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drcalmreid · 3 years

Text

the dugout - s.r.

pairing: spencer reid x female reader

summary: smut - post-baseball practice spencer fulfills a fantasy of y/n’s

content warning: NSFW 18+!! pure smut lol

word count: 3.2k

authors notes: so mmmm….chile anyway enjoy ;)

gif credit: @thegifs-queen

YOUR POV

“Alright kid, you gotta get out of your head,” Morgan says, wiping a hand on the back of his sweatpants. He squats down in front of the pitcher’s mound and grabs the baseball Spencer just tossed back to him,

“Just swing hard and follow through. There’s no mathematical equations, just swing.”

“Okay fine,” Spencer huffs looking down at his converse. “But according to recent studies, most major league teams employ mathematicians in order to pinpoint crucial angles, velocities, distances, and overall mathematical equations that are needed to create the ideal outcome of a baseball game,” Spencer says squinting at Morgan even though his hat shields his eyes from the sun. He stands at home plate with the wooden bat between his legs and his hands resting on the barrel. Derek rolls his eyes at Spencer and gives him an of-course-you-know-that head shake and walks back to the top of the pitcher’s mound. He tosses the ball into the pitching machine and Spencer swings and misses, again.

“We really have to watch this?” Emily leans over to whisper in my ear, “It’s just too painful to watch.”

“I know,” I shrug, pursing my lips together before giving her an empathetic smile. “If you don’t want to stay you don’t have to, I’m sure they’ll be done soon...I can meet you at Garcia’s.”

“Really?” She says in the most excited tone she has had the entire time we’ve been here. “Thank you,” she sighs and reaches for her coat on the bleachers before climbing down them. “You look great out there boys, but Garcia is hounding me to help her set-up! I’ll meet you over there!” Emily smiles one last time and waves to Morgan and Reid before practically running to her car before any of us can stop her.

“See,” Spencer says, taking off his baseball cap and running his hand through his hair. “We’re losing our audience. That’s how bad I am.”

“You need some motivation, Kid.” Morgan says pounding the baseball into his mitt, “It could be those mathematical baseball facts you know, the idea of beating the local PD in this game...” his eyes shift to me in the stands and I perk my head up, “or (y/n)...whatever it is, use it.” His phone rings from his pocket and he reaches inside before picking up, “What’s up, baby girl? We’re almost done here, then--woah woah, slow down. I’ll be right there.”

Morgan hangs up his cell phone and shrugs at Spencer, “it’s your lucky day. Garcia is requesting I come help set up the party tonight for Hotch...which I thought Prentiss was supposed to be doing,” he turns to glare at me.

“I know nothing!” I yell from the stands. I rise from the bleachers and walk closer to the fence.

“Either way, I’m needed ‘urgently, like now’ by Garcia,” Morgan chuckles using air quotes around what I can assume is a panicked Garcia needing her Chocolate Thunder. “So, we can pick this up tomorrow?” Reid presses his lips together in a tight lipped, straight smile before nodding. Just like that, Morgan grabs his bats and glove and disappears into the parking lot, “I’ll see you two over there!”

I climb down from the stands and walk closer towards the dugout. Spencer grabs the spare bat Morgan gave him off the ground and uses it to tap the sand off of his converse. Just as I reach the doorway of the dugout, Spencer enters the other side near the field.

“Hey,” I grin at Spencer as I lean against the cool cement walls.

“Hi,” he smiles back and his eyes quite practically light up when he sees me. To be honest, I’m not sure if he’s more excited to see me or to just be done with Morgan’s baseball practice.

The clay colored dirt collects on the dugout floor, dust raising from it as Spencer steps forward. He sits on the metallic bench against the wall, the bench stretches the length of the dugout and reflects the sunlight from the setting sun. Something about the way Spencer looks sitting down in the dugout, with his hair pushed back in his cap, white button-up loosened around his collar since his tie has been tossed aside since the beginning of practice. His biceps flex slightly as he reaches for his briefcase next to him on the bench (grabbing the hand sanitizer inside the case that he insisted on bringing), his collared shirt rolled up to his elbows exposing his tanned skin....He looks so fucking good.

“So, on a scale of 1-to-listening to me explaining the newest metabolic engineering studies, how bored were you watching me practice today?” Spencer jokes, leaning forward to brush the dirt off his pants.

“Mmm, I would have to say,” I humm and step forward away from the entrance, sitting down on the bench directly next to Spencer. “Waiting for you to come out of the coffee shop, but I forgot my book at home.”

“That bad, huh?” He laughs and I lean down pressing my head to his shoulder. I shake my head and place a kiss on the top of his shoulder. “Not that bad, anything with you is never bad,” I smile, looking up at him. Spencer turns to look at me, tilting his head to the side to make sure his visor is out of the way. He leans down to kiss me and I sit back, raising a hand to stop him.

“Oh (y/n), I’m sorry,” Spencer mumbles. He shifts uncomfortably on the bench, “I thought-”

“Spence,” I reach forward and flip his hat around, resting the visor on the back of his head. I keep my hands at the back of his head, fingers running through his loose, slightly sweaty curls. “Didn’t want you to knock me in the head with that...plus, I like seeing your pretty eyes.”

“Oh,” Spencer sighs softly and a blush creeps onto his cheeks. His eyes turned away from mine, and I know he’s consciously trying to reduce his red cheeks. No matter how long we’ve been together, Spencer still finds moments to be completely embarrassed or shy around me. He leans down, turning his head back to mine and capturing my lips with his. My hands still rest in his hair and I comb my fingers up through his curls gently. Spencer moans slightly and I lift my leg to straddle the backless-bench without his lips leaving mine.

“Spencer,” I smile while breaking the kiss for a moment, but Spencer moves his lips to my jawline. “Did I ever tell you about my one, umm,” I stumble over my words, now I’m the one who’s nervous… “fantasy?”

“Fantasy?” Spencer grins against my skin and I turn my face away, but he raises a finger pulling my face back to his, “tell me.”

“So, I’ve always had this fantasy of, um, y’know…” I raise my eyebrows, eyes glancing around the dimly lit room. “In a dugout…” My cheeks burn with an even more intense blush than before.

“You want to have sex... in a dugout?” Spencer asks, his fingers still rest on my jaw, his eyes staring into mine intently.

“It’s stupid, never mind.” I say, completely embarrassed and attempt to stand from the bench. Spencer’s strong hand grips my waist and pulls me back down towards him, “Spence, really it’s fine, I- lets just go, we have to get to Garcia-”

His lips crash into mine and I know my resistance is useless.

“Spencer, seriously,” I say completely breathless. His lips work down my jawline as I giggle, “it was a stupid fantasy. Plus it’s dirty in here and I’m—you don’t want to—”

“Shh,” Spencer coos, pulling his face away from my neck. “I’m ready to fulfill your fantasy, as long as you want me to.” He looks up at me, his eyes scan over my face to make sure I’m still comfortable. I practically become putty in his hands. He brushes my fallen hair out of my face and over my shoulder. His smooth fingertips running up and down my arms.

“Fuck,” I mumble, “yeah, I really want you to.”

“Thank God, because…” Spencer trails off and looks down between us. His dress pants have become tight at his waist as he squirms under the tension.

“Oh my sweet boy,” I whisper and kiss his jawline. “Is that from me?” I ask while hovering my lips over his skin and he nods slowly while swallowing hard. Carefully I slide forward onto Spencer’s lap, earning a moan from him in a process, “fuck”. My hands trail up his torso to meet the back of his neck, pulling gently at his curls as my lips continue to leave sloppy kisses on his neck and jaw.

“Baby,” Spencer moans. “C’mere.” His hands wrap around my hips, grinding them down against his own as Spencer groans at the sensation. I move my face away from him to look directly in his eyes. Spencer's head rests against the wall of the dugout, his eyes hooded, but lustful. I bring my lips back down to his neck, hips gently moving against his. My thighs rest on both sides of his, my skirt riding up against my skin. His hands trail up the edge of my skirt, grabbing my thighs gently.

“(y/n)? Wait,” Spencer says breathless.

“Yes, Spence?” I ask, pulling away from him, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. I look at him and blink slowly, “you okay? We don’t have to-”

“No, no,” Spencer rushes out. “I just wanted to look at you.”

My heart flutters immediately as I smile at him. I bring my hands up from his chest, tangling them in his hair at the bottom of his baseball cap.

—

SPENCERS POV

(Y/n)’s eyes stare into mine as we sit tangled on the cool metal bench. Her knees are bent at my sides, our thighs rubbing together every time either one of us moves. I trail my hands up from her skirt and run them through the ends of her hair, slowly making my way up to her scalp. She leans into my touch almost instinctively as her eyes slowly close. I bring her even closer to me to catch her lips with mine.

“Spencer,” she moans against my mouth, her hips rocking back and forth. Fuck. If I could listen to her moan my name all day I would. “I need you.” She pants.

“Where do you need me?” I ask, pulling away with a grin.

“C’mon,” she giggles. “You’re the one with three PhDs...you should know.”

“It’s not that kind of—” before I even get the words out her lips crash into mine. Lustful and hungry for more. My back stretches against the walls still, (y/n) grinding down against our colliding bodies on the bench. My hands move down from her hair, tugging slightly before I completely let go. I trace her sides with my fingers before slipping under her skirt. My thumb presses between her thighs, running along the thin fabric of her underwear. She moans against my mouth, pulling away and throwing her head back, “Spencer, I need you.”

“So impatient today,” I say, raising my eyebrows at her. She rolls her eyes in response, but I hook my fingers underneath her thong and move my fingers along her exposed skin. “What do you need me to do, baby?”

“Spencer,” she moans. “You already know-”

I shake my head at her, moving my hands back from her core, “not the answer I’m looking for.”

“Spence,” she whimpers, looking up at me with the most needy eyes possible. I move my hands onto the sides of the bench, too stubborn to give into her...even though I want to so badly. I tilt my head to the side, waiting on her every word—more specifically waiting for the words…

She brings her lips down to my ear, “I need you to fuck me, Dr. Reid.”

“Your wish is my command.” I smile at her and immediately run my hands back under her skirt. She shifts gently, her hands coming down to my belt. We both fiddle with each other’s bottoms for a moment, lips connected, moving together. (Y/n) unbuckles my belt while I simultaneously loop my fingers under her panties pulling them down her thighs. I swiftly move my hands from between her thighs to under them lifting her up off my lap and onto the bench. She whines sadly as our kiss breaks apart, “hold on, baby.” I tell her while pushing a stray hair away from her cheeks. She puffs her lip out but stays put, I quickly pull my pants down to gather around my ankles, I reach for my boxer waistband but she stops me. Her eyes scan over me before she stands from the bench, thong falling slowly down her legs to her feet. She steps out of it and I catch the underwear before it even reaches the ground.

“Saving those for later?” She asks, cocking her head to the side. I nod eagerly before she straddles my bare legs. Her cool fingertips run along my waist band before pulling them down slowly. I buck my hips up just enough for her to move them down even further. Her hands wrap around my cock slowly, pumping it a few times as I close my eyes mumbling her name over and over. She rises on her knees as she lines herself up with me, both of us hungry for the other. Slowly, (y/n) lowers herself down onto my cock, both of us moaning at the connection. She throws her head back in pleasure and I reach up, hands wrapping around her back pulling her closer to me. I push my lips to hers as she begins to grind herself down into me.

“Fuck-”, I mumble against her mouth. “You’re so tight, baby.”

“You feel so good Spence,” she responds as she moves her mouth down to my neck. I rest my head against the cool wall as she continues to ride me effortlessly. She gains her rhythm quickly, both of us chasing our highs.

“(Y/n),” I say moving my hands up to her face. “Wait.”

“You okay?” She asks, her hips stopping immediately.

“What else was in your fantasy? What else do you want me to do?” I ask, the words fumbling out of my mouth, in between gasps.

“Spencer,” she almost laughs. “This is more than enough. Stop using your big brain,” she leans forward and presses a gentle, sweet kiss to my lips. I rest my hands on her back, lowering them under her legs, lifting her up off of me. She raises her eyebrows at me confused, “I’m not coordinated enough to lift us both.” I respond and (y/n) audibly laughs. I stand from the bench and pull her closer to me. She stands on her toes to reach my mouth and once she does I scoop my arms under her thighs as she jumps into my arms. The kiss gets heated again as I spin us around quickly, but carefully (so I don’t trip over myself and my pants around my ankles) and rest her back against the cool cement walls. The cold bricks chill her instantly as I feel goosebumps rise on her skin. I lower her down onto my cock again and (y/n) gasps at the re-entry. Her legs wrap around my back pulling me closer and balancing herself around my waist. She pulls away from our kiss and looks directly at me, “you can move i'm okay.” I nod quickly and pulse my hips up into her quickly, repeating the action over and over until a rhythm sets in for both of us. (Y/n)’s hands push off my baseball cap, letting the hat hit the floor, as she tangles her finger in my loose curls. I move my mouth from hers and trail down the side of her neck, sucking gently at the connection between her jaw and neck. My hips continue to move in and out of her at a steady pace, our moans echoing throughout the empty dugout. Together, we reach our highs…(y/n) repeating my name over and over, as I say hers back. “I’m close, Spence-” she moans into my ear and I feel her tighten around me. I kiss her hard, pulling her bottom lip between my teeth gently.

“Come on, baby,” I say against her lips. “Let go.”

“Oh fuck, Spencer—fuck, fuck,” she mutters against my neck as she climaxes. Her thighs clench around my waist, her hands clawing down my back over my shirt. “Spencer, you’re so good to me. Cum for me, Dr. Reid.”

Her words bounce off the cement walls and hit me like a ton of bricks. With one more thrust, I release into her my legs trembling. (Y/n) slowly moves her legs down from my waist, as I lower her to the ground. My arms still linger around her back, as I pull out one final time. She stands on her unstable legs, leaning against the wall of the dugout, my hands resting on the wall aside her face. My head hangs in her face, curls falling down in front of my eyes as I try to steady my breathing.

“I’m impressed,” (y/n) comments, pushing my head up to meet her eyeline. “You didn’t trip over yourself and you held me up? The entire time?” She chuckles and a smile pulls at my lips. “My boyfriend is so strong and,” she reaches down to the floor picking up my baseball cap, placing it on my head, flicking the visor. “Athletic.”

“I’m coordinated when I need to be, especially for you,” I smile at her. “But athletic, not so much.”

“You’re too hard on yourself,” she says, squatting down pulling up my boxers and pants. My hands still rest on the wall, head bowed, breath hitching as she works to redress me. She latches the belt around my waist and peers up at me, “I can confidently say, fantasy fulfilled.”

“Yeah?” I ask as she pulls my hands down from the wall, placing them on her hips.

“Yes, Spencer,” she stands on her toes and kisses my forehead. “Thank you.”

—

I raise my hand to Garcia’s front door, knocking twice before the door swings open.

“Spencer! (Y/n)!” Emily smiles and pulls us into a group hug. “Drinks are over there, still waiting on Hotch and JJ!”

“Practice went well?” Garcia asks while grabbing a chip from the bowl.

“Yeah, Spence is definitely improving.” (Y/n) smiles, leaning in against my arm.

“Come,” Emily reaches for (y/n)’s hands. “Let me make you a drink!” (Y/n) laughs and follows Prentiss across the room into the kitchen. Her, Emily, and Penelope laugh while mixing a drink by the counter. I look on from the other side of the room and run my hands through my hair, trying my best to fix it.

“So,” Morgan clasps a hand on my shoulder. “You found your motivation, huh, Kid?”

“Yeah, guess you could say that,” I say, giving him a coy smile.

—

so, the weather??? HAHA anyways friends I hope you enjoyed my first Spencer NSFW/18+ writing....had to get it out of my system ;)

leave requests here! // masterlist

stay safe and wear a mask! -m

#Spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #Spencer reid smut #spencer reid writing #dr spencer reid #dr reid #spence reid #criminal minds #criminal minds writing #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds smut #spencer reid x female!reader #Spencer reid blurb #tw: smut #tw: sex

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randomtasteinfandoms · 3 years

Text

crazy golf| evan ‘buck’ buckley

summary| when you blackout on a mini golf course the 118 gets called to the scene

“Your dad?! You have a dad?” You couldn’t help but chuckle at the shock that spills from the speakers of your phone. While you had the day off from the firehouse, your boyfriend Buck, wasn’t so lucky. In fact today was when he worked one of the dreaded 24 hour shifts. “Everyone has a dad, Buck.” You laugh at him sarcastically and you can hear your boyfriend scoff over the other end of the call. “I know that, it’s just that... I don’t know, you never really talked about your dad before.” Now you scoff. “Yeah there isn’t much to tell, he left when I was still really young and our communication was little to none throughout the years.” “So explain to me why you’re meeting with him exactly.” You could hear the voice of Chimney make it’s way into the conversation and you could bet that he and Hen had now gathered around Buck to hear the conversation.. if you’re lucky Bobby and Eddie probably joined as well.

“I don’t know, he and his new family is in town for vacation so I figured why not meet up with them.” As you make your way through your and buck’s shared house to the living room, where you sit yourself on the couch. “If you guys don’t talk, how does he even know you live in LA?” Hen now spoke, proving you correct. “My mom’s Facebook most likely-” Eddie scoffs at the comment. “Oh cause you and your mom talk so much more Ms. I didn’t tell my mom I moved across country.” “You didn’t tell your own mother you moved across the country?” Now Bobby’s voice comes over the speaker... the gangs all here. “Okay shut up both of you!” “Is it really a good idea, Y/N? I mean, you haven’t seen him in years. Are you sure you want to go alone?” Buck’s voice is finally heard again. You could picture the exact face he was making in that moment. The concerned Buck face. “It’s not like he’s a psychopath, Buckley.” “Y/N’s a big girl, she can handle it.” Bobby joked in the background of the call. “Is it just you and him or are there more people that will be there?” “Most likely him and I, his wife, and her 2 kids.” At that the loud ring of the fire bell ignites. “Y/N, we have to go. I’ll talk to you later, be careful, I love you.” “I love you too and shut up about me being careful, take your own advice.”

“Pants, are you crazy girl? It’s 90 degrees out!” The hounded of your father begins the second you approach the group of them at the entree of the mini golf course. “90 degrees is nothing if she goes into burning buildings with practically a winter jacket on.” The countering voice of the eldest step brother replied to his comment before I could. The eldest, named James, was my favorite of the three kids. Not that I saw much of them, but from what I did, he was always the nicest. Kayla, younger than James but older than myself, was always more bitchy, however we knew each other back when she was a teenager. “You’d be surprised for being a firefighter, putting out fires is only like 2 percent of what I do on a day to day.”

“Hey-” “Stop worrying she’ll be okay.” Buck practically jumped from his skin when Eddie snatched his phone from his hands. Buck frantically looks around to the other as they unpack the truck from the recent call. Chimney and Hen laugh at him for the way he’s acting. “I’m just checking to be safe!” Buck defends snatching his phone back, checking the screen for any miss calls before sighing and sliding his phone back into his pocket. “You’re worrying about an ex-detective turned firefighter meeting up with her dad... how does Y/N deal with you.” Chimney questioned earning another eye roll from Buck. “You just never know. I know what it’s like to not have a good relationship with your parents. I’d be dying right now if I were in her position.” Buck explains and Hen shows a bit of empathy for the boy. “Y/N isn’t you Buck, she’s not any of us, she’s her. If you hadn’t noticed she doesn’t really hold grudges, she gonna go see him, pretend like nothing happened and then when he disappears again she’ll forget that he even came back into her life.”

“Vending Machine, you want anything?” James questioned as you reach the midway point of the course. “My god, yes please.” You huff, wiping the sweat from your forehead. You join James and Kayla near the machine, taking a seat besides Kayla on her bench. “Water please.” “There is only soda.” James calls back and both girls groan, rolling there eyes. “It’s too hot of soda.” Kayla groaned, you nod in agreement. “Sprite, I guess.” “Coke for me.” You lean your head back to hang in exhaustion. “So.. how has LA been? Any boyfriend?” Kayla starts up conversation, different from how she use to be. “Better than back home and yeah, yeah a boyfriend.” “Boyfriend? What’s his name?” James over hears, turning and handing us our respected can of soda. You open it and down half of it, placing the cold can on your neck before replying, “Buck, well Evan Buckley but we call him Buck. We work together.” They nod, as dad and his wife join us ready to continue the game. You go to stand and suddenly stumble back at the blackness that suddenly clouds your vision. “Whoa, Y/N you okay?” Your dad reaches out to stop you from falling. “Yeah, yeah, just stood up to fast. I’m fine.” You remember, you haven’t eaten since you’ve left work the night prior and water.. well water isn’t exactly your drink of choice. “Are you sure?” James double checks. “Yes I’m fine.”You shrug your dad’s arm from your shoulder and start the small uphill hike to the next hole, however before you can get your bearings you’re suddenly on the ground slumped again the rocks of the golf course, the world around you coming in and out.

The blaring of the alarm puts everyone in the 118 into motion as the team climbs into the firetruck and ambulance and as the truck pulls into drive, Buck’s phone goes off in his pocket. His sister Maddie. “Maddie what is it? We’re on a call-” “Yeah yeah I know, it’s about the call... it’s Y/N.”

“LAFD please clear the way.” Bobby, followed by the team arrives onto the scene where James is waiting at the beginning of the course to lead them to the still incoherent Y/N. “What exactly happened?” Bobby questioned, Buck and Eddie standing to each side of him as Chimney and Hen make there way onto the course to evaluate her. “We stopped to get a drink from the vending machine and then when we went to continue she went to walk up the hill and just boom, dropped.” “Her vitals are all good, she’s coming in and out, she’s extremely dehydrated!” Hen calls from their position, Hen and Chimney kneels on the ground besides you. “Y/N!” Buck yells going to take off to join them, however, stopped by both Eddie and Bobby. “Buck stop! Go get water from the stand, Eddie from the ambulance get a gerny, I’ll go get Y/N, Eddie set up under the sprinklers here.” “Bobby, let me go get her-” “Buck follow the order.” With a red face, Buck stomps away from his captain in the direction of the convent stand to get water. Bobby treks his way through the course joining half of his team as well as her father and step mother. Hen has already inserted an IV with water into Y/N arm and slowly was she regaining her consensuses. “Y/N, it’s Bobby we’re going to move you, okay?” “Bobby?” You mumbled as he counted to three, lifting you effortlessly, Hen holding the IV bag as Chimney follows with the medical bag in hand. Bobby knows you’re with them as he can feel you holding onto his neck as he carries you but as your head drops forward, he begins talking. “Y/N talk to me.” “I’m okay.” Your voice trails off, head dropping completely backwards as your arms go slightly limb as they arrive to the beginning of the course again, where Eddie had a gerny, Buck had water and sprinklers were raining water lightly down. “Y/N come on, wake up!” Bobby’s voice gets louder as he sits you down completely out cold. “Y/N!” Buck’s voice calls louder as he shoved the bottle of water into Eddie’s hands. “Y/N!” Buck shakes you, both hands on either side of your face and with the shakening and the sprinkling of water as well as the IV coursing water into your body, you’re eyes flutter open. “Buck, I’m fine.” Buck smiles, sighing in relief, his head dropping forward grateful for you’re eyes opening. “Y/N when was the last time you ate?” Hen’s judgmental voice speaks up as her arms cross. “Um-” You shut your eyes tightly, the exhaustion not leaving your body. “Cap, what did you make for dinner late night?” Scoffs from your team fill the air. “You are an idiot.” Buck mumbles besides you and you lightly push him off. “Eddie, go get get a milkshake or something please.” Bobby orders and Eddie nods rushing off to get it. “Chocolate! She doesn’t like Vanilla!” Buck calls after his teammate, his eyes falling to her family, standing just off to the side watching in silence as she mingles with the team that just saved her. “So... I’m assuming that’s Buck?”

#evan 'buck' buckley #evan buckley imagines #9-1-1 imagines

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ragingbookdragon · 3 years

Text

A Shot In The Dark

Batfamily x Reader One-Shot

Word Count: 2.6K Warnings: Explicit Language, Mature Themes

Author's Note: I'm going to start the flow of Ghost-Maker fanfiction onto this site, watch me. Enjoy! -Thorne

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

The butler cleared his throat. “Master Bruce, Ghost Maker is here.” A grunt signaled his response. “I shall take my leave.”

“I forgot you still had the butler hanging around.”

Bruce didn’t look over from the screen as the vigilante stepped into his peripheral. “Are you here about Kolkata?”

“Spice has been entering the U.S. through the black market.” He looked over. “It’s in Gotham.”

“I know. I tracked a shipment in on one of Penguin’s cargo ships.” Bruce shot him a grin that practically bled, ‘I just one-upped you’. “The same one you tagged after me.” He knew Ghost-Maker wasn’t going to take the bait, easy as it was, but still, the way the man’s jaw set told Bruce just how ticked it made him.

“The only way to stop it from getting in is to head over and stop it.”

Bruce shook his head, tapping at the screen. “Interpol can shut down the operations in India. I just want it stopped in Gotham.”

Ghost-Maker sighed. “Why do you always have to take the easy way out of things? What’s stopping you from going?”

“Tim’s got a presentation at Wayne Enterprises tomorrow, Cass has a dance recital, and Damian has a debate team championship.” He glanced at him. “I promised I wouldn’t miss them.”

“You know what I’m going to say, don’t you?” he asked and the other nodded.

“Like clockwork.” He pointed to a drawer. “Hand me the instrument from the bottom drawer.

Ghost-Maker bent over and pulled open the drawer; a small carved flute rested inside, and he picked it up, examining the instrument. It was made of carved onyx, slashes of tiger-eye and jade up the sides; holes were drilled into it in a fashion telling him it would produce music if he blew into the piece at the top.

He handed it over. “Why do you have a flute in your drawer? And why do you need it?”

Bruce didn’t respond, merely bringing the instrument to his lips; he blew softly, an almost mournful sounding tone. Setting the piece down, he waited, and to Ghost-Maker’s surprise—which didn’t happen often—a cloud of black smoke began to swirl beside them. Faster and faster, it spun until it suddenly dispersed and in its wake was a woman—a rather bare woman…in a rather exposed position, her arms stretched out above her head, and one of her legs up in the air like it had been resting on someone’s shoulder and the other leg like it had been around their hip.

She let her legs fall, almost gracefully, and she heaved an incredibly annoyed sigh. “One of these days, Bruce Wayne, I will refuse your summons.”

“Well, it wasn’t today,” he quipped, spinning in his chair to look at her. “Were you in the middle of something?” his tone denoted that he knew she was, he was just being a sarcastic ass about it.

“I was.” She griped, then let her head loll back on the floor. “In the middle of silky sheets with all those fine bedfellows and now here I am on a cold, hard cave floor with no one to drive me into sexual-oblivion.” She stuck one perfectly nailed hand in the air. “Ahem.”

Bruce rose from his seat and took her hand, pulling her up and into his arms. “However, can I make it up to you, (Y/N)?”

Cocking an elegant eyebrow, she murmured, “You do not have enough resources to make up the good time you just pulled me out of.” Pushing out of his arms, she bypassed Ghost-Maker like he wasn’t standing there stunned out of his mind about what just happened.

“Is my wine still down here?” she asked, already bending down to rummage through the drawer. “Hmm, I see I answered my own question,” (Y/N) remarked, pulling out a bottle of wine so old, vintage didn’t seem to describe it. Popping the top, she took a sip and snapped her fingers, a silky black robe instantly clothing her naked body.

Leaning on the desk, she crossed one of her smooth legs over the other, idly swishing her foot. “So, why do you need me?”

Bruce nodded at the screen. “Do you know about the spice shipments in Gotham?”

(Y/N) hummed. “The shipments of spice that Penguin’s buying from black market deals that are originating out of Kolkata? Those spice shipments?” she shrugged. “I might know something. Why?”

“We’re trying to stop Penguin from getting it into Gotham.” Ghost-Maker interrupted before Bruce could say anything and she gazed at him.

“And you are?”

“Ghost-Maker.”

“Hmm.” She said, though she sounded disinterested. “Come here.”

“Why?” he questioned, though he obeyed and before he could even react, she reached up and touched his jaw. In a flash he saw every memory of his life in his mind, and she pulled away, tone curious.

“Oh? So, you are the one Bruce thinks about. The hedonistic anti-hero that copes with his psychopathy by challenging himself to fix the world.” A smirk tugged her lips. “Interesting.” Her eyes found Bruce’s. “Why is your ex-boyfriend in Gotham? I thought you did not want him anywhere near here? From both of your memories, you are both antagonistic to the idea of working in each other’s locations.”

“You just read my memories?” Ghost-Maker inquired, reaching up to touch his face. “How?”

“Telepathy, amongst many other dark things that would make even a person like you quake in fear.” (Y/N) glanced at Bruce again. “Answer the question.”

“He’s not my ex-boyfriend.”

“Wrong question and even more wrong answer.” She shot him a knowing look, one he matched with a firm look of his own and she waved a hand. “Fine, I will relent for now. What do you need to know about Penguin’s shipments?”

Bruce hit another button on the computer and a picture of a manila file came up. “It’s locked in his personal office surrounded by turrets and armed thugs.”

(Y/N)’s lips pulled pathetically, and she whimpered pitifully, “Aw, can the two of you not get into the office with your powers combined? So sad.” She raised a hand and touched the tips of her pointer and thumb to one another, then she lifted it to her mouth. She blew a single, sharp ear-splitting whistle and both Bruce and Ghost-Maker heard ringing in their ears as a dark smoke began to pool from the edge of the cave, the type that sent shivers up someone’s spine.

A low growl sounded from the smoke and out of the vapor stepped a dark hound, black as midnight, with glowing red eyes and rows of razor-sharp teeth. (Y/N) clicked her tongue and it bounded to her. She reached down and caressed its head, speaking in a language that neither Bruce nor Ghost-Maker understood.

She stood back up and pointed to the screen, uttering one more word, cold and firm. “Hunt.”

The hound barked but it still sounded like a growl, and it turned, sprinting towards the wall; it collided with it in a hail of smoke, and (Y/N) looked at Bruce. “Cù-sìth will get what we require.”

“I haven’t seen your hell-hound in a long while, (Y/N).” Bruce noted and she scowled.

“Death hounds. Cù-sìth and Garmr are death hounds.”

“And where is Garmr now?”

She frowned, looking away from him. “He is…recovering from a sustained injury.”

“Can I do anything to help?”

(Y/N) sighed and shook her head. “I appreciate your sympathy and trying but injuries that death hounds receive can only be healed by darker magic.” Her fingers swirled with her sorcery.

“Is that why you’ve been in hiding for a few months now?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “I have devoted most of my time to healing his injuries.”

Bruce took her hand, gently but firmly. “(Y/N), is there anything you need from me?”

She met his gaze, holding it for a moment before sighing again. “Do you think you could find nightshade and belladonna extract for me?”

“Absolutely,” he nodded, then he nudged her in the ribs with a grin. “You’re not planning on poisoning anyone, are you?”

(Y/N) chuckled. “Maybe just a bit. You know, not enough to kill them but just enough to drop them out of a city government meeting where an especially important vote is being decided.” She winked. “Care to wonder who it is?”

Bruce grunted, pulling from her. “I already know who it is.” He took a seat at the computer, and she leaned against the desk, her thigh brushing the arm rest. “You’re not allowed to poison people.”

She let out a humored breath through her nose and reached out, gently carding her fingers through his short dark hair. “Joy-killer.” (Y/N) took a moment to gaze at him, then she shifted, tracing the dark circles under his eyes. “When is the last time you rested?”

“A few hours ago.”

Frowning, she corrected, “I meant when was the last time you actually had a restful sleep?” he opened his mouth, but she was quicker. “You are not getting younger, Bruce.”

“I’m fine.” He grunted and she rolled her eyes.

“You are so stubborn.” (Y/N) glanced at Ghost-Maker. “Do you get decent sleep?”

“Of course,” he retorted. “Only Bruce thinks sleep is for the weak.”

“It is.”

(Y/N) looked back at Bruce. “That’s because you are a stubborn ass.”

Before he could respond, a growling caught their attention and they all turned to the entrance of the cave, seeing Cù-sìth coming towards them, the manila folder in his teeth. She plucked it from his mouth and flipped it open, scanning the contents; when Bruce reached for it, she jerked it away and clicked her tongue.

“Oh no. Only those who have maintained a correct sleep schedule are allowed to read this.”

Bruce glared at her. “Give me the file.”

“No.”

He started rising from his seat. “Give. Me. The. File. (Y/N).”

“I think you are forgetting that I am not one of your little minions, Bruce.” (Y/N) snapped her fingers and he sunk back into his seat, compelled by her magic. “You do not tell me what to do. Ever.” She looked at Ghost-Maker. “Come with me to the docks and we will take care of this.” Then she met Bruce’s gaze again. “When I snap my fingers again you will go up to your room and sleep for a few hours.”

“(Y/N),” he warned. “No killing.”

“I will do as I wish,” she offered nonchalantly, handing Ghost-Maker the file. “You know I have never adhered to your rules.”

Bruce’s glare darkened. “I know.”

“You know as well as I that you get rude when you are tired. Sleep now. Let us take care of this.” (Y/N) held out her hand. “K, take my hand.”

“How do you—”

She ignored the vigilante’s shocked question, taking his hand and the world twisted and turned around them until the smoke cleared and they were outside the gates of the dock. “You will want to take your mask off.”

“I’m not taking my mask off,” he retorted, and she shrugged.

“Then you will be sick in your mask.”

He stared at her, then he spun around, undoing the clasps of his mask, barely getting it off his face before he was vomiting into the grass.

(Y/N) merely watched. “I told you. Magical teleportation always wreaks havoc on the stomach the first time.”

“What—what are you?” he asked, then went back to puking.

When he went down on one knee, she leaned over and steadied him. “Older than what your mind can comprehend.” (Y/N) reached down and placed a hand on his forehead, then he stopped retching and coughed a few times. “There. Your digestive system should relax now.”

He didn’t necessarily shove her away, but it was obvious he didn’t want her seeing him because he pulled from her touch and wiped his mouth, quickly pulling his mask back on. “Don’t ever do that again.” He warned and she snorted.

“What? Heal you or teleport you right to the location of your target?”

With his mask back on he glared at her, light blue slits glowing brightly. “Call me K.”

She couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, you and Bruce are so much alike.” (Y/N) hauled him to his feet by his sword scabbards and let him go, starting towards the opening of the gate. “This will be a rather enjoyable night.”

“You need adequate protection.” He said. “You’re going to get killed without anything on.”

(Y/N) tossed a smirk over her shoulder. “My, my, Ghost, are you worried about me?”

“I don’t feel empathy,” Ghost-Maker said, hurrying to walk beside her.

“That is not completely true. At least through the memories I have seen.” (Y/N) looked over at him. “You are empathetic to Bruce. It is not like my empathy to him, but on some level, you do care.” She smiled. “Nothing is completely void of some form of empathy.”

She looked over at the dock, scrutinizing the cargo ship. “There are armed guards along the pier. A frontal assault will get us caught…no airstrikes…” she hummed, then brought a hand to her chest. “I have an idea.

“Care to share?” he asked, looking over at her, and to his surprise, she transformed before his eyes, taking on the shape of one of the thugs on the ship. “Huh. That’s impressive.”

“Thank you.” She said, though her voice was much deeper, like a mans and she stood up. “I will infiltrate the ship from the front. I trust you can go through the back?”

He pulled out his swords and (Y/N) swore she could practically see the smile growing on his lips as he said, “Absolutely.”

“Then be swift.”

***

A few hours later they appeared in the cave, and she sighed, gazing at the man collapsed at the desk. “I forgot how easily he deflected magic. Even mine.” Shrugging, she left the file beside him, leaning down to press a kiss to his temple. “At least he is sleeping though.”

Pulling away, she looked at Ghost-Maker. “You did well this evening. Your training is almost superior to Bruce’s.”

“It is superior to Bruce’s.” he griped and she tsked at him.

“Well, from what I have seen in your memories, I am afraid you have not much proven superiority to him. Equality, yes, but not superiority.” (Y/N) hummed and smiled at him. “I hope you and I can do missions together again, Ghost. It was rather enjoyable to have a talking partner. Bruce does not like to talk unless he has to.”

As she started walking towards the stairs, he followed her. “Can I ask you something?”

“You may.”

“Where do you live?”

(Y/N) eyed him. “Why do you wish to know?”

“Your meditation techniques appear similar to mine.” He smiled at her. “I was thinking you and I could meditate sometime.”

She paused and looked him over, a hand on her hip. “You want to sleep with me? Really?”

“You already told me what I am. A hedonistic crime-fighter.”

“Technically I said antihero, but I digress.” (Y/N) stepped up to him, staring into the glowing blue slits. “But I saw your abilities…they could be…intriguing.”

“I can show you now, if you’d like?” Ghost-Maker tipped his head to the entrance of the study. “There’s enough rooms for us to disappear into.”

(Y/N) chuckled and shook her head, walking ahead of him. “Bruce would not be happy about that.” She reached the top step and turned back, grinning at him. “But worry not, Ghost. When I am ready to see you, I will find you.”

“I look forward to it.”

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marquez-junky8920 · 3 years

Note

Hi there, I wanna request angst one shot with Fabio, please! Basically the plot is more towards those who argue bcs Fabio always prioritizes Tom even when Sierra really needs Fabio. Thank you!

Not Meant To Be

(I may or may not have cried writing this. It was so hard to make him the bad guy! 😭)

Scenario 1 - Bad Day

Today had been the worst day. Your boss was hounding you at work to get things done that you had no business doing, the phone was ringing off the hook, and you had a horrendous headache. At about 7:30pm, you headed home. That fact pissing you off even more, as you should've left at 3:00pm when your usual shift was up. You felt like crying and just laying in bed with Fabio while he held you and let you cry. You called him on your way home to tell him that you had a terrible day, and he was very sympathetic to that - offering his help in whatever way he could. However, when you got home, his best friend Tom was there and they were zoned out playing video games. They were so loud and rambunctious that Fabio didn't even hear you come through the door and toss your keys on the table. Too tired to even give a shit anymore, you walked to the bedroom to change clothes and go to sleep. Alone.

Scenario 2 - Birthday

"Are you kidding me Fabio? You missed my birthday to go have drinks with fucking Tom?" you shouted, looking at him sitting on the bed.

"I didn't know it was going to be this big of a deal!" he argued back, watching you grab your own hair and take a deep breath so that you wouldn't explode and say something you didn't mean.

"A big deal? Have I ever missed a single birthday, anniversary, or championship for you? To go have drinks with friends? No, because I know those things are a big deal to you. Why don't you do the same for me?" you asked, voice cracking at the end. He really hurt you this time by not caring or thinking about how it would effect you.

"Look, I'm sorry okay? I fucked up and I'm sorry, Sierra. I don't know what I was thinking and I should've been here for you." he said, standing up from his spot on the bed to come and hug you.

"Do you have any idea how much it hurt to have to tell my family that my boyfriend ditched me to go have drinks with his friend over me?" you cried, voice softer now as he held you.

"I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I put you through that. I'm so sorry that I hurt you, my love." he pleaded, hugging you a bit tighter now.

Things got a little better after that conversation. He didn't miss your birthday the next year, no missed anniversary, and he was there a lot more. Until he wasn't and he changed.

Scenario 3 - The Last Straw

"How are you honey?" your dad asked, both of your faces emotionally exhausted from the recent loss of your mother. Cancer is a bitch.

"I'm fine." you said shortly, tears pricking your eyes as you looked at your dad.

"How are you really?" he asked once more, getting up from his spot on your couch to come cradle you in his arms as you sobbed uncontrollably.

"I know. I know." he said, trying to hold back his own tears to be strong for you.

"Why did this happen to us? We're good people dad! Why is this happening?" you cried through your sobs, heart pounding in your chest and your head throbbing.

You stayed with your dad for a few days to mourn, grief, and attend the funeral, then had to head back home to Fabio in Andorra. Which you were excited for because he had been there recently as you were going through the motions of your mother's cancer diagnosis.

"Fabio! I'm home!" you shouted, rolling your suitcase to the bedroom and walking through the apartment to search for him.

"Fabio?" you shouted once more only to be met with dead silence. You pulled out your phone and texted him.

Sierra: 3:43 pm

Where are you? I just got home.

Fab❤️: 3:55 pm

I'm out with Tom. I'll be back in an hour.

That... That right there was the last straw for you. You didn't even respond to him because you were being torn apart from the inside out right now. Your boyfriend, your world, and your rock was abandoning you. Choosing his friends over you. It all became too much for you too quickly. Your heart rate increased and you felt like you couldn't breathe. You slid down the wall in the bedroom and just sobbed as loud as you could. You were honestly surprised that the neighbors didn't hear you. Curling into a ball on the floor and crying, sobbing, hysterical seemed to be how a lot of your life was lately. Between ups and downs in your relationship and having to deal with going home for your mom's cancer treatments, you were physically, emotionally, and mentally exhausted. Picking yourself up off the floor after about 30 minutes, you stopped your tears and knew what you had to do. It was for your own sake.

Going into the closet, you pulled out every bag and suitcase you could find and began packing your things. Pictures, clothes, shoes, everything. All the memories you made together, all the inside jokes you had together, all of the screams, cries, and tears that were shed in this apartment - all of it meant nothing now. You were emotionally checked out, and once you hit that point, it's over. You knew yourself too well.

As you were packing your last suitcase with your clothes from the dresser, you heard the front door open and close. Fabio was home.

"Sierra? I'm home bab-... What is this?" he asked, looking at all of your packed bags on the bedroom floor.

"I'm done. I'm moving out." you said quietly and in such a numb voice that you didn't even recognize yourself.

"Why? Ra, talk to me." he said, walking towards you to take the clothes out of your hands and stand in front of you. Not in an intimidating way, but in a caring way.

"Talk to you? How can I do that when you're out with Tom all the time?" you said lowly, eyes casting upwards to look at him, and seeing Tom standing in the doorway of the bedroom.

"Can you give us a bit?" Fabio asked, ushering Tom out of the room as he shut the door behind him.

"Is this why you're packing your bags?" Fabio asked.

"Isn't it blatantly obvious? Fabio, my mother just died! And I come home from going through that, which you know damn well was difficult, and you're out fucking off with Tom again! Do you know how that makes me feel? I feel like you're a different person. I don't know you anymore. You've become so entangled with going out with friends and partying, and I get left here alone to wonder if you even love me anymore. I can't do this anymore." you cried, putting your last shirt in your suitcase and zipping it up.

"That's really how you want to end this? By walking out and not fighting?" he asked, a dumbfounded look on his face. You slowly turned back to him and pointed your finger at him.

"Don't you fucking dare. I have fought ENDLESSLY to try and fix this with you over the past year, and you want to sit here and throw that in my face that I didn't try?" you shouted and walked closer to him and got face to face with him.

"Fuck you." you whispered in disgust, grabbing your purse and bringing your suitcases outside, slamming the apartment door behind you.

"Sierra, wait! Wait." you heard Tom shout.

"Not the time, Tom." you sighed, putting your suitcase in your car.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't know you 2 were having issues. I would've never invited him to anything if I knew this is how you were feeling." he explained, extreme remorse coating his face.

"Don't worry about it. Our issues aren't yours and my issue isn't with you. It's with the man standing up in that apartment and watching his girlfriend walk out, yet not even having the balls to come out here and fight for her. I have no issue with you Tom." you said, offering him a friendly hug and thanking him for explaining.

"It's time for me to go. It's best for all of us." you said, smiling weakly at him as you got in your car and started the engine. As you drove, you felt nothing. No more tears to cry, no more anger to put on anyone, no more fucks to give. You called your dad.

"Hello?" he answered. As sure as you were that you had finished crying, his voice always bringing you a sense of security. You weren't afraid to let him see you breakdown.

"Daddy, I can't do it. I couldn't do it anymore." you cried.

"Do what? What happened?"

"Fabio and I are done. I came home from staying with you after the funeral, and he was out with his friends again when he told me he'd be there. He told me he'd be there and he wasn't." your lip quivered, teeth nipping at it to stop.

"God... How dare he? Are you coming home?" he asked, anger filling his voice at the thought of a man hurting his daughter.

"Can I?"

"Of course. The spare bedroom is free. You can stay there until you get on your feet again. Come home sweetie." he said, a sob falling from your lips in relief that you had family to support you.

"I'm on my way. I'll be there in about 2 hours." you said. "I love you dad."

"I love you too honey. I'll see you when you get here."

"Alright, bye." you said, hanging up the phone and focusing on driving. Looking back in your mirror, you saw the apartment. There goes your life.

2 months had passed by, and you were doing somewhat better. You were getting over the emotional trauma of your mother passing away so suddenly, and the anger and the pain from your breakup. Fabio on the other hand, was an emotional mess.

He had come to the realization very quickly at how royally he fucked up losing you and pushing you out. You were his biggest supporter in life. His biggest fan, his future wife, you were his. Only his. And he missed you so much that it physically hurt him to think about it. He hadn't spoken to Tom, or anyone for that matter, since the day you left. He was in such a deep depression that he didn't get out of bed for about a week. He would lay in the bed until the late hours of the night and think of you. You were like a snake that had entwined with his brain and his heart, and you were constricting them both to the point where he could think of nothing else but you. Sierra. His Sierra. His world. He spent countless nights crying himself to sleep, thinking of how stupid he'd been to not fix the issue when you first brought it up. Cried thinking of how you must've felt when you lost your mom and he wasn't there to hold you when you got back. Or when he missed your birthday. Or wasn't there to help after you'd had a bad day at work. He wasn't there. He left you alone and he felt the effects of it, because now his worst fear came true. He lost you, and he was without his world.

"Paper or plastic?" the cashier asked you.

"Paper please." you said politely, watching her check your grocery items. Looking around at all the activity in the store, you saw the unmistakable head of dirty blonde hair above one of the check-out aisles. Fabio...

"Go ahead and swipe your card ma'am." she said, snapping you back to reality. Swiping your card, you signed your name and grabbed your things to walk out to your car. You had hoped he wouldn't recognize you, but of course he did. How couldn't he?

"Sierra, wait!" you heard a shout from right outside the store, turning around to see Fabio jogging towards you.

"What do you want?" you asked, sounding as unamused as possible.

"I want to say I'm sorry. I'm sorry for fucking us up and making you feel unwanted and unloved. No one deserves to feel like that, especially you." he said. You could see how distraught he was - bags under his eyes, the whites of his eyes bloodshot, and he looked exhausted.

"You're right. I don't deserve to feel unloved and unwanted." you said, shutting your car door after putting the bags in the back.

"Look, sorry isn't going to fix this Fabio. You had a million chances to back your sorry's up with actions, and you missed every single one of them. Your apologies are just empty words now. It's not my fight to fight anymore because I wasn't in the wrong. I've made peace with the fact that we aren't meant to be anymore, and I think it's time you do the same. Goodbye Fabio." you said, opening the drivers side door and closing it behind you.

He was speechless. He didn't expect you to be so... Okay. So okay with losing him and what you'd shared with him. But he didn't realize how when you drove away, you saw him crouch to the ground and cry. He didn't realize that you cried watching him in your rearview mirror as you drove away. He didn't realize how much you wanted to hug him and kiss him again - feel his touch again. He didn't realize how much you wanted to accept his apology and how at war you were with yourself to stay strong and not give in.

And he didn't realize that you still loved him. But you couldn't focus on that now. You had to focus on moving forward and not looking back. Even if you still loved him.

END

#fabio quartararo #fabio quartararo angst #fabio quartararo smut #motogp oneshots #motogp imagines #motogp #motogp fluff #motogp angst #motogp smut #marc marquez #valentino rossi #enea bastianini #alex marquez #fluff #smut

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differentkettleoffishalltogether · 4 years

Text

I’m On Fire [Chapter 2]

With her sister’s wedding fast approaching and her Mom hounding her about finding a date, Y/N makes a terrible decision that lands her and her least favorite genius in a confusing situation.

Chapter Summary: Y/N and Spencer start to put a plan together.

A/N: I’ve got a head cold at the mo’ but I had to get a covid test just in case so I’m not allowed leave my room till I get the results! So enjoy a bonus chapter while I wallow on my own for like 36 hours :( On a positive note, thank you guys all so much for the response to chapter 1 I really didn’t see that coming! I’ve tagged everyone who asked, let me know if you wanna be added

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem Reader

Category: Fake Dating, Enemies to Lovers, (Eventual) Smut, Fluff, Angst, it’s a Slow Burn Baby

Warnings: Cursing, some NSFW language/themes

Word Count: 6.1k

Previous Chapter -- Next Chapter

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

"Are you coming up or what?"

The question was still ringing in my ears. It caught me completely off guard. 'Up' as in up to Spencer's apartment? Where he lived? I knew he lived somewhere in theory, just like I knew deep down that he wasn't made in a test tube.

Without noticing I've undone my seatbelt and I'm hopping out of the car, following him around to the front door. I guess I am coming up.

Spencer's apartment is more cosy than I thought it was going to be. It's warm and lived in. It's not big, but I think that might be what makes it homely. Something about the way he behaves had me thinking it would be fully decked out in stainless steel or glass or something. But it wasn't pristine, it was messy.

There were books bursting from the shelves that lined the walls of the apartment, along with books laid open over nearly every surface in the place, it looked like he was in the middle of reading all of them, and honestly, I didn't doubt it. Maybe I'd misjudged him. He even had some photos of what looked like his family, and maybe friends, even some of the BAU, lining his walls or propped up on his mantle. He had little trinkets and souvenirs on his shelves too, evidence that he'd been around the country for reasons other than a case. I would never admit it to him but there was a real charm to the place.

Once we got inside he took off his bag and suit jacket, tossing them on the desk just inside of the door. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do, and he seemed to pick up on my awkward energy.

"You can make yourself at home" he said, his confident streak remaining. I had no idea what to do with that. What would even make me comfortable in Spencer Reid's apartment? I took a seat on his sofa and just sat with my hands resting in my lap. Really not even sure where I should look without feeling like I was invading his privacy. Even though I wanted to. I think it was morbid curiosity, looking for clues on who this man might actually be outside of the BAU. What I really wanted to do was stand up and walk around, soaking in every bit if this place as if it would help me decipher our messy relationship.

He returned to the living room a few moments later, two mismatched mugs in his hands. He places one in front of me on the coffee table. I pick it up and take a sip. It's lemon and ginger, how did he know what kind of tea I liked? I held the mug in my hands inhaling the steam in an effort to relax. When I look up he's watching me, arms folded across his chest.

"So, how does this thing work. What's the game plan?" I honestly have no real idea. This evening really got away from me, I was still expecting to snap out of it and wake up in my bed at any moment.

"Well I can't say I've ever been in a Sandra Bullock movie before either so this is uncharted territory for me too" I say with a chuckle, trying to ease the tension. Even a little. I can see him crack a small smile but hides it almost instantly, his face hardening again.

"My sister, Margot, she's getting married in like 4 months." I can feel myself tense and I shake out my shoulders, I have to remind myself that he's agreed to this already, "Fuck it, I'm just going to be honest with you. My Mom's mostly freaked out that I'm too attached to this job and that I'll just never find someone again." I shouldn't have said again, fuck. I hope he didn't pick up on that. Who am I kidding. "Even though, I'm not sure I care if I do or don't?" he doesn't say anything, like he's waiting for me to continue. I know I've shared a little too much already but I keep going.

"Margot's 2 years younger than me, I introduced her to her fiancé Philip, we met in college, he's a sweetheart. But since they've gotten engaged Mom's gotten exponentially weirder. I think she's convinced I'm fully going to die alone, as if that would be the worst thing that could ever happen? Anyway, she's been trying to auction me off to all these guys, using this wedding as an excuse. I'm not sure how much of that phone call you actually heard earlier but Mom was trying to sell me on this guy, David, and I just… snapped." I look up at Spencer and he unfolds his arms, leaning in ever so slightly coaxing the story out of me.

"David, he uh, he worked for my father for a while back in high school, filing documents and stuff, busy work mostly. He used to make out with me when he was at our house after school, but then he'd ignore me in the halls the next morning. I know it's because I was a pariah back then or something but I didn't want to think about it today and I just got worked up. I shouldn't have let on that you were my date, I was just going to ask if I could bring Garcia or something, and I'm sorry." I cover my face in my hands, "I'm insane, you can back out if you want to."

I can hear him move from his spot on the opposite side of the sofa, he takes my wrists and gently pulls my hands from my face. He looks into my eyes, "I'm in this now Y/N, what do you need me to do?" he asks, and there's a genuine earnest in his voice that I think I've only ever heard a handful of times. And it's never been directed at me.

"Okay, well we've got a few months before you ha–, wait, fuck!" I throw my head back, there's already a complication, "shit" I curse under my breath. His eyebrows knit together, sitting upright.

"What's the matter?" he asks.

"I forgot about my Mom's 50th, it's next month. They've got this whole huge party planned back home in upstate New York. I've gotta go and they'll probably want to meet you, or they're gonna have a load of questions for me at least. I can try and get you out of it I'm sure"

He gets that cocky look again, he shakes his head "I don't know, I've always liked a bit of competition" he reclines back into his corner of the sofa, taking a satisfied sip from his own mug before speaking again. "You know, if I've got to learn enough to pass as your boyfriend in a month, surely that means you've got to learn enough to pass as my girlfriend within the month, no?"

Oh god. What have I done, why didn't I think this far ahead. "I mean, yeah I guess you're right." I had to remember he was doing me a favor. I had to get over myself. "Okay, if you're sure you're up for that?" I ask, and he nods, and I think he looks excited, or maybe he just finds the whole situation funny.

"If anyone's up for the competition it's you" he says, and I'm not sure if that's a compliment or a dig but I nod in agreement.

He takes another sip of his tea, collected and relaxed. I can't help but notice how at ease he is when he's in his own surroundings. I'm so used to seeing him sitting at a desk surrounded by paperwork, or combing through file after file in the make-shift office in a small-town police station, usually flustered or anxious, or antagonizing me whenever he wasn’t. This was a different Spencer. Completely in control, at ease.

"Alright, shall we get started then, we can't really afford to waste any time can we?" he was actually sort of right, so I nodded. It was only now occurring to me that I'd have to share parts of my personal life with him if I wanted this plan to work. We already knew the basics about each other, I'd read his file when I started at the BAU, I'd read everyones. And I feel like it was safe to presume he'd done the same.

His eyes bore directly into mine as he leaned forward, I think he was enjoying how uncomfortable I must've looked.

"How about I ask you some rapid-fire questions and you have to answer 'em?" he asks, and it's as good of a plan as any, and I can't think of any other suggestions, so I nod.

"Okay, shoot." I say, unsure and nervous, so I brace myself. I'm just grateful that he's making my life easier rather than harder for what feels like the first time since I met him.

I really should've known better.

He leans in, "So Y/N, first question, when did you lose your virginity?"

I almost choke on the mouthful of tea I just took, that can't be what he just asked, and he looks like he's savoring my shocked expression.

"I uh, I don't think you need to know that?" is all I can get out.

"Really? You think that's something your boyfriend wouldn't know about you?" he's right, but I didn't want to admit it outright.

"I feel like I sort of already hinted. It was that same guy David, I was 18, he was 19. We had sex on the couch while my parents went out one evening. I kept my bra on the whole time, he came, I didn't. It was all very standard stuff." I wasn't sure what compelled me to add that last part. I think I was giving in to the open honestly thing. "So what about you Doc?" I challenged.

He didn't seem embarrassed, or even shy. "I must've bloomed little later than you" he admits with a soft chuckle, "Vivian Stewart, I was 21, she was too. It was the last semester of my last PhD and I figured I must be missing out on something. And I sure was" he smirks to himself. "I came, she did too, 3 times. I did a lot of research ahead of time" he mirrored my story and I rolled my eyes. It was hard not to feel a little impressed but I tried with everything I had to stifle it so he couldn't tell. I wish it didn't make me feel something but it did. I gulp down the mouthful of tea that's been sitting in my throat.

I have to shake myself back to reality. I can't give him the satisfaction of throwing me. "My turn." I command, "When was your last relationship Dr. Reid?" I ask, "I mean like, serious one, not like hook-up" I clarify before he can ask. He thinks on it for a moment.

"I'm not sure what you classify as fully serious, but I guess it was this girl, Rebecca, we dated for a while when I first joined the BAU but it didn't work out. What about you?" he flips it back.

"So that was what, like 6-ish years ago?" I ask, he just nods.

"Mine was like 3 years ago now I think. I met this guy Nathan on my first week of college, we dated for like 4 years. He moved here for me when I got accepted by the BAU." I had to stop myself from delving into the detail. It was a long time ago now but it still hurt. "Long story short, the hours were demanding and they got in the way more than I would've liked. We ended up splitting a couple months after I got the job." I tried to play it off like it wasn't one of the more devastating things to happen in my life. But something told me he’d registered that, so he didn't push.

His energy picks up and he looks at me with a grin, but there's something a little sinister behind it. "I've got a more fun question for you." he leans in closer to me, "Y/N, when was the last time you got laid?" I just looked at him in shock.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me, I can go first if you really need me to?" his voice didn't waver,

"Fuck you Reid, I know when it was!" I snapped back at him. I did have to think back a little farther than I'd like to pull up the memory.

"Met this guy in a bar when I was out with Pen one night, we went back to his place and hooked up." I say as deadpan as I can make it.

"Well that's not very exciting is it?" he jokes, "Did you at least cum that time?" I know he's just trying to rile me up, but I answer anyway.

"As a matter of fact I did" I earn back a little of my confidence.

"I'm so happy for you, but you did manage to avoid my initial question" fuck "when was this exciting night of yours Y/N?" he probes, like I really, really wished he wouldn't. I could lie, but I'm sure he'd be able to tell. I cringe before I can say it.

"About 8 months ago" I mutter, just low enough for him to hear.

"Sorry, did you just say 8 months ago?" He nearly shouts in disbelief, he seems to find it funny.

"Hey fuck you Spencer!" I go on the defensive, "When was the last time you even got laid?"

"Like two and half weeks ago" he says, confident, and still laughing, "Wait wait, when was the last time you got yourself off? I know you're not waiting 8 months!" he giggles and I think I could kill him. I know I kept giving him outs but was it too late for me to just get up and leave?

"I'm not doing this with you if you're just gonna make fun of me Reid, I get enough of that at work" I get out, my voice is serious but I'm trying to hide how awkward all of this is making me feel, and I don't know that I'm doing a very good job.

I can tell that's gotten to him, he relaxes and eases up on the giggling. "Look okay wait Y/N. I'll stop, I'm not actually trying to make fun of you. I was being serious, I think stuff like this is important if we're gonna have to be comfortable around each other enough to seem like a real couple. Plus, it'll just help break the ice?" he shrugs. "But you don't have to answer if you don't want to."

I soften, because I agree, even thought I hate that he's right. "Fine" I collect my thoughts, "2 nights ago I'm pretty sure." I regret it almost instantly, but breaking the ice is supposed to feel awkward.

"Same here actually," he chuckles, "what'd you do?" I'm so startled by the question I almost forget how to answer.

"I, uh, my, my vibrator? I just felt like uh, I watched some..." I still can't force out a whole sentence. It's not like I was always awkward about sex or anything, I could talk to Garcia, or honestly probably any of the other team members about it. But with Spencer it didn't feel as comfortable. He still sat calmly, smiling just a little.

"Same here, 2 nights back, but with my hands I guess. I wonder if we were doing it at the same time?" he mutters the last part gently and my head goes a bit fuzzy. My eyes drift away from his face and settle on his hands, the mug he's holding looks so tiny with his fingers wrapped around it, I wondered how they'd look wrapped around my-

"Okay I think that's enough for one night, don't you think?" I jump up off the sofa and turn, mostly so that he doesn't catch the blush thats creeping from my neck up to my cheeks. And because I don't know what I'll say, or regret saying, if this conversations continues on its current trajectory.

"Sure," he says, standing up next to me, and I want to move further away instantly, "you're probably right, and it's getting a little late now anyway" he glances at his watch. Ushering me back towards his front door and opening it up. Before I can walk out he lightly touches my shoulder to turn me back to face him, and I wonder if he can feel the heat radiating from every part of me.

"So are you free next Friday after work?" he asks, and I'm so flustered I almost forget why, I just nod. "Perfect, how about we come here again and we can dive into preparing? You could also make a start on getting these onto a hard drive?" he gestures to the antique looking hardbacks adorning the shelves.

'Sounds great!" I perk up, feigning enthusiasm, "See you then!"

"Well, see you Monday morning actually Y/N" he smirks as I walk out the door. Fuck, he was right.

I really hadn't thought this through.

——

The weekend was a bit of a blur. I decided to try and put some useful information into a document for Spencer. It felt strange to try and condense my life into as few pages as possible. I knew Reid had an eidetic memory, and nothing would necessarily overwhelm him. But I also knew that he was someone that the team relied on to fill in a lot of the gaps in the rest of the our knowledge. So I felt bad about dumping a load of information on him, especially considering it was a favor he was doing for me.

I'd complied the majority of my life into a 15 page document and printed it out. Hopefully that would address most of what my family could guerrilla attack him with. There was also something unsettling about the imbalance. I was going to give him so many of the intricate details of my life in a little file, whereas all I really knew about Spencer was what I'd taken it upon myself to learn about him throughout the past few years.

I'd read all of his work while I was in college, given how he was the gold standard of getting into the BAU at a young age, I wanted to know who this guy was. I think I'd pictured something different. And I couldn't deny there was something enticing about finally getting to know him after all of these years of working together. Maybe this could actually be fun, or interesting at least.

----

I arrived early on Monday morning. I thought I was first into the office as usual but Garcia was sitting in my desk chair waiting for me. The second she saw me walk in she tensed, she must've known we were the only people in this early.

"What happened! You've been avoiding me all weekend?" she asked, and she was right. I'd drafted enough texts to her, trying to explain what the plan was, mostly without wanting to admit that she was right. Maybe I was stubborn.

"Alright okay, I drove Reid home." I admitted, dropping my bag by my desk. She rolls her eyes at me, dramatic as always.

"Well I knew that already Y/N damn! What happened next?"

"Fine, we went into his apartment and talked for a while. Trying to sort out the details, get a handle on things I guess?" I said, unsure of how much I should actually give away about our conversation.

"What things!?" She shouts, standing up from my desk,

"I don't know Pen, like logistics and stuff, I still haven't decided how I feel about that little stunt you pulled on Friday night!" I let my frustration get the better of me, and maybe that's why I haven't talked to her. It could also be because I know she's able to read me like a book and I'm not even sure how I feel about this whole situation.

"I call bullshit." She counters, "I know you were relived as hell when I sorted that whole thing out. You would've had anxiety tummy all weekend if I hadn't called Spencer!" I just go silent, she was right. I'd gotten so caught up in the whole, 'how to have a fake boyfriend' that I'd almost forgotten about how stressed I was about Spencer hearing my call in the first place.

"Okay, shit" I sigh. "Maybe you were right Pen. We're actually meeting up again this Friday after work to make a plan for the next while, so I guess that's progress?" I shrug, trying to play it off like this whole situation doesn't make my stomach flip.

"Ohhhhh! So like a date?" She probes, her enthusiasm rising drastically.

"Oh my God Pen no! Like an appointment at best" I diffuse the situation

"Ugh that's no fun" she says, not even trying to disguise her disappointment.

As if on cue Dr. Reid walks through the double doors into the bullpen. Both Garcia and I wave, overall awkwardly, but making an attempt pretend like things were completely normal and like nothing had changed since the last time we were all in the office together.

Penelope heads to her office as the bullpen starts to fill up quickly. Less than an hour later though Garcia's back at my desk and there's a new case that needs the teams attention in Boston. I follow her into the conference room and wait for the rest of the team to join. Spencer follows a moment later with 2 cups of coffee in his hands. I can see my mug in his hand and my automatic response is that he's messing with me. But he places my mug in front of me in the circular table before taking the seat next to me, listening to Garcia's briefing. I don't know if he's ever sat next to me in this conference room, at least not by choice.

I barely had any time to finish my coffee before I have to say goodbye to Garcia and hop on the jet to Boston.

----

The case was grueling. More so than usual. It was wrapped up late on Thursday night and the team decided to fly back home first thing on Friday morning. I was exhausted. Even if there was enough time to get sleep each night it wasn't like I got any. Whenever a case got on top of me like this it made it hard to rest, or get it off my mind at all until it was wrapped up. So even though it was over, that didn't mean I wasn't exhausted.

Hotch gave the team the rest of the day off, given that we have until submit our paperwork by Monday. I wasn't sure if Spencer's invitation from the following week still stood. I didn't want to ask, partly because I was so tired, but also because I was scared. I wasn't about to show up at his house in an effort to have a heart to heart, or hand him a condensed version of my life story on a manilla envelope if he was as drained as I was.

Standing by my desk I packed up everything I'd need to get my paperwork done over the weekend, I was just about finished when Spencer snuck up behind me, perching himself on the edge of my desk. "So, you almost ready to go?" he asks, like it's the most obvious question in the world. I couldn't really hide my surprise.

"Oh yeah. That's fine, I mean, if you're still cool with that?" I ask, and I hate how flustered I sound, like he makes me nervous.

"Of course, why wouldn't I be?" He chuckles, standing up straight.

"Cool, gimme a sec and I'll be good to go."

I pack up the rest of my stuff quickly and we make our way out. There's something that feels a little eerie about the two of us being in an elevator together alone again. It was a different kind of awkward to how it felt a week before hand. It almost felt like a kind of tension rather than a hatred or a rivalry. Either way we rode down in silence.

Once we got to the basement Spencer walks out of the elevator and walks straight to my car without having to ask. I unlock it and he hops into the passenger seat. Like this is a natural interaction. Something we do all the time. And I don't hate it as much as I thought I would.

"So," he says, buckling up his seat belt and breaking the silence, "do you know how to get to my place from here or do you need directions again?"

"Well I've got to turn on the engine first" I tease, hoping he picks up on the reference to our last car ride, he chuckles like he does.

"Are you hungry?" he asks

"Starving."

The delivery guy get's to Spencer's apartment at almost the same time we do.

---

Once the food's been demolished the two of us finally sit on his sofa, the same sides as the week before. "So, shall we get back into this?" He asks, sitting forward slightly to pull a notebook out of his satchel on the floor. It's small and lavender, and it's got a pen clipped into the spine. He cracks it open and flips to a specific page.

"Sorry, what's that?" I ask, pointing to the book, he looks confused,

"They're my notes?" he says, like it should be obvious

"Your notes?" I ask,

"My notes on you." he smirks, again like I'm silly for even asking.

He had notes on me? He had a whole notebook on me? What was even in that thing?

"You've got notes on me?" I ask, my hands reaching out to grab it, but he retreats faster than I can catch him. "What have you got in there that's so serious?"

"Nothing." and his tone's a bit too stern and I don't really want to push it when he's being so uncharacteristically nice to me.

"I've actually got this ready for you" I pull the file out of my own bag and toss it to him. "I'm not sure exactly what you need to know but that should be the majority of it at least."

He opens it up and glances over the the pages. It takes him all of 2 minutes to get through the whole thing. It feels unsettling that he's taking in a boiled down version of my life while I'm just sitting on the opposite side of the sofa. Trying to avoid the attention I pipe up.

"Um, hey, maybe it would be a good time for you to show me where to make a start digitizing your books over here?" I stand up and make my way to the shelf. He jumps up off the sofa and walks toward me, visibly excited.

"That's actually a great idea, I thought that the theses from my degrees could be a good place to start, since I'm pretty sure they're not backed up anywhere." he guides me to a section of the book case by the window. There's a series of leather bound hardbacks, the same gold font embossed on the spines. I recognize all of them, pulling out the first one.

"This is my favorite" I say without thinking about it and he does a double take, clearly thrown.

"You've, uh, you read my work?" he asks, completely puzzled. I'm sort of proud that I've managed to make him this awkward, and I nod.

"Mmhm, back before I joined the BAU actually. Before I really knew you" I regret saying the last part, it comes out a little meaner than I really wanted it to so I back track. "Spencer, I read all of your work while I was in college, you were like the gold standard. I don't think I slept more than 2 hours a night throughout my PHD because I was just trying to get as much done as you." and his face softens at the admission. But it takes him a moment before he responds. Leaving the two of us in silence a little too long.

"I had no idea" is all he says.

"I think this one was best" I say propping up the one in my hand, "you get a bit cockier as you move on” His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, "but I'll start with all of these I guess" I grab the matching books and stack them in my arms. Walking over to his desk and setting up. Glancing at the clock it was only 7pm so I decided to just make a start.

Spencer didn't contest. Letting me just get settled at his desk, I pull out my laptop and begin work on transcribing the first volume. After a few minutes he silently places a cup of tea down beside me and goes to sit on the sofa. The time rolls in quickly after that, each time I look up at Spencer he's carefully combing through the file I'd given him. Re-reading it and making little markings in his lavender notebook. I'm not really sure what I put in there that was worth making a note on but clearly he was reading between the lines on some things. That little notebook was like a profile of me.

When he seemed like he'd finished writing he pulls out his phone, scrolling through it aimlessly like I'd never seen him do before. It made him look so normal. His eyebrows knit together as he's looking at something on his screen and he stands up. Making his way over to me at the desk and shows me what he was looking at.

"Who's this?" he asks, "This guy you're with?"

I recognize the photo instantly. It's from a few years earlier, Nathan and I on the beach, my head resting on his chest. He'd taken it while we were on vacation celebrating our anniversary. That was about a month before I got into the BAU, I had no idea that was going to be our last anniversary. I gulp down the emotions that it stirs. I'm mostly over the whole thing by now, but looking at old photos like that, photos of happier times, it can still sting.

"That's uh, the boyfriend I was telling you about last week. Nathan, we broke up not long after I joined the BAU?" he nods, but he's smart, and I kind of figure he already knew that.

"Ah alright" he takes out the hardback and jots another note down. Maybe he's trying to get a read on me.

"What are you doing?" I gesture to the phone,

"It's research, do you not think that if you and I were really dating that stalking your social media profiles would be on my agenda?" he's smug, and he's right. But I guess I just didn't expect it from him.

"Well that's not really fair now is it? I can't reciprocate, you've got no social media presence whatsoever!" he finds that funny, letting out a deep chuckle and tucking his phone away in his back pocket.

"Maybe so, but that imbalance is hardly my fault. Besides, you've read all my dissertations apparently..."

"Bastard" I joke, slamming my laptop shut and throwing a pen from his desk at him so that it lightly bounces off the top of his head.

"Hey, there's no need for violence Y/N!" he rubs the spot beneath his curls, "Maybe it's time you took a break actually?" he says, sitting himself back down on the sofa.

I was reluctant to admit it but he was right. My eyes were starting to go a little fuzzy after looking at the screen for so long. I stand up and stretch my arms out above my head, feeling my spine stretch out after sitting for so long, letting out a low groan. Spencer waves me over to the sofa and I join him.

"How about we go back to basics?" Spencer asks with a small grin, and I can't help but let out a long sigh.

"I thought I was taking a break, no more questions" he just laughs at me,

"Relax, you're not that interesting, it's just a simple question." he states, and I'm not sure if I'm supposed to find it funny or offensive

"Ugh, fine, shoot"

"Well, actually it's two questions" he corrects, "what's your favorite movie, and what's your favorite snack?"

I'm confused mostly by the fact that it actually is a simple question, I was expecting something a lot more contentious, but also because he looks eager to know the answer.

"I'm not really sure what my favorite movie is to be honest, one of them is Night of the Living Dead?"

He nods to himself, and jots it down in the notebook again, "Alright, I can make that work" he stands up off the sofa before turning back to me, "and snack?"

"Peanut butter cups I guess?" I respond and he grins ear to ear, which is a completely new sight, and I like it way more than I thought I would.

"Perfect, gimme 2 minutes!" he leaves the living room and wanders towards the kitchen.

Spencer returns a few minutes later with a DVD, a packet of peanut butter cups , and a thick knitted blanket gathered in his arms. He drapes the blanket over me and gently places the peanut butter cups on top of it before popping the DVD into the player and sitting down beside me. I'm not really sure how to process any of the situation. Am I about to watch a movie on Spencer Reid's sofa? Sitting next to Spencer Reid?

"I... I, uh, thought you were just asking for your notes?" I ask, pointing at the notebook resting in his lap. He picks it up and throws it onto the coffee table.

"Sometimes I find experience is the best teacher, don't you?" he asks before pressing play, “And besides, it should keep you quiet for a whole 96 minutes” of course.

I can only nod in agreement, I'm not really sure what I'll say if I try to speak. I get myself cosy under the warm blanket and we watch the movie in near silence.

Once the credits roll Spencer finally speaks up, "I actually went to see a screening of this last month downtown, there was this little old horror movie fest-" I cut him off without really realizing, I'm just strangely excited that we've genuinely got something in common.

"Holy shit, I was there!" I say, more enthusiastic than the situation calls for.

He laughs at my excitement, "Well, I guess we have more overlap than I thought, that should probably help with the whole charade." he stretches his arms up over his head and let's out a small, gentle yawn. I'd been enjoying myself more than I thought I would, or would ever tell Spencer, that I'd almost forgotten that we'd both been on a case for almost every waking moment of the past week. I really should feel a lot more drained than I do.

I was just after midnight when I suggested that I head back home. I offered to take some of the books home to work on throughout the weekend but Spencer insisted that I just work on them whenever I came over again. I sort of felt like I should thank him for the evening when I was on my way out the door, or give him a quick hug, no that felt wrong. In the end all I could really muster was a lousy, "goodnight" and a meek wave on my way out the door before I drove home. And couldn't get to sleep.

— —

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angeli-marco-writes · 3 years

Text

Harrison Osterfield - A Happy Day (& A Puppy)

A/N & WC - I don't know Haz, nor do I claim to; this is a work of fiction. 3.2k

Warnings - Mentions of a dog rescue centre and poorly dogs, slight anxiety, copious amounts of fluff.

Summary - Today is the day you and Haz get a puppy. It's the next big step in your relationship, and despite your anxieties, you know it's a happy day.

YOUR HEART FILLS WITH GLEE at the prospect of the day. You and your boyfriend, Harrison, have been together for a long time now, by ‘young people’ standards, and have recently taken the giant step of moving in together. Only, after you lived in a flat with various different people for a long time, and after he spent so long in a house with three other blokes (where you also spent a substantial share of your time earlier in the relationship, much to your dismay,) it’s quiet with just the two of you. And not the good quiet, though sometimes it’s nice and peaceful. You’re just both so accustomed to the constant bustle of people. And the only comprisable solution you could come up with, save for moving back in with Haz’s old housemates? Get a dog.

Obviously you want to, you love dogs, but it’s also a bridge to your future.

“Are you ready to go sweetheart?” Haz shouts from the doorway, rustling with his coat, while you’re still in the bedroom.

“Do we have to?” you beg.

“Yeah we do. You want this dog, don’t you?”

“Of course I do... it’s the rest I’m anxious about.”

See, you’ve been conversing with a shelter home for some weeks now, ever since they got an influx of puppies. A big litter of little blighters, separated from their mother and left to die on the side of the road in a damp cardboard box. Thankfully, and by some kind of God-given miracle, they all survived, and many have already been adopted, but your little treasure? You were the only takers. Not that you’re complaining, obviously.

Haz appears in the doorway, his own pea coat fitted to his form perfectly, tailored and tan to suit his complexion. He holds yours out to you and edges closer to your shared bed, made and done up by him.

“I know, baby, but it’s gonna be okay, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You loose a sigh. “Is there any way we can go in the back way?”

Your own puppy eyes convince him and he kisses you. “I’ll see what I can do. If not, just close your eyes and I’ll lead the way.”

Shelters upset you immensely. How anyone could hurt a dog or abandon it is beyond you, they’re the most precious things ever and need to be protected and adored at all costs. You knew you wanted a rescue dog from the get go, but you’d never be able to bring yourself to actually scour shelters to look for a dog. You just hope this one likes you, or else Haz is gonna have to do it all himself. You can’t face the pleading faces and the imploring eyes and the sadness around the whole place. If you could, you’d buy them all, give them a good, loving home, but you can’t, and that harsh reality leaves a pit in your stomach and a hole in your heart.

“Don’t cry darling.” he coos, kissing your tears away with tender brushes of his lips.

You hadn’t even realised you were crying. How emotional can you be? Today is supposed to be happy, but you’re breaking at the first hurdle. To make the pressures worse, you know that, if you don’t take this little bean, it’ll be put down.

“Come on, it’s a happy day,” he prompts once he realises you’re no longer crying. He stands, shrugs your coat onto you, and pulls you to standing, wrapping his arms around your torso as he sways. “We’re getting a puppy!”

His sheer excitement in his voice brings joy to you too, any doubt being left behind as you sway with hum, holding him close. You’re getting a puppy.

A little more pep is in your step once you stand up, ensuring your hands are adjoined the whole time. Concealing your nerves with excitement is a solid step, so you paint on a happier face than before and clutch him close as you tug him to the front door.

“We’re really doing it, we’re getting a puppy,” you say.

He nods, keying the door open, “That we are. Think we’re ready?”

You almost howl laughing. In many ways, yes. You’re mature people in a committed relationship, you’re both incredibly responsible in all the ways that matter, and know when you need to take the next step or hold back. Getting a puppy is a huge leap, though. But you’ve thought about it, planned for it, prayed for it to work, so there’s no reason you shouldn’t be ready, but it feels like a giant step. In the right direction. That’s all that matters; that, and the fact you’ll love this puppy endlessly.

“Y’know what? Yes. We’ve worked for this.”

“That we have, darling.”

Reaching the car, he places a kiss to the crown of your head. “Conserve your energy, honey. How about I drive?”

“Okay,” you answer, pecking Haz on the lips after he opens your door for you and hovers at your height until you answer him. “That means I can cuddle it on the way home.”

“It’s not an ‘it’, remember?” he chides, but the excitement is evident in his tone and the sparkle in his eyes, “we gave it a name.”

“Bixby, and he’s a boy, I know. How long is the drive?”

You fasten your seatbelt, smiling at him as he limbers into the drivers side. He’s attuned to your subtle mood shifts now, and realises that you’re slipping more from anxiety into anticipation, and he needs to work to keep you there, soothe you so that you don’t cry at the shelter. He’s a gem is Harrison, and you know he’ll be a brilliant dog-dad. It’s a huge part of why you’ve lasted so long together. The second you saw him with Monty, you knew he was a keeper.

After strapping his own seatbelt and manoeuvring the car into gear, he reaches over and curls his fingers around your thigh, pulling on that invisible connection between you, tugging you to look at him.

When you do, he spies that your current happiness isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, but is in part a façade. Haz loves you, but you’re the damn most sensitive soul he’s ever come across, especially when it comes to animals. The main reason the two of you got your own place was because living with people you weren’t close to took a real toll on you, as it did him—no matter how reluctant he is to admit it, the forced intimacy of it all, so this puppy is a big step to comfort you both and help you settle down to this new walk of life.

Of course the delight is there, of course you’re happy, but your slight snags and worries are visible to him too. “Love you, baby,” he whispers, leaning over to lock your lips together, applying a certain pressure, sucking on your lower lip gently as his hold on your thigh increases.

Once he pulls away, he sees the true you, calm gracing all of your beautiful features so nicely, happiness in your eyes and a wry smile on your lips, no overt anticipation of any kind.

“You can choose the music, yeah?” is all he says, offering you the twitch of a smirk before he’s locking the key into the ignition and you’re off.

You nod, whether he sees it or not, and plug your phone into the radio, allowing yours and Haz’s playlist to stream through the speakers, the melodies wrapping you in their embrace the whole journey.

One thing Haz has learnt through his time with you is that his touch grounds you. No matter what it is, as long as he’s touching you, you’re okay, your breathing regulated, your nervous habits quieted. And though you’ve never outwardly confessed it, his comfort has helped you more times than you’d ever care to admit aloud. He knows this, but no one else needs to.

Once you park up, Harrison leans over to kiss you again, more gently this time. “I’m gonna ask if there’s a way we can get you around the back, okay? Don’t want you getting upset on such a happy day.”

“Thanks babe.”

You peck his lips, but tug away almost instantly, afraid if you don’t, you’ll be here a while. He smiles, and shuts the door behind him, tapping on your window and pulling a silly face as he passes your side of the car. You wait patiently, scribbling down a list off the top of your head of things to buy for the pup. Basket, bowls, toys, mat, brush, collar, lead… you’ve already got a lot of Monty’s old things, puppy baskets he outgrew, his old crate and such like, but you’re adamant that Bixby needs a basket in every room of your place… just in case.

“Hey dreamer,” Haz’s voice snaps you from your reverie, that cute nickname he uses when you drift off into your own little world easing a smile onto your face. “He’s waiting for us, you can come in now.”

You draw your lip between your teeth, and peek over your shoulder to the little puppy holder in the back one last time, filled with a blanket and a cuddly toy. Completely unnecessary, since you plan on holding him, but Haz thought it’d be a good idea nonetheless.

He holds your hand as you tread out of the car, and the whole way into the building, and you’re glad to find a member of staff waiting to greet you with a warm handshake by the back door, happily guiding you inside to the office, more than likely. And there he is, with his big floppy ears and his droopy eyes, sitting on the chair inquisitively, looking like the prince of the palace.

“Oh my God, he’s gorgeous!” you cry, and with little reluctance, you tug away from Haz, bounding over to the puppy.

You know how startled they can get, so you ensure to stop at a safe distance, tentatively holding out your hand for the pupper to let his black nose sniffle at you, before his long pink tongue laps out and licks your hand heartily, a doggy smile breaking across his face as he pants.

“He likes me. Haz, look, he likes me!”

He chuckles, “I can see that, sweetheart.”

You firstly pat at the chestnut-dappled white fur between his ears, stroking his silken fur, before moving down his body, scruffing a little at the rolls of fat there, completely natural for a basset hound-mix. His paws are huge, though, for such a tiny dog, especially considering his stumpy legs.

“Okay, should we settle down and talk about paperwork?” says the kind lady, a completely rhetorical question.

“Come on baby, if we want Bixby to come home with us, we need to fill these forms in, yeah?”

“Yeah babe.” you nod, and glance at the only remaining available chair. “Well, Bixby, it looks like I’ll just have to pick you up. How about that?” you coo.

His tiny tail wags enthusiastically, and he slobbers another kiss to your hand, so you cautiously scoop him up and settle him on your lap once you’ve sat down.

“First of all, we need to remind you that Bixby is the... runt of the litter, and has more significant health issues than other puppies of his breed, requiring more care, including a limp and slight hearing loss in one ear, and he is small for his breed.”

“We know,” you and Harrison answer simultaneously, his one hand occupied with stroking Bixby also.

He’s dealt with business thus far, bringing Bixby blankets from the house to get him used to your scent, meeting him and meeting with the managers, filling out your application forms, making visits to the shelter. It was actually quite a miracle that you were allowed to get a puppy from here, since you both work, but due to Harrison’s schedule as an actor with press and such, he works from and near home a lot, and whenever he’s working away, despite your own job requirements, you’re able to work from home to hold the fort down. So it worked out okay. And with the compromise, they said you met the necessary guidelines to qualify for adoption with one of you almost always at home.

“And he costs £250, but he’s already been vaccinated and microchipped.” she says. You both nod; you’ve already discussed donating a hearty amount to the shelter to keep it afloat, and because Bixby should be worth a damn lot more.

For the rest of the meeting, you zone out rather a lot, only paying attention when you have to sign papers or a cheque, the rest of the time tickling and fussing your new bundle of joy, already so relaxed within your lap. The time seems to whizz by, as before you know it, you’re clambering back into the car, a towel sat over your lap, and Bixby licking happily at your cheeks.

“You know, I showed him a picture of you,” Haz says, smiling wistfully, “the first time I came to visit him. I told him you were my wife and his mum—” he trails off, and darts his eyes to yours, realising what he just blurted out with a dry mouth and knitted brows. “Baby, I didn’t mean—”

“You want to marry me?” you ask, your voice barely more than a broken whisper.

“Of course I do, sweetheart. One day you’re gonna be my wife, and Bixby can be the ring bearer, and everything will work out the way it should, and you won’t be sad anymore.”

“What makes you think I’m sad, babe?”

He raises his thumb to your cheek, capturing a tear before it falls. Again. He’s been stuck doing this a lot.

“Point taken, but for once these are happy tears. I’m just overly sensitive with… everything, but I promise I’m not sad.” Never with Haz, you think. You look down at the puppy, now half asleep, contentedly wagging his tail at a leisurely pace atop your thighs. “This is a happy day, isn’t it?”

“So happy, y/n. I love you, you know that, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. I love you too, so much.”

He smiles, and slowly pulls out of the parking spot, ensuring to drive extra carefully, avoiding even the smallest of potholes on your journey. You keep one eye firmly on Bixby the whole time, but let the other roam your gorgeous boyfriend; the breadth of his shoulders, the veins in his hands, the intricate details in his blue orbs…

“Stop staring,” he whispers, “I can’t focus when you’re looking so pretty.”

You feel yourself flush, and turn your attention back to Bixby wholly, listening to your music as you quietly say, “I’m sorry.”

He says nothing more, but holds your hand over the gear stick the rest of the way.

You get a lot of attention in the pet store, carrying around a half asleep puppy with floppy ears the size of your entire face, meaning that your supposedly swift visit is elongated, but you survive, and are packed into the car shortly with everything you needed and more. A few people wanted to take a picture of Bixby, actually, having never seen a puppy basset hound in real life. You let them, leisurely trailing after Harrison as he got everything on your list, only purchasing if it passed Bixby’s sniff test.

Arriving home for the first time as a three is what makes everything seem so real, your heart overflowing with joy as you get out of the car, and walk to your door, and unlock it…

The first patter of paws on your wooden floor lets you know that this is home now, for all of you, as a family. That much is intrinsic.

“We did it. We got a puppy,” you say to Harrison, placing your hand over his chest where his heart steadily beats at a slightly faster pace.

“And we’re going to love him with everything we have.” he responds, kissing you softly, meaningfully, letting only love fill your embrace.

The skitter of Bixby’s claws coming towards you soon brings you back, though, and you begin to introduce him around the house, never once letting go of Haz’s hand. You show him the living room, where a blanket is already laid out on a sofa cushion for him to join you, and then the kitchen where his food bowls and water are, as well as his exit to the garden, and then to your bedroom, where the fluffiest basket you’ve ever seen sits in the corner, covered with swathes of blankets and scattered with toys. Treats already cover the floor all over your home, puppy training pads laid out just in case, and a hook by the front door with a blue lead dangling off it, as well as a tiny coat. Only…

“I didn’t buy