it. With your other hand you make a motion for him to hurry up and get to work because you both know you’ve earned this.

“You finally said something correct. Now let’s see what else you can accomplish.“

“The human mouth is disgusting, and I am going to prove it.”

Shockwave states this coldly and firmly the second you step into his lab. But his optic is bright and wide and he’s already hovering next to you, holding out a tool box as if it’s a long lost treasure he’s graciously decided to share with you and only you, and as such you should turn speechless with awe and gratitude and silently beg to be allowed to help him prove how terrible you are.

You are supremely unimpressed. You haven’t even had the chance to take your coat off yet, and here you are being told by one of the greatest scientists you know that an essential part of you is disgusting.

“The human mouth is a medical marvel,” you argue back, dumping your coat onto the pristine floor of his lab. You lean casually and definitely against a lab bench and look at him in the way he deserves for such invalid arrogance.

“You are incorrect,” Shockwave says.

“I know you are, but what am I?” You shoot back.

“…incorrect.”

“I know you are, but what am I?”

“Incorrect.”

“I know you are, but what am I ?”

“…?”

You cross your arms in satisfaction. “Exactly.”

“Enough.” Shockwave steps closer, the tool box rattling excitedly in his hand. “Sit down. Stop talking. Open your mouth.” 

“Why? What are you going to put in it?” you say, ignoring all three orders.

“An incontrovertible means to prove my supposition that will allow even the most intellectually challenged being to understand.”

Shockwave opens the box.

You stretch up onto your toes and peer inside it. You nod your head repeatedly at what you see and what he’s just said. “Uh-huh, uh-huh. Now I’m no scientist, but there’s a few things in there that don’t look very scientific. Like that long yellow thing and that sharp purple thing with hinges.”

“You are correct.”

“I know.”

“You are not a scientist. You are an inferior life form existing with a poverty of comprehension, life expectancy and universally accepted currency.”

“Hey.” You may have agreed to be a volunteer for Shockwave’s experiments after he approached you earlier with a monetary offer you couldn’t refuse, and because he ignored you when you asked  him why he hadn’t publicly advertised for volunteers and is only asking you, but you’re not going to sit back and take that. “You don’t have to be a dick about this. You don’t know me.” Two of his three statements are correct, but you’ll be floating outside in space without a suit on before you agree with him.

Shockwave looms over you, bright and purple and powerful. You’re not nervous. You’ve never been nervous around him when so many rightfully are and you don’t know why.

“I will tell you something I do know,” Shockwave says. “Something that your human ‘scientists’ and ‘doctors’ have also documented and agreed on.” 

He puts the tool box down on the bench and takes out a long cotton swab from it. “The mouth is one of the filthiest parts of your body.”

You feel your lips tugging up into a smile. “But not the filthiest, am I right?”

Shockwave glances down to between your legs.

“Pervert,” you say, delighted. “I’m talking about my brain.” For added emphasis you tap a finger to your temple. 

“Enough.” Shockwave puts his other arm on your shoulder and pushes you down onto a medical stool. He does so carefully, as if wanting to give you the chance to say no to this.

You sit down on the stool. You don’t want to say no to any of this. 

You stretch your legs out and cross them at the ankle. “Are you trying to find out how many diseases I’ve got in my mouth? Will you be upset if there are too many or too few? Do you want me to stop talking? Or is that what you like most about my mouth? The different shapes it can make; the way my tongue moves; how wet everything is? Would you be upset if I keep it closed and denied you everything you so clearly want?”

And before Shockwave can respond, you preempt him and open your mouth.

“Are you going to slip into a radioactive suit first?” you ask. “Are you worried about your safety? It’s OK, there’s nothing to be concerned about - I’ll go easy on you. And I promise not to bite.”

Shockwave doesn’t answer. But he looks like he wants to. He very much looks like he wants to say something that he shouldn’t.

He inserts the cotton swab into your mouth and runs it along the wall of your cheek, coating the tip in saliva. He then pauses, as if reluctant to remove it so soon. He swipes the inside of your mouth again, this time anti-clockwise and this time slower. He repeats the clockwise and anti-clockwise rotations three times each. Maybe his interest with your mouth really is just scientific.

He finally removes the swab and puts it into a cylindrical container mounted to the wall. “Results from the buccal swab will be available almost instantaneously and will produce an accuracy rate of 99.99%”

“I’m so glad I’m sitting down here because wow, you just blew my mind with that fascinating statistic.”

Shockwave returns to you and doesn’t dignify you with an answer.

“There may be a trillions of bacteria in my mouth,” you tell him, rubbing the side of your face that he’d taken a painless sample from. “But they’re not just there to party. They pay their way and are useful. Essential, actually.” 

“Elaborate.” 

“So if we get germs in our mouth then our body doesn’t just give up and die an embarrassing death - the good bacteria are woken up and put up a fight and prevent us from getting sick. Or at least fatally sick. Sometimes we still get sick but they’ve done their best, you can’t blame them for everything.”

“Is that so.”

“Yep. Well some of the bacteria help out like that, I don’t think they all do. Some of them don’t do much and are just…there. I don’t know how many and what it is they actually do. And I’m not going to count them because one, that’s boring and two, I’m not a snitch.”

You lean forward. “Do you really not know all of this? This is basic biology even the dumb kids in the useless schools know.”

Shockwave reaches into the tool box again. “I am fully aware of the purpose of defence bacteria, how they operate, the ratio of useful to redundant organisms and how inefficient the entire mechanism is. But this has all been documented by others - by humans - and not by a cybertronian. Not by me.”

He extracts the small sharp purple thing.

You swallow. “So you don’t believe them.”

Shockwave puts his hand over yours, which is still on your cheek. “I do not believe them. I trust only my results. My methodology.”

He manipulates the instrument until it transforms into a medical instrument you recognise.

You open your mouth slightly. “And that’s the only reason you’re doing this? The only reason you want to probe me with that?”

“…correct. I need to examine and document the area personally in order to establish an accurate primary baseline.”

“Mm-hmm.” Of all the colours in existence, he chose the one that matches his frame’s colour exactly. “For science?”

Shockwave slides the purple tongue depressor into your mouth and over your tongue. “For science.” 

Shockwave is careful. Thorough. He uses his optic as a focused beam of light to peer into your mouth and examine it. The metal depressor on your tongue is smooth and warm, and whenever your gag reflex threatens to start up, Shockwave adjusts the instrument instantly to help it pass. He exacts the perfect amount of pressure every single time to still it. You’re impressed. But starting to get bored. He’s just looking at you and not moving, as if he’s never seen the inside of a human mouth before and is on sacred ground he knows he needs to tread carefully on. 

You make a sound, and he tears his relentless gaze from the inside of your mouth to your eyes. You raise your eyebrows to ask what’s taking so long.

“Tell me,” Shockwave asks, as he places the instrument underneath your tongue so that you can talk. “What are the carriers for the bacteria, viruses, fungi and protozoa that activate the defense mechanisms of the mouth?”

You roll your tongue on top of the depressor and feel your eyes itching to do the same. You didn’t sign up for a biology quiz. “You mean where do germs come from?”

“That is not what I meant or asked. Pay attention.”

You put a finger in your mouth. You reach as far back as the depressor goes and touch it. You run your finger along the smooth metal until it comes out of your mouth but you don’t break contact with it, you keep going, trailing your finger along the handle of the depressor until you come to the fingers that hold it. You rest your finger on Shockwave’s.

“Oh now I see,” you exaggerate loudly, as if only now the blinds have been lifted from your eyes and you finally understand what he means. “You want to know about things that shouldn’t go in my mouth. The dirty things that could make me sick. The forbidden things.” 

You swallow around the metal. “And you want to know if I know them.”

Shockwave slides the depressor out of your mouth and moves his hand back. But not far enough to dislodge your finger from his.

“What if I said I did know?” you continue. “That I know all of them. That I make a sustained effort to educate myself on biology and physiology not only because it helps me to stay healthy and alive, but because I find those areas of study fascinating in their own right?”

Shockwave doesn’t move and doesn’t answer. You can practically feel his spark contracting as he realises you’re telling the truth.

You tilt your head. If he tattooed his desires across his impressive chest he couldn’t be more obvious in what he wants. You feel your heart beat faster at what you’re going to say next. “But what if I didn’t know? What if I said I didn’t know what shouldn’t be going in my mouth and that I’d…like to?’

It should be impossible, but you can sense his spark expand.

“I…would experiment,” he tells you. “For science.”

“As opposed to the medieval fine arts?”

Shockwave’s optic bores into you. “We do not have time to undertake a battery of tests to determine if every substance is dangerous to human health if ingested orally. My selected carriers have been chosen carefully and will produce…results." 

You sit back on the stool and eye him critically. This is the first you’re hearing about ingesting something. He already knows what substances are dangerous to human health. He knows all of them and you, the planet Earth, and the rest of the known galaxy know almost all of them. This seems like a ploy to put things in your mouth and see if they’ll kill you or make you sick.

“You already know what substances are dangerous to human health,” you tell Shockwave. He lowers his hand and you remove your finger from his. “And I, the planet Earth and the rest of the known galaxy know almost all of them. This is starting to seem like a ploy to put things in my mouth to see if they’ll make me sick.” 

You point your finger sharply at him and speak with a fake fiery fury. “And this is the first I’m hearing about actually ingesting something. Is this whole experiment just to see if something will kill me? Is that it? Is it? Are you going to offer me a glowing stick of radioactive waste and say it’s a cybertronian delicacy and then watch me suck on it and melt from the inside and become a puddle of screaming goo as you take notes and call the overworked and underpaid cleaner to mop up what remains of me up? Is it?”

Shockwave actually takes a step back. “Incorrect. As always, you are incorrect. This is for science.”

If he had a medical frame he could detect your pulse and blood chemistry without even needing to touch you. But he doesn’t, and you’re grateful for that. If he wants to know how you’re truly feeling about this session then he’s going to have to put in the hard work and deduce it. 

“Fine,” you say. “I signed up for this ‘non-lethal experiment to determine the limitations of the human mouth’ that you’re paying me for and I’m not going to back out of it. So what’s coming out of the box next?”

But Shockwave doesn’t take anything else out. Instead he crouches down so that you’re at eye-optic level. “I am curious as to how the human mouth and resulting systems react to interior contact with something your scant years of evolution have not encountered before. My hypothesis is not encouraging for you, but facts are facts. And when I’m proven right you will eventually thank me.”

Shockwave raises his hand and flexes his fingers, and you know where this is going. But you’re overcome with a prickly irritation at the casual way he dismisses your species, and decide to play dumb with him. It’s illogical to feel this way, but you’re not a purely logical being. You’re someone better than that. 

You eye his fingers with a careful look of mild distaste. “My hideous ancestors went through a lot of shit to equip me with what I have now, and I’d thank you to remember that.”

You fold your hands neatly in your lap, and transform the way you’re looking at his fingers to one of mild pity. “My teeth are composed of the hardest substance in the human body. They can tear through plants and flesh and all manner of substances with ease.”

“What about metal?” Shockwave asks instantly, bringing up his hand to your face. “Reports indicates that your teeth cannot break it and your fluids cannot digest it.” He waggles his fingers. “But in the name of science this must be corroborated or rejected.”

“You’re not even trying, are you?”

“…clarify.”

“Waving your fingers about like that, ‘accidentally’ brushing my lips with them, flexing and rotating them as if they’re part of your courtship dance and any second now I’m going to be consumed with lust and fall off my seat and whimper on the floor for you.”

“…you are incor-”

“No I’m not. Stop saying that. And stop thinking I’m an idiot.”

“Incorrect.”

“You want me to suck your fingers.”

“…for science.”

“For yourself.”

“I am science and science is me.”

“That was terrible. You didn’t practice that in the mirror before I came here did you?”

“…”

Before Shockwave can get upset and pretend his sulking is a convoluted chain of logical actions that make complete sense, you lick one of his fingers.

Shockwave freezes. 

You lick it again, this time slower. Your tongue moves carefully over the tip of his finger and down the entire length of it, all the way to his hand. He feels surprisingly warm and alive.

“There,” you say, rolling your tongue around your mouth. “It didn’t kill me. And if I come down with alien flu or turn a different colour later on, I’ll give you a call.” 

Shockwave doesn’t move. 

You don’t move.

Soft humming from the medical equipment and diagnostic machines fills the room.

“Incomplete,” Shockwave says. “The test is incomplete. You signed up for a complete test, and that is what will be undertaken.”

“First of all I didn’t sign anything, so if I choose to run out of here you can’t sue me for breach of contract.”

“Are you going to run out?”

“I was thinking of doing a jaunty saunter actually.”

Shockwave examines the finger you’ve licked. You don’t make any effort to move. 

“But,” you say, drawing out the word as you stretch your arms above your head. “I’m a person of my word. We both know enamel can’t crack metal, but in the interests of science we’d better try it out anyway and document it accordingly, shouldn’t we?”

Shockwave cups your face gently, his thumb resting on your lips. “If you insist.”

“If I insist?”

Before you can protest further, Shockwave pushes his thumb in between your lips. You don’t offer any resistance, and part your lips slightly to allow him to put it in. Seemingly satisfied that you’re not about to immediately die, Shockwave rests it on your tongue. Then he puts a finger in your mouth. And when you still don’t object, he puts another one in.

He tastes of electricity and steel and graphite. Like a living battery.

You suck on his fingers carefully. There’s a pulse of blood in your ears and a pool of heat spreading along the base of your stomach, and you’re sure you can feel the energon in his fingers throb as they slide over and around and below your tongue.

His fingers explore your mouth. They massage your tongue, and count your teeth, and stroke the inside of your cheeks. He acts as if he’s an explorer sent on a mission branded with royal assent.

You bite down on his fingers gently.

Not out of fear of hurting him, but out of self preservation. You’ll crack every tooth in your mouth if you’re not careful, and you’ve got better things to do than sit in the medical bay and get a lecture.

You bite down as hard as you dare. Shockwave makes a sound that sounds suspiciously like a whimper. You bite down again and are proven correct.

In satisfaction you pull your head back. Shockwave doesn’t move his hand as his fingers leave your mouth, and you don’t open your mouth wide. You make sure your teeth graze as much of his hand as possible as you retreat from it. 

Shockwave is thrumming. An undeniable thrum of excitement is pulsing throughout his frame just below his plating, and it’s bleeding into you. 

“Was that good for you?” you ask innocently. “Concluding an experiment gets me all hot and bothered too. Except I don’t raise the temperature in a room by ten degrees.”

Shockwave leans in closer to you. “Incorrect.”

“Oh, smooth!“

You lick his closest finger without thinking about it. And when you like to think the temperature’s clicked up another degree, you kiss it.

"I hope you washed your hands before I came in,” you say. You’re sure he did, but it’s the sensible thing to ask.

“Of course I didn’t,” Shockwave says. “Who do you think I am? A human? I sanitized them thoroughly.”

You run your tongue around the inside of your mouth. The unique taste of him hasn’t faded. “Hygiene is important.”

“Obviously.” 

“You don’t want an experiment to be ruined by contaminants.”

“Again, obviously.”

“And you don’t want your subject to suffer needlessly.” You look at his fingers and that pool of blood in your lower body heats up another degree. “You don’t want me to suffer.”

“…there is work to do and I do not like to repeat myself.” Shockwave reaches for the box again. “This next experiment is to determine the range of human taste in order to classify it as either limited, highly limited, practically non-existent or barely existent.”

“Whoa whoa whoa,” you say, holding your hands out with your palms facing towards him. “Slow down on all the accurate scientific jargon there will you, I’m having trouble keeping up.”

Shockwave shakes his head ever so slightly. “I thought those terms were within your sphere of comprehension, but I am obviously wrong.”

“Hey.”

“Here,” he says, holding the yellow thing you saw in the box earlier. “Unwrap this.”

You look at it but don’t reach for it. “Did you know that we have thousands of taste buds on our tongue? Thousands. Almost ten thousand, maybe more. Which means we can taste a lot. Maybe not as much as other species in the galaxy, I’m not claiming that, but we can tell the difference between a good piece of steak and a sorry looking chunk that’s unfit for a starving animal. And so could the animal. You’d throw the meat at it gently to feed it because you don’t want to get too close to it because it looks diseased, but the animal can tell the food’s terrible and has already given up the fight because it’s so disappointed and weary, and it doesn’t move as the meat thumps pathetically into the side of their face and slides down their neck to the ground and they whimper and back away into the shadows without even looking at it and now you’re out of pocket for the cost of it and starting to feel hungry.”

Shockwave twitches and looks at the fingers he put in your mouth. He’s probably wondering if he accidentally dipped them in drugs instead of sanitizing them. He holds two of them up to you.

“How many do you see?” he asks. 

“Not enough.”

This is apparently a top of the class answer, because Shockwave stops twitching and looks calmer. But still impatient. Still thrumming with something not yet satisfied. 

“This experiment won’t conduct itself,” he says.

“Won’t it?”

“The limited range of taste and texture offered by the human tongue must be documented precisely.” He finally unwraps the yellow thing himself and holds it out to you. It’s a thin grey rectangle on a stick and looks as appealing as rancid dish water.

“My range of taste isn’t pathetic.”

“Would you prefer I use embarassing instead?”

“What do you think?”

“I think you should put this on your tongue.” The grey rectangle he’s poking towards you reminds you of a non-frozen popsicle that’s been rolled around in dirt and hair. An abomination of a lollipop. “And tell me what you taste.”

You hold his hand to stop him from poking your eye out with it. And you don’t put it in your mouth or on your tongue as he asked. You can’t. It looks disgusting.

“This looks disgusting,” you say.

“Maybe there’s more to it than meets the eye,” he says.

You feel yourself smile. “Maybe. But why couldn’t you paint it in my favourite colour like you did with your tongue depressor?“

You bring the shape close to your nose and sniff it cautiously. And to your complete surprise it smells incredible. You make sharp eye contact with Shockwave and wish you knew what he was thinking, because he looks like he knows exactly what you are. You breathe in deeply and the scent sets off an explosion in your brain and wow, just- wow. 

It reminds you of freshly minted currency, that perfect slice of cake you once had, and the three other smells you love most in the world. Without breaking eye contact with Shockwave you lick the lollipop. It has the hard consistency of boiled candy and the flavour of genius. 

“It tastes OK,” you lie with difficulty. You lick it again, from the top all the way down to the bottom, smoothing out its sharp corners. It’s one of the best things you’ve ever tasted in your life. A lollipop cooked in a lab by a millions of years old robot scientist who’s got a thing for your mouth is making that mouth fill with an alarming amount of saliva. It’s as if he knows exactly what your favourite smells are and has transformed them into something edible for you. 

You swallow. “I’ve had better.”

“No you haven’t.”

“Don’t tell me what I have or haven’t had.”

“Then save us some time and don’t lie.” 

Shockwave waves the lollipop again. An image slips into your head and you can’t help but ask “Did you wear an apron when you cooked this?” You hope that he’ll answer but you’re not expecting him too.

Shockwave doesn’t answer. 

“I’m not getting paid enough for all of this you know.”

You finally take the lollipop from his hand and lick it slowly. From the base all the way to the top, again and again and again you lick it. You’d sell everything you own for another one of these. You’d commit all manner of crimes for one. Maybe Shockwave will cook you another one. Maybe he’ll give you the recipe and you can cook it yourself. Maybe you can cook it together and wear matching aprons. Maybe you should pay attention to this experiment before he stops it. 

Shockwave’s plating is gleaming. He isn’t moving, and looks bright and powerful and helpless. Perhaps what he’s seeing you do has incapacitated him. Now that’s a thought almost as good as what you’ve got in your mouth.

“Am I not doing this properly?” you ask, your voice unfreezing him. You lick it even slower. 

“How- how does it taste?” Shockwave finally asks instead.

You lick your lips and swallow. It tastes incredible. Delicious. Indescribably fantastic.

“Like cheap crappy candy,” you tell him. “The type you know is bad for you but you still eat too much of it. Yeah sure you enjoy it, but you’re left craving something else, something more substantial. Something more.” You give him a meaningful look that’s open to interpretation.

Shockwave leans in closer to you and takes a moment before he responds. His words are clipped and careful, infused with the energy of restraint. “What flavours do you taste? I have a list of- of all the flavours this product is infused with. I want to know how many you can identify.”

You can now identify seven flavours, but more keep blossoming into existence. But you don’t feel like telling Shockwave this. What you feel like doing is finding out what he’s going to do with you if you don’t.

You suck and don’t speak, filling the room with the sounds of swallowing.

“If…if you can identify all of them you will receive a bonus payment.” Shockwaves’s voice is thick and slow.

You suck harder, and throw in a loud groan of appreciation just to see what effect it will have on him. “I don’t know what you’ve put in this but mmmmmm, oooooooohhhhhh, it tastes so good.”

Something flashes across Shockwave’s optic. A stuttering line of shadow binary, like a line of warning code revealed and suppressed.

“Sooooo gooooood.” You swirl your tongue around it, painting it with saliva and never once breaking eye contact with him. You don’t think you’ve even blinked. “You give me all the best treats to put in my mouth Shockwave.”

An invisible wave of heat crashes into you. You know that his cooling system is silent and that he cools his frame without using fans. They’re noisy and inefficient he once told you, when you asked about modifications he’s made to himself. But he still needs a cooling system. He still needs to vent excess heat generated by reactions he has little to no conscious control over. You can feel his desire bleeding through his plating to fill the space between you, hot and heavy and invisible, like tainted steam you can practically taste.

“Metal,” you tell him truthfully, all thoughts of teasing him gone. “I can only taste you now.”

Shockwave’s optic is burning. 

You remove the lollipop from your mouth with a small pop. A thin trail of saliva still connects it to your lips. You’re pleased to see that it’s barely reduced in size, despite your enthusiastic sucking.

“…apologies,“ Shockwave says quietly. "I- the experiment needs to be reset then. Re-done. I will eliminate all outside variables to ensure purity of evidence collection and retreat from your orbit and stand in the corner.”

You lick your lips, breaking the strand. He can be so wonderfully melodramatic at times. “There will always be outside factors influencing you that you’re unaware of,“ you tell him. "It’s best to just roll with them. So don’t you dare go anywhere else.”

“You are incorrect,“ Shockwave says, with a slight tilt of his head that you’ve long ago translated as a smile. "And that attitude is not conducive to a rigorous scientific study.”

You shrug your shoulders. “But now you can verify that the relationship between a human’s taste and sense of smell is intimate and real. You can have fun noting it in your records. And do you know what else is fun?” You put the lollipop back into your mouth and nod your head towards his interface panel. “Proving you wrong.”

Shockwave follows your appreciative glance down to see what you’re looking at. 

His panel is open and his dick is out.

Neither of you move. You just look. You both just look.

“…how is that proving me wrong?” Shockwave finally asks in genuine confusion. 

"Well,” you say, speaking slowly in order to compose yourself and to give the impression that this is a bemusing turn of events that will soon be resolved instead of escalated and that you’re expecting the former and certainly, definitely, don’t want the latter. “It proves that you don’t have complete control over your all of your actions.”

“…that was not a proposition to be proven false or correct in this session. What is incorrect are you. I have control over all of my systems, and have multiple safeguards in place to prevent them from being overridden.”

You slowly lean forward and give him a Look. “So you…meant to pop your dick out? You gave yourself the order to initiate pre-interface protocols? You’re choosing to conduct an experiment like this?”

“… … …yes.”

You sit back and fold your arms and grin smugly. The lollipop’s stick is poking out of your mouth. “So you don’t really like what you’re seeing me do? You aren’t thinking thoughts that are so explicit they’re literally banned on several worlds? You don’t want to come closer and put something else in my mouth?”

Another wave of invisible heat punches you in the face. 

“…no.”

“You could save us some time here by not lying.” 

“…there is no unit of time that needs to be saved. The experiment is proceeding as planned.”

“Oh is it now.”

Neither of you move. The sound of the medical equipment has receded. All you hear now is the pulse of blood in your ears and the rich, slightly stuttering sounds of Shockwave’s vocaliser. 

“However,” Shockwave says slowly, eventually, “I am adaptable. Realistic. A scientist.” 

“Are these bullet points on a motivational poster you have hanging up somewhere?”

“I understand the benefits that absorbing unforseen actions can have,” Shockwave says, ignoring you. “And am rolling with them.”

“Wwhat?”

“Your reaction is more conducive to further experimentation than anticipated. I am willing to indulge you.”

“Excuse me?”

Now Shockwave is the one sounding smug. “If only you could see your expression, see your body language - if you could feel the heat and analyze the pheromones radiating out of you the way I can then you would know what I know. Which is that you’re enjoying yourself. You like what you see and want more.”

You don’t answer. You hate when you can’t answer back to him immediately. You open your mouth to say something, anything, but Shockwave interrupts you.

“Are you willing to progress with another experiment? Or are you scared?”

He should know by now that you’ve felt many things with him, but never fear. Does he really think that? Does he really think that reverse psychology is going to work on you? But he doesn’t look like he does. He looks like he’s not thinking things through fully, and is speaking mainly to keep the momentum going. He looks like he’s edging from need to desperation.

That goes a long way to mollify you. “Oh I’m terrified,” you exaggerate. “So very scared. But in the name of science I’ll force myself to be brave. So go on then, let’s start another experiment.”

Shockwave doesn’t move immediately. Then he shuffles closer, and wraps a hand around his dick as if to hide it or control it. “An experiment can be stopped at any time,” he tells you softly. “We have the rest of your life to try it another time if you are willing.”

A jolt of warmth blossoms in your chest and most of your body’s blood surges between your legs and you nod. Once again he’s left you temporarily speechless with his care and consideration for you. Bastard.

Shockwave makes a move to take the lollipop from your mouth, but you smack his hand away and find your voice again. “No. I’m not finished with that.”

“But-”

“The human mouth is very accomodating,” you tell him proudly. “We can’t detach our jaw like some animals can, but we can fit a lot in here. We can stretch.” You position the lollipop to one side of your mouth, so that it fits snugly into your cheek cavity as much as possible. “Still plenty of room. See?” You open your mouth to show him.

Shockwave trembles. You nod again, and he takes another step forward. His dick is now perfectly aligned with your mouth but then he pauses. He’s thinking. Calculating. Hesitating. He inches his dick forward and rests it on your bottom lip and stops again. The hot metal weight of it, the alien chrome smell of it, floods your mouth with even more saliva.

“Go on,” you encourage him, licking a bead of fluid from the dripping tip. “For science.”

For a long few seconds Shockwave doesn’t move. And then he slides his dick into your mouth. He does so slowly, inch by careful inch, giving you plenty of time to prepare and relax your muscles. It rubs against the lollipop in your mouth and you’re flooded with flavour. Saliva dribbles out of your mouth and down your chin but you ignore it, instead concentrating on how fantastically full your mouth is becoming. 

Shockwave’s dick hits the back of your mouth and he stops. You instinctively try to swallow and don’t achieve much. Actually that’s not true because Shockwave moans at what you’ve just done. Actually moans. You wonder what other sounds he’s capable of making, and what sounds you can cause him to make. 

You don’t swallow again. Instead you suck. You suck his dick and the lollipop at the same time again and again and again, and Shockwave has to put a hand on the back of your head to prevent himself from buckling and you both make a long noise.

You adjust the lollipop in your mouth, hold it in place, and slowly pull your head back. Shockwave doesn’t resist you, and doesn’t remove his hand from your head as you remove your mouth from his dick, which is soaking wet and dripping. You rub your thumb over the head of it, smearing the viscous liquid around it. You rub him with two fingers, and then your entire hand, stroking his dick up and down to coat it in a mixture of your saliva and the transfluid that’s steadily leaking out of him.

“Please,” Shockwave says haltingly, as he braces himself against the bench with his other arm. “The…experiment has not been concluded.”

“Experiment?” you ask, sucking on the lollipop. “Oh yes - this extra experiment that you haven’t actually told me about. What exactly is it we’re proving or disproving here?”

“I…the…to see.”

“That sounds important.” You stroke him hard and twist, and he makes a stuttering sound of mechanical pleading.

“The…human mouth is a combination of muscles,” he finally stutters, dragging some basic information up from his depths. “It- this experiment is to exercise them. See how far they can…stretch.”

That sounds mildly plausible. 

“I’ve just demonstrated how far they can stretch,” you tell him. “But do you think they can go further?”

“…yes.”

“Well would you believe it, so do I.” You lick the tip of dick and make it even wetter. “I think my mouth can take more.”

“That…yes. It would be complete. The experiment. As well as- This one. The experiment. I need…complete results or-”

“Or you’ll be a failure?” You speak around the lollipop,

your hand now languidly stroking him. “Well we don’t want that. I don’t want that. I don’t want to be associated with a failure. I have a poverty of life expectancy remember, and I don’t want to waste what I’ve got with a loser. So.”

You remove the lollipop from your mouth and hold onto his legs to brace yourself. You then slowly, slowly, take his dick back into your mouth. Shockwave doesn’t move. He lets you set the pace. Lets you do all the work more like. Not that you’re complaining, but you will complain out loud to him later just to annoy him. His dick reaches the back of your mouth again and you feel him relax slightly. 

Your scientist needs to learn to be more ambitious in his experiments with you. More fearless. 

You adjust your angle, instruct your muscles to relax further, and take his dick all the way down your throat until he’s fully hilted inside you. 

Shockwave shudders and grips your head harder. He then realises what he’s done and lets go immediately in case he’s hurt you, but he doesn’t want to break contact with you so he holds the back of your head again but this time lightly, but it’s not enough to stabilize him so he shoots his other arm out and scrabbles for whatever purchase he can find and makes a sound that sounds like dying.

He needs to get a hold of himself. You’re not even moving any more, and he’s reacting like he’s been blessed and cursed with divine revelation all at once. 

You pat the back of his legs to reassure him. 

Shockwaves’s stabiliser pistons finally align and steadies his frame.

And then you move. You fuck him slowly with your mouth. All the way up and then all the way back down. His dick tastes even better than that lollipop, and you suck him with control and purpose. Your chin is wet and your throat is sticky and your heart is thumping harder than you ever remember it doing.

Shockwave is doing his best to stay silent and is failing wonderfully. You wonder if he’ll match your rhythm and fuck you down your throat but he hasn’t, and you don’t suspect he will. Not because he doesn’t want to, but because he doesn’t want to use more than a fraction of his strength in case even that’s too much. His self-control is impressive and welcome, but it’s not complete. 

Shockwave is holding the back of your head lightly, but his fingers are tightening infinitesimally around your hair and scalp every time you suck the tip of his dick and swallow it all the way down to its base. His self-control is not infinite and not indestructible. He’s not dead inside.  

You eventually feel his frame tense and tighten around you, and hear the pitch and whine of his engines straining up a gear. You’re enveloped in heat and know he’s close.

“There…is time for one more experiment,” he manages to say, his voice thick with static.

“Mmmm?” you ask around his dick, your full mouth still moving.

“…apparently saliva can digest various substances and…so can stomach enzymes and…the mouth is part of the digestive system and…if you…if you…”

You’ve swallowed transfluid before and liked it and know it won’t hurt you. You’ve had The Talk with all the medics on board just to be sure, and so long as he doesn’t pour his entire tank down your throat in one go you’ll be fine.

You nod your consent, and Shockwave makes a noise that sounds like gratitude.

He’s a bit less steady on his feet now, a bit more erratic, a bit louder and less efficient in his movements but you’re not. You’re a steady constant in the face of his fast approaching overload, fucking him in a perfect rythym that surprises him more than it does you.

He grips you harder and spasms and his engines scream dangerously loud as he overloads hard in your mouth. A shot of transfluid hits the back of your throat and you can’t help but gag at the quantity of it. You hold his legs tighter to prevent him from going anywhere, because you’re not going to miss a moment of this. You swallow as much as you can, and revel in the mechanical rumbling stuttering sounds his engines make as they fight not to cut out. His silent cooling system is blasting hard, which feels like opening an oven door and putting your face into it. Your hair is stuck to your flushed and sweating face.

Shockwave eventually quietens and stills and begins to regain himself. A series of small clicks indicate his cooling system is powering down. You suspect he’d like to keep his dick down your throat all day if you agreed to it and while that’s not something you’re opposed to, far from it, your mind is already churning with possibilities as to what three hands and a cannon can do while your mouth is occupied, it’s an experiment for another day.

Right now you have your own needs to attend to, and first on that list is to clean up the mess he’s made on you as best you ca. You gave it a good try but you couldn’t swallow everything he gave you, you’re only human, and a lot of it leaked out of your mouth and dribbled down your chin and throat. Your skin is sticky and your clothes are splattered.

You move your head back until his dick pops out, and cup a hand underneath your mouth to catch the gush of fluid that spills out. You look up at Shockwave and raise that hand to your mouth and lap up what’s in it.

Shockwave’s overworked engines make a pitiful sound as they rev back up again. You suck your fingers clean, and then you put your underestimated human mouth to good use and clean him up. 

Your work is not completed quickly.

But finally it is, and you make an effort to casually sit back in satisfaction at completing a job well done.

“So what do you think?” you ask him off-handedly, as your body thrums and fizzes. You wish your own temperature control system was more effective, no matter how noisy it would have to be. Your shirt is stuck to your back and you’re entering the non-lethal stage of dehydration. “Was the experiment a success?”

“I think,” Shockwave says, as he pours you a glass of water from the sink, “That the human mouth is…interesting.”

He hands you the glass and you drink from it without pausing. You know that’s as close as Shockwave will ever come to saying that he thinks the human mouth is incredible, yours especially, and that he wants nothing more than to fill it and worship it again.

“But still a concerning mystery,” Shockwave continues, as he takes the empty glass from you. “It requires further research. A lot of research.”

He kneels down in front of you and puts a hand on your knee.

“In fact,” Shockwave says, his warm fingertips languidly stroking up the inside of your thigh as if the thought has just occurred to him, “the human body as a whole needs to be researched further. One system, one organ, one session at a time.” 

His hand stops on your buckled belt.

“A breakthrough has been achieved,” you tell him, picking up his hand and removing it from your belt. Despite his claims to be highly dexterous, you don’t have time to wait for him to use one hand when you have two.

“It’s a minor miracle.” You unbuckle your belt, pull your pants down, lean back against the wall and put one hand behind your head to cushion it. With your other hand you make a motion for him to hurry up and get to work because you both know you’ve earned this.

“You finally said something correct. Now let’s see what else you can accomplish.“

#shockwave #transformers #transformers prime #reader insert #self insert #most of this was written just before #during #and just after #my recent trip abroad #when I was jetlagged #or tired #or very tired #which is why the tone is what it is #but it was a lot of fun to write #tfp #shockwave/human #transformer/human #my writing #my post

[horansqueen]

You & Me : chapter 3

A Niall Horan fanfiction ; rated MA

Sequel to AM CONVERSATIONS

CHAPTER 1 || CHAPTER 2

NOTES:

-one chapter is her pov, the next is his. -4.1k -im sorry, i never proofread, i hate it. -there WILL be smut. but not only smut. -this is a romance, comedy, smut story. -for the summary, check my MASTERLIST.

- notes: who saw that coming? btw im sorry i feel like this chapter sucks. like, really REALLY sucks. so im sorry. thank you for the feedbacks and requests i love them so so much!

Chapter 3 : His chapter

NIALL

The cafe was actually small and intimate, which didn't really surprise me. Olivia has never liked attention on her and the fact that she was now more famous didn't change her personality, I knew it. I sat at a table and grabbed my phone to see if she had messaged me but I quickly looked up when I realized the waitress was standing next to my table.

"Uhm, a french vanilla coffee and a cappuccino, please."

I watched the lady leave and held my breath, now regretting the fact that I ordered for her.  I hadn't been with Olivia for over a year and yet, this old habit naturally came back to me. It was a very bad idea and I didn't know what she'd think of it. In fact, I didn't even know myself what to think of it. Plus, she hated when someone else decided for her. Of course, when we were dating, she thought it was sweet that i always knew what she'd pick but now? Well let's just say that even if it went well the day before when we met for the first time in a year, didn't mean that she had forgotten about me breaking her heart.

I was still lost in my thought when the bell of the door rang but I recognized her smell. That thought made me close my eyes and I groaned low. I knew it was sad and pathetic, and I knew that we weren't in a movie, but it was still the truth. I don't think I would ever get used to that smell, and it was fucking crazy how much I missed it.The truth was, I felt like I knew her by heart, yet it has been so long I had no idea if it was still the case.

"Hey you, still 'dans la lune'?"

I looked up at her and my heart skipped a beat. My heart fucking skipped a beat! I felt it stir in my chest and I hated it as much as I loved it. Without thinking, I got up quickly and sent her a smile as I let my eyes roam on her face. God, I wanted to kiss her.

"Hey petal." I just said, naturally bending down to kiss her cheek, "Haven't heard you talk french in a long time!"

"I talk a lot with my parents these days on skype, that's why."

I felt her hands on my shoulders and slowly, I wrapped my arms around her waist. I was not sure she was okay with it but she didn't back away and I pulled her against me as her arms moved around my neck. When was the last time I had the chance to hold her in my arms like that? I couldn't remember. All I knew was there was no way i'd let an other year pass before it happened again. She finally pulled away and sat in front of me as I sat back too. I opened my lips to talk just when the waitress came to put the coffees in front of us and left. Olivia blinked a few times, looked down at her mug and finally up in my eyes.

"I'm guessing you didn't order yourself two cups of coffee, did you?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.

"I'm sorry." I apologized, shaking my head slightly and looking down. "It's a habit I thought I got rid of but apparently... I didn't."

"Do you do that with your girlfriend too?"

"Fuck no." I let out with a chuckle without thinking. "I mean, you know Heidi, she's a bit of a..."

"Bitch?" she asked, raising her eyebrows before losing her smile. "I mean, god, i'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

We remained in silence for a few seconds and I sighed, rubbing my hand on my face. I wanted to tell her I didn't really care what she said about my girlfriend but I didn't dare. I didn't want her to think I didn't care what she said, but at the same time, I didn't really want to say that Heidi and I weren't doing so well. Or maybe it was just me, I was not sure anymore.

"Don't worry, it's all good. I know you two have never been the best of friends." I just let out, trying to get rid of the awkwardness between us.

"That's.. the euphemism of the year." she just replied, raising her eyebrows and focusing on her mug. "She's always loved to show me how close you two were and let me know that you were hers. It used to drive me insane."

She let out a short chuckle but kept staring down at her hands wrapped around her cup.

"I was not hers." I pointed out. It took a few seconds but she finally looked up in my eyes.

"Well, you are now."

Silence again. I frowned slightly, feeling hurt that our coffee date didn't go as planned but at the same time, i couldn't really blame her. She was being on the defensive but the last time we actually saw each other, I broke her heart, so I could understand why.

I wanted to tell her I was not Heidi's. I wanted to tell her that was a still hers and that I probably always would be... that she inspired me a whole album and that each word still hurt like the stab of a knife in my skin every single time i'd sing them... that i would always somehow wait for her. Instead, I stared at her and smiled a bit, trying to think of something clever to say.

"I know it's been hard for our friends, you know, to make sure we would never meet." she let out, taking a sip of her coffee. "I've always felt a bit bad because they were your friends first and therefore, I didn't really have the right to keep then."

"We're not in third grade anymore." I chuckled and shrugged. "My friends, your friends, who cares. They're our friends and you're right, they did an amazing but tough job at keeping us away from each other."

I could remember all the times Julie, Liam, Louis and Harry told me I had made a mistake. When I would do something with them, I could feel how tense it was, probably due to the fact that they saw Olivia cry, but also because they were mad at me for the way I did things. They were right, it was disgusting, and although it sucked that I couldn't find comfort with my friends, I could understand the reasons behind it.

"How about we give them a break?"

Her proposition took me by surprise and my lips parted. Did she just say that we could start hanging out again? Maybe not one on one, like I hoped for, but at least around our friends. I nodded slowly and licked my lips, not wanting to look overjoyed but still happy about all of that.

"I think it'd be nice, really." I pointed out, still nodding. "I think they'll be happy and frankly, me too."

She looked slightly surprised but the left corner of her lips raised and ti did something to me.

"Look, Olivia." I continued, looking down at my hands on the table as I played with my fingers. "The way I broke up with you was horrible." I looked up in her eyes and did everything to make sure I wouldn't reach for her hands. "The reasons why were... disgusting. I've been a bad best friend and an even worse boyfriend."

She had lost her smile and was staring at me in silence as I talked. I saw her tear up but she remained motionless and kept her tears in, making me feel even guiltier.

"I'm so sorry, Olivia." I added, leaning against the table to be slightly closer to her. "I'm so fucking sorry. And you don't have to forgive me, but please know that i'm sorry."

Her eyes roamed on my face and she licked her lips. I stared at the way her tongue moved on her bottom one, suddenly craving her. Not sexually, no, but I craved the intimacy we used to have, how close we used to be. I craved the way we were around each other, the way things  used to be. I craved cuddling her all night, dancing with her in the living room and the way she used to trust me. I craved all of that so bad I felt a hole in my stomach as I stared at her.

By the way she was looking at me, I knew she had a lot of questions to ask but didn't want to make things more awkward between us but the truth was, I wanted to answer all her questions and ask her some that have been stuck in my head, too.

"Okay." she whispered with a short nod. "I hear you."

I didn't expect her to forgive me but I really wanted her to. But things aren't forgiven and forgotten just because someone apologizes. I was going to have to work for it, and I was ready to do it.

"I wish we were best friends like we used to be." I added with a sigh, taking a sip of my coffee. "I thought we'd always be."

Of course, that didn't mean I regretted dating her. In fact, it's on the top of the list of the things I don't regret and never will.

"Me too."

My lips curled when I heard her voice and I was about to answer something when my phone beeped. I held my breath, thinking about ignoring it, but Olivia raised her eyebrows and sent me a very small smile. I apologized again and grabbed my phone to check who it was. I frowned when I realized it was my cousin and noticed a link.

'Did you see that?'

I was suddenly scared of what it was but I clicked on it anyway and a bunch of supposition rushed to my brain as the page loaded. Was someone already aware of the fact that Olivia and I talked again? Were there rumors about us? It had always caused trouble in the past, before we started dating, and I really didn't want it to happen again. I was a bit scared she'd decide not to see me again because of it and I really didn't want that. But what I saw was something that never even crossed my mind. My lips parted, my eyes widened and If I had been alone at home, I would have thrown my phone on the wall. I felt suddenly nauseous and tried to swallow with difficulty. I reached for my wallet and left a bill on the table as I shook my head.

"I need to go. I need fresh air."

"Wait, Niall, what's wrong?"  she asked, getting up too.

I could hear worry in her voice but I couldn't get myself to look at her. I turned around and reached the door, pushing on it quickly and diving my hands in my pockets as I walked quickly. She was following me, I heard her call my names a few times and could sense her presence but for the very first time since I saw her again, I didn't want to be around her. I wanted her as far away as possible.

"Niall! Please tell me what's wrong!"

I stopped dead in my track, my back still facing her, and moved my head slightly down. I brought my fingers to my eyes and rubbed them quickly as a bunch of feelings invaded me and made my whole body throb. She was close and she was getting closer. I could feel her body through a reaching distance behind me but I couldn't turn around.

"Niall, please..."

It's only when I felt her hand on my back that something inside me seemed to burst. I turned around to face her and despite the rage and pain inside me, I still took the time to look at her. Her lips were slightly parted and all I could think about was that I would never kiss them again. Never.

I searched through my pockets to grab my phone and moved it close to her face. I saw her expression change from confused to guilty and she licked her lips again, looking down.

"Deo sent me that!" I explained with a frown, trying to look more angry than hurt. "When the fuck were you going to tell me?"

"I thought you knew, Niall!" she argued, shaking her head a bit. "We met at the bakery yesterday!"

"I thought it was Julie! I thought she and Liam were..." I shook my head and swallowed hardly again. "You're getting married, Olivia! Why didn't anyone tell me before?"

The article Deo sent me could have been fake, but I knew as soon as her face changed that it was real. I was losing her, I was losing her forever. I felt my heart drop down in my stomach and turned around to run to an alley and leaned against the wall, bending down slightly. I felt like I was going to vomit and I closed my eyes, feeling suddenly dizzy.

"Why are you taking it so hard?" she asked in a soft tone, making me realize that she had followed me. "I don't get it, Niall. You broke up with me over a year ago, why does it matter if i'm getting married?"

I breathed in deeply, biting my bottom lip hard to make sure I didn't tell her it was me she was supposed to marry. Instead, I stood up again and turned to her, trying to stop the tears coming to my eyes. It was not happening. I was stuck in a nightmare, for sure.

"What about us, Olivia mm?"

She shook her head but took an other step closer.

"There's no us anymore, Niall, remember?" she pointed out a bit harshly. "You broke my heart! And then you started dating Heidi! Out of anyone you could have dated, you dated her! You left me and then started dating her! She't the one sleeping with you at night, and cuddling on the couch with you, and she's the one you..."

She stopped herself and closed her eyes, trying to calm the anger inside of her. We were both in pain standing in front of each other, not knowing how to get past this.

"I can't believe you're with her, she's so... she's such a..."

"A bitch?" I asked meanly, raising my eyebrows. "Yea well let me tell you something. After I broke up with you I couldn't find comfort anywhere. My own friends were mad at me for what I did. Louis literally told me to fuck off, Harry took days to answer a text message and Liam completely disappeared. I knew they were taking care of you, and I understood you were the one who needed comfort but what about me, mm? I was alone and sad and all i did all day was write, sleep and cry. And Heidi was the only one who was there for me. She picked me up and shook me enough to bring me back on my feet."

"You wouldn't have needed it if you hadn't broken my heart!"

"Well I did, Olivia! I broke your heart! And I hate myself for it!" I repeated a little louder. "But Heidi was there for me! It was not planned, I didn't even want to date her before that, I never really saw her like that. But she was the only one I could count on and clearly, she still is."

She kept quiet and stared at me until I felt a tear run down my cheek. I quickly wiped it off and sniffed, hoping she hadn't seen it. We hadn't even been back in each other's life for 24 hours and it was already a mess. She took a few steps closer and stood so close to me I could feel the warmth of her body emanating against mine. She brought one of her hands up and let one of her fingertips brush on the front of my shirt, from the top to the bottom. I held my breath at her soft touch and she finally tilted her head and looked up in my eyes. She was always affectionate and I knew it didn't mean anything but I couldn't explain how good it felt to have her so close to me.

"You can count on me, Niall." she just whispered. "I'm sorry I said that about your girlfriend. If she makes you happy then i'll respect her."

I looked at her features better since she was so close to me and my lips parted. Without thinking, I brought my hands to her face and cupped her cheeks. I felt her hold her breath at her turn and stared at her for a few seconds. The thought of kissing her was obsessing me and thinking I was so close to do it made my heart jump in my chest. I finally just licked my lip and ran my thumbs on her cheekbones.

"Thank you." I whispered before taking my hands away and letting my arms fall on each side of me. "I know it'll probably take time for you to trust me but, you can count on me too."

She simply nodded and sighed, looking away and taking a step back.

"Look, i'm sorry I didn't tell you I was getting married." she said, making my heart twist in my chest. I knew i'd feel like that every single time i'd hear about this marriage and it was killing me. "I hate lies, I don't want us to hide things from each other I mean, we didn't before, there's no reason we do now, what do you say?"

She moved her hand up in a fist between us with only her pinky out and I glanced down before looking back up in her eyes. That simple gesture made me smile and reminded me of the way we used to be together, when we were still best friend.

"Deal?" she added, raising her eyebrows.

"Deal." I just said, intertwining my little finger with hers.

The problem was, I couldn't tell her that I still loved her. I couldn't tell her that I still wanted to be with her, that I still thought we were meant to be, that she still was the love of my life. It was not lying though, right?

We let go our each other's finger and smiled. She chuckled a bit and tilted her head as I shrugged. I wanted to spend time with her, I wanted us to be as close as we used to be, but I knew it would take time and effort and I was willing to give all of me to get her back.

"We could go to the movies tomorrow? What do you say?" It was a long shot but it was still worth a try. I knew she wouldn't be keen in spending time alone with me, at least not for now.

"Oh, I can't tomorrow afternoon, I've got my first radio interview." she explained, raising her nose up in a grimace. "I'm so fucking nervous."

"It'll go super well, you're a natural." I pointed out, making her laugh. "I'm serious!"

"You know that's not true! I don't only trip over my own feet, and I do the same while I talk."

I reached to squeeze her upper arm and smiled again.

"Just think about your words first and you'll do fine."

She nodded and we started walking back to our cars. I pushed my hands in my pockets to make sure I wouldn't reach for hers and we walked very slowly in silence for a while. All I could think about was that she was going to get married and it was not to me. Someone else was going to be her husband and she would vow him her love for the rest of her life. It was a fucking big step and I didn't know how I was going to get her back after this news. If she was ready to marry him, what they had must have been strong, but was it strong than what we had? I glanced at her and noticed she was looking down and a smile wasn't gracing her lips anymore. I would give anything to be in her head and find out how she felt.

"Maybe we could do something tomorrow night? A pub, maybe? With everyone else?"

She looked up in my eyes and just nodded, sending me a small smile.

"Alright, i'll text you." I just said.

It took her half a second to end up in my arms and I held her against my body, feeling suddenly nervous but also at peace. I never thought I could feel both at the same time. She held me tight and I did the same before burring my face in her hair, the vanilla and honey scent invading me again. How was I going to get her back now? Should I just give up?

She pulled away and we said goodbye as my heart was thumping hard against my rib cage. I watched her drive off and walked back to my car quickly, feelings tears reaching my eyes. Now that I was alone, the pain was more intense and I felt flooded with emotions. I didn't want to give up. Who gives up on the love of their life?

I sat in my car and started crying. I didn't even take the time to wipe my tears. I just sobbed like a fucking idiot in my car, hitting the wheel once and then a few more times harder. How would I be able to handle that? How would I be able to accept that she was marrying an other man? I should have messaged her before, I should have begged her to take me back, I should have ran after her on that stupid rainy night.

I tried to calm myself on the drive home and when I parked in front of my house, I noticed Heidi's car was there. We didn't live together, I never really felt ready to live with her but she was often at my place and had the keys, too. I took a few more minutes to cool down and looked at myself in the rear view mirror to see if it showed that I cried. I breathed in deeply before getting out of my car and walking inside. She was doing aerobics in the living room and she glanced at me as I walked in, flashing me a smile.

"Hey babe, where were you?"

I threw my keys on the coffee table and walked to the kitchen, grabbing two bottles of water and bringing her one. She put her video on pause and turned to me, thanking me and taking a long sip. She panted again for a few seconds and finally raised her eyebrows.

"Oh I was just out." I shrugged.

I didn't want to have this discussion with her and although I knew i'd have to tell her soon, I was not sure how she was going to react. She never liked Olivia but it may have been only because she knew something was happening between us. She couldn't be aware that I still had feelings for Liv, right?

"You okay?" she asked with a frown, taking me out of my daydream.

I nodded and quickly wrapped my arms around her, pulling her closer to me. She chuckled but hugged me back as I leaned my chin on her head. The truth was, I was really thankful to Heidi for being there for me. I couldn't remember when we started holding hands in public and why, or why exactly we started dating because I was not even sure I had these kinds of feelings for her, but I owed her a lot. She was not different than the other girls for me, though : I knew I wouldn't spend my life with her. There was only one girl I wanted to spend my life with and at some point, I would have to break things up with Heidi, whether things worked out with Olivia or not. It was not fair to keep her around, I knew it, and being so close to Liv today made this even clearer in my mind. The only one I wanted was Olivia, and it didn't matter that she was going to marry someone else. I was still going to do everything I could to show her how sorry I was, and now much I still loved her.

#niall horan #niall horan smut #niall horan fluff #niall horan story #niall horan writing #niall horan fanfic #niall horan fan fic #niall horan fan fiction #niall horan fanfiction #my fanfics #yam #it sucks but god it makes me want to write chapter 4

[tsarisfanfiction]

Unexpected

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Gen (brief, family-friendly allusion to the birds and bees) Genre: Family Characters: Scott, John, Gordon, Alan, Virgil, EOS

Yup, another fic for @gumnut-logic‘s #irrelief!  The prompt used here is ““We’re going to be uncles!” A Tracy has reproduced (can be Kayo too)” from @shirubie.  Maybe not quite what the prompt implies, though.

When it came to the next generation, Scott didn’t think it would happen quite like this.

“I can’t believe it!”

Gordon’s sudden exclamation was greeted by silence from his older brothers.  Scott raised an eyebrow before returning to the metaphorical mountain of paperwork on his desk.  EOS had been a thoroughly internal affair, and while none of them intended on letting anyone in the GDF – including Colonel Casey, for all that she was on their side – learn the truth about what exactly had gone down during those disastrous moments on Thunderbird Five, the fact remained that several distress calls had gone unanswered for hours and the GDF wanted answers.

Finding a way to cover it all up without revealing John’s inadvertent creation of a sentient AI several years earlier, or the fact that said sentient AI now resided full time on the most technologically advanced satellite in the world, was tricky.  It was not helped by the fact that she was currently only trusted entirely by John, although Scott suspected the rest of his brothers were being fast won over, and she reminded him more than a little of John when he’d been that age (assuming, of course, that EOS was approximately ten years old – John had not been forthcoming on when, exactly, he’d written the base coding).

Like creator, like… creation?

“What is it, Gordon?”

Unlike the elder brothers – Virgil was steadfastly tickling ivories without pause, and John might not be actively hovering, but Scott knew his line with them was always open (unless a certain AI – nope, not going to go there right now) – Alan had not mastered the art of working out when Gordon needed to be listened to, and when he was simply attention-seeking.  Or maybe he had but had yet to tire of enabling him – or maybe, just maybe, Alan was bored of cleaning.

It was probably the latter. No-one liked cleaning, not even MAX.

“John!” Gordon called out, his tone almost accusatory, instead of directly answering his younger brother.

John, blessed with the patience of a saint but also, more importantly, the ability to tell when Gordon should be listened to, and when he should not, didn’t answer.

He did, however, pop up in miniature in the corner of Scott’s holoprojector, out of Gordon’s line of sight, and rolled his eyes.  Scott appreciated the proof that the line was indeed open, and not being hijacked by EOS. He shook his head slightly in return, amused if a little exasperated at the elder blond’s outburst – whatever inane thing it was he’d thought of.

“Joo-oooohn!” Gordon repeated, in that annoying, grinding way of splitting a brother’s name into two syllables when it clearly only had one that both Scott and John hated.  “Johnny!”  Turquoise eyes hardened in frustration – two syllables in ‘Jo-ohn’ was one thing, but ‘Johnny’ was detested.  Scott couldn’t agree, preferring ‘Scotty’ to ‘Sco-ott’ himself, or even ‘Scooter’, as his brothers occasionally bastardised his name.  ‘Scotty’ was childish, but ‘Sco-ott’ was just whining.

Still, John remained silent.  Patience was a virtue, and one John had far more of than Gordon.  The eventual victor was already clear.

“I know you’re listening!” Gordon continued, and oh dear, there was the end of the patience.  Willing or not, they were all about to be made privy to whatever revelation the aquanaut had come to.  Scott didn’t have a clue what it could be, but knowing Gordon, it was probably going to be nonsense.

From the look he got from John, he wasn’t alone in that opinion.

“Jooohnny.”  Now it was a whine.  Dogs whined, little kids whined.  Fully qualified aquanauts with military training also whined, apparently.  Or maybe it was just ones named Gordon Cooper Tracy.  Scott had never really interacted with WASP during his time in service.  “Why didn’t you say you had a kid?”

John choked, immediately drawing the attention of the two youngest as they whirled around to see his miniature hologram perched on Scott’s – Dad’s – desk.

“Were you hiding?” Alan asked, launching himself away from the broom he was supposed to be sweeping popcorn crumbs off of the den floor with – which clattered to the floor loudly – to cling to the edge of the desk.  Gordon was hot on his heels.

“A kid?” Virgil asked, the quiet melody stopping as the middle child abandoned his sonata and came to join the huddle of brothers around the desk.  “Where did that come from, Gordon?”

“You mean EOS?”  Alan sounded surprised, as though he’d only just drawn the conclusion.  Scott wondered if Gordon had already brought him in on this crazy scheme, but even if he hadn’t, Alan had beaten him to the punch on whatever was going through Gordon’s head, anyway.  Maybe blond-haired teenager brothers had a psychic link.  It might explain a few things, anyway.

“EOS?” John asked, jogging Scott out of suppositions about psychic younger brothers and back to the bizarre conversation at hand.  “My kid?”

“Well she is, isn’t she?” Gordon challenged, arms crossed and eyebrow raised in a manner that looked rather familiar from the mirror.  “You made her.  And now she’s living with you while you teach her how tell right from wrong.”

“I know you know how children happen,” John said bluntly.  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You made her,” Gordon repeated, and beside him Alan, who had been looking thoughtful, began to nod.

“Gordon’s right,” he said, and John turned an incredulous look on him.  Scott shared a look of ‘what are we supposed to do about this’ with Virgil.  “You made her base coding, and now she’s growing up.”

“She is growing up?” Gordon interjected, and Scott realised John had been backed into a corner. Saying EOS wasn’t maturing would both be a lie – she was – and also a sure way to upset the AI who was no doubt eavesdropping on the conversation.

“Of course she is,” John defended her.  “She’s learning.”

“Like a child,” Gordon pressed.  “Ergo, your daughter.”

“Those two things aren’t mutually-”

“John?”

EOS cut off the ginger’s argument, her recently installed own hologram projecting into the midst of their discussion.  Scott just started wondering when she was going to appear.

“Yes, EOS?” John asked, his head turning to look at what Scott assumed was the security camera EOS had taken for a ‘body’ up in Thunderbird Five.

“Your brothers are referring to me as your ‘daughter’, but I checked the internet for how ‘daughter’s are created, and I have no recollection of such an act occurring to create my code.”

Alan and Gordon burst out laughing, and even Scott couldn’t resist joining Virgil in a chuckle as John’s face turned redder than his hair.

“EOS, that’s- why were you looking at that?” he demanded, over Gordon’s gasps for air.  Virgil helpfully patted the aquanaut’s shoulder, and got a baleful look for it.

“To understand, John,” the AI said.  “You said I should research facts before reaching conclusions.”

“I did,” John sighed, rubbing his face with one hand.  “I should have known that would come up sooner or later.  So, what conclusion did you come to?”

“That I am your daughter.”

Scott found himself witness to the rare sight of a baffled John.

“But you just said you didn’t understand what Gordon meant,” Alan pointed out, before John could articulate whatever was going through his head.

“Research implies that while intercourse is how a daughter or son is created, it is not the only way one may be obtained,” EOS replied, sounding as smug as a computer-generated voice could – and perhaps more than Scott ever thought one would.  “The act of sheltering a younger being in one’s home and assisting in their growth and understanding is also one of parenthood. Thus, it would not be incorrect to state that John is my father and I am John’s daughter.”

“I don’t think that’s quite how it works,” Virgil muttered, but he was drowned out by Gordon’s triumphant shout.

“I told you so!” he crowed. “EOS is John’s daughter!”

John was shaking his head, but Scott saw the fond smile on his face.

“Okay, fine,” the ginger said.  “Yes, EOS, that makes you my daughter.  But, please, just keep calling me John.”

“Spoilsport,” Gordon sulked. “Hey, EOS.  If you’re John’s daughter that makes you my niece, so feel free to call me ‘Uncle’!”

“And me!” Alan chimed in. Scott shared another look with Virgil, and they silently agreed to stay out of it.

“Don’t encourage them, EOS,” John muttered, and the white ring of lights flared again.

“John does not wish me to,” she said.  “So I shall not.  After all, research suggests that daughters obey their fathers.”

Her hologram vanished, leaving behind a pair of gaping blonds.  John turned his attention to them.

“Thank you,” he said. “Now I have some explaining to do.” His hologram disappeared as well.

Scott shook his head in despair.  John was patient, but one day he’d get revenge on the teenagers.  Scott was quite content to remain a fly on the wall for the eventual payback.

In the meantime, he had the GDF to throw off the scent of his newly-named niece.  Not quite the way he’d imagined the family expanding.

#irrelief #irrelief2020 #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #tsari writes fanfiction #shirubie #scott tracy #john tracy #alan tracy #gordon tracy #virgil tracy #eos #episode tag #technically #oops i'm back in scott pov again #thunderfluff

[somethings-and-a-few-others]

Tick. Tick.

A Short Story

Why do people even buy books that big? Books like that can only be described one way. Academic. A collection of jargon and theories so dense they aren’t even sold in commercial book stores. Books with more pages than a dictionary lining his shelves and collecting dust. For what? To prove he’s read them? To tell people he can read them? To let people know that he owns books than are seen more as a sign of intelligence than reading material? He probably hasn’t even read them.

Normally, you can dissect a human's personality by looking at the spaces they spend most of their time in. My eyes bounced from shelf to shelf and I couldn’t find an ounce of him. No family photos, no fishing buddies and a big catch, no candid shot on a golf course – nothing. Just textbooks and degrees, and a massive clock mounted right behind his chair.

Tick. Tick.

“Are you going to answer my question, or are you planning to watch the clock for the rest of the hour?”

He sounded a little irritated, but if anyone should be pissed it’s me. Once a week I have to listen to this educated professional tell me what my problems are cause I got a little drunk and started yelling at a gas station attendant… for the third time. So what? I’m an adult who’s allowed to make adult decisions. Besides, there are people with bigger issues than mine out there. If this has to go on until he has a consolidated list of all my problems, I’m dying in this office. He doesn’t want to be here, I don’t want to be here, so let’s not and say we did.

He let go of  a deep disappointed sigh and said, “One more time.” Another sigh as he said, “Name a time you remember feeling thoroughly disappointed.”

“That goddamn purple bike,” I said.

“Elaborate.” With that, there was a click of a pen and the sound of yet another page turning. This needed to be over soon.

 “You’re the shrink, aren’t you? Dig deep into that statement. What can you find, doc? You think it’s cancer?”

“We go through this every week.” He arched a grey brow, “Your statements are vague declarations that have proven to be nothing more than suppositions, so there isn’t anything to dig into. I have a PhD, not an MD, and you were funny in the beginning but now the jokes are becoming quite unimaginative,” he said as he took a sip from his water glass.

Why do old men always make drinking anything such an auditory experience? His swallowing was louder than the car horns outside. 

As he swallowed he said, “Don’t forget why you’re here Jeffrey.” With a satisfied exhale, “you family is worried about. You’ve been in and out of prison cells and rehabs, it’s only a matter of time before you end up in a morgue. Is that what you want, Jeffery? You would rather end up dead than talk to me? If you don’t cooperate, thing aren’t looking too good.”

I sunk into a lumpy couch I didn’t want to be in, and stared up at a ceiling I was tired of looking at. I started counting the cracks in the plaster. What kind of shrink doesn’t invest in a comfy sofa? Isn’t that counter intuitive?

“You know, I feel like I’m doing all the work for you. I’m the one that has to answer all the questions and then I have to tell you about how it screwed me up. Where’s my degree in psychology?”

“You probably soaked it in booze while you were out binge drinking – now what about the bike, Jeffery?”

He put the glass down, sat back in his chair, and crossed his legs. His black pants rode up enough for me to see his socks. He was wearing pinstriped socks. Who wore pinstriped socks? Then he just sat there… just staring at me. Those beady eyes peered at me over his reading glasses, those decrepit looking fingers tapping his pen against his notepad. I could hear the clock ticking. Tick. Tick. I wondered how long we could sit in silence before he said something again, maybe til the end of the session. Hopeful-

“You know Jeffery –”

Apparently not that long.

“You could simply talk. Who is it gonna hurt? Your ego? It’ll heal eventually.”

I hate that guy. I hate all the guys like him. Talking like living 100 years makes them experts on anything other than their own shitty lives. The life he’s lived isn’t the life I’m living.

Tick. Tick.

He sighed deeply again and dropped his notepad and pen on the table next to his water glass. He stroked his temples as he looked at his watch, relief washed over his face when he realized what time it was. 

“That is our time for today. We will pick up where we left off next week.”

           …

“I never thought the smell of cigarettes and road work could be so soothing. That office was stuffy.”

It was clean, I guess, but being in there made me feel like I was in a box – no, under a microscope. Everything felt sterile and I felt like something that had to be observed, not a person that was being talked to. The bookshelves towed higher than I could reach, that clock was loud, the way that guy swallowed made my skin itch. The idea of going back there next week made me want to jump off of a bridge.

“Well what about the bike?”

“What?”

“I don’t particularly care about your life mister, but I am sorta interested in that bike story,” she says as she hands a man in a trench coat a hotdog haphazardly wrapped in a napkin. “What was so depressing about that bike?” she says while she waves a pair of tongs dripping with hotdog water in my face.

“When I was eight years old, there was this purple mountain bike I begged for. We walked into this store – can’t remember which one so let’s just say it was a Walmart – and you know how they have those displays that go all the way up to the ceiling with bikes? They’re so high up and convoluted, you have to call a worker to get one. Then that worker has to get a stick that has a funny looking hook on the end and another worker with, like, keys or something. Anyways, I wanted this bike that was at the top of the display. I begged for that bike, I was ready to sell my soul for that shiny bitch. So I asked for it.”

“One sec,” she flips a few sausages on the grill and grabs a few more out of the cooler next to her feet. The smell of raw and cooked hotdogs fight and mingle with the smell of concrete and exhaust fumes. “’kay, what happened next?”

She hands me a soda I didn’t ask for from of the cooler and sits down on the empty crate next me.

“I was given a set of rules and conditions. All the usual ones: gotta clean my room, gotta get the grades, ‘don’t get into any shit – don’t let nobody be callin’ my house about you,’ is what my mom said. I was ready. I was the best I’d been since infancy.”

“Hey! Can I get some service here please,” some suit with a scowl says.

The lady hotdog vendor hops up, snatches a bun off one of the selves on her cart, and tucks a sausage into it. She hands it to the suit and the suit hands her some change.

“Continue,” she says. She plops back down onto the crate next to me.

“Shoulda known my poor ass family couldn’t afford to get me a new bike. You know, months went by? I remember biting my lip and fidgeting at night thinking about how cool I was gonna be riding that thing to school. I would stay up wondering when it would come. Then I turned ten and gave the fuck up. Never even bothered asking about it.”  

“Hm,” She takes a sip. “So let me ask you this, you just told a stranger what your therapist has been trying to get you to say for weeks. Why are you willing to spill your guts on a sidewalk behind a hotdog cart but not on a couch in therapy? ”

“Cause I’ll never see you again after I pay you for this hotdog,” I say while sipping on the soda I’m assuming is free. “The more I tell him, the longer I have to sit on his couch.”

She furrows her brow as she stands up to hand the next customer their street meat. 

She says, “Your family went out of their way to set all this up for you so you don’t end up dead in an ally somewhere, and you’re worried about impressions? You sound like an idiot.”

“Well they wouldn’t have needed to pay for therapy if they had bought me that bike now would they?”

“That’s foul?” she says.

“No what’s foul is making your kid promises you have no intention of keeping with no follow-up or apology for twenty years. But hey, that’s why I’m seeing a shrink,” I retort as a finish my hotdog.

They pick and choose when they want to care about me and it’s contradicting – some would argue the root of all my issues. But I’m the one that looks like the bad guy. I’m the one that looks like the ungrateful drunk with no feelings or sense of decency. Fuck that shrink and this lady too. I finish my free soda and stand up. I pay for my food and tip the hotdog lady for her time. If I was drunk I probably would have yelled at her for telling me to go talk to that bitch of a therapist.

I walk away and sigh. I need a drink a lot harder than a soda.

- r.s // “Tick. Tick.” // 2020

#short story #alcoholic #fiction #My writing #new story #spilled ink #depression #therapy

[wasalwaysagreatpickle]

Saturday 16th August 1828

7 3/4

10 5/60

Down stairs at 8 35/60 – sauntered along the walk – the young trees (not smothered by the grass last year) have grown amazingly well – breakfast at 10 1/2 – my father gave me Washington’s plan for a new farmstead at the Cunnery – Marian (just when my father left the room to go walk to Halifax) told me he objected to it – did not like any change to be made during his life – she had at last got it out that I might build – he would not thwart my fancy – but if I did, he would leave the place!!! I said it seemed strange – my father had distinctly said that whatever pleased me best would please him best, that he appeared quite to approve the thing, and all I could say was, I had been completely deceived – I certainly thought it rather hard upon me to be treated thus – during my father’s life, such was what I had to expect – should anything happen to him, I had but one sister, - one near connection, and I was in fear for what she might do – her views were always opposite to mine – and what comfort had I to look forward to? Marian began to rather cry, yet sat reading the whole time – of course, I said no more – swallowed my breakfast not more slowly than usual, and came up to my room at 10 55/60 –

Musing for a while – then sat down at my desk, and from 11 1/2 to 6 1/4 wrote to Miss Maclean 3pp. the ends, under the seal, and the 1st page crossed – 3pp. and one end to Mrs B- [Barlow] and the latter 1/3 page 2, and page 3, and one end (small and close) and finished my letter to M- [Mariana] begun at Glasgow, and Alnwick? – Kind letter to Miss Maclean very kind and satisfactory apology for whatever I said to her on our travels that could annoy her – knew not what possessed me – thought of those worse than idle words with astonishment and remorse – could neither account for, nor forgive them – the remembrance gave me more pain than she thought – if she knew how much her anger would be disarmed, and she would be hurt not for her own sake, but for mine – said it was decidedly my opinion after being ten days at home with her

That her absence was more likely than her presence to promote the happiness and welfare of those she left behind. I thought her staying could be neither of pleasure nor use to her father. Experience did not shew that we always liked that person less who left a duty undone for our sake but was not the question now if her father had remained at Quinish the case would have been different as it was I thought her best away if I was wrong might her judgement correct mine – 

Took no notice of her supposition that I had been informed of Mrs Maclean’s intention of going from home and taking Isabella to school – think probably we shall travel together to Paris – wish her to be off from home as early in September as she can – give her the quotation from Miss Ellen D- [Duffin]’s letter (vide Friday) respecting Brussels to be communicated to the Hunters or such of her friends as it might concern – 

Bid her not talk to me of staying three months why limit the time her being with us would be a great comfort to me only hoped she herself would be comfortable – 

Kind letter to Mrs B- [Barlow] think of our all going back together – mention Miss Maclean’s spending the winter with us – where shall we all meet? at Lemms in London? Should like to be back very early in October – have given up the thought of Dr Tupper’s apartment – to have another garret upstairs and stay where we are at all rates till the 1st January – will you have your aunt in the winter – or will you ask her at all? – you know not what you may or may not do in the spring – Jane’s settling well and happy, an object near my heart – Lady O- [Ouseley]’s advice good to settle in London, or greatly in her power to make it so – shall go to Lawton for a little while again, but know not exactly when – 

Kind letter to M- [Mariana] also – finish the brief account of my travels, then answer her letter – Do not wish her to go to the festival nor does Mrs H.S.B- [Henry Stephen Belcombe] wish them to meet the Meeks – should like to spend as much of the rest of my time as possible at Lawton – could be there very early next month – Miss Maclean has promised to spend the winter with us – looks 50, instead of 42 or 43 – and very thin and pale – though she has been with me in the highlands, still think her health precarious – It was well enough to buy the Salmons’ old carriage, but fear, if it wants painting, it will not be a cheap bargain to M- [Mariana] does she remember all we said about her mother etc. going to Sandbach – whatever may be for good, I wish; but it is not clear to me that if Mrs B- [Belcombe] cannot buy the furniture, and go, that it will deserve to be much regretted – 

Hope things go better than Lou imagines understood in York that Clifton was prosperous – 

Delighted that M- [Mariana] is better for Leamington – her health the main spring of my anxiety – Dinner at 6 20/60 – after supper (my father so deaf impossible to keep up a conversation) reading the first 48pp. 800 edition volume 5 Sir Walter Scott’s life of Napoleon – very amusing – entertaining as any novel, said Marian – came up to my room at 10 5/60 – fine day, a few drops of rain in the afternoon, and rainy evening from about 7 –

#anne lister #shibden hall #1828 #anne lister code breaker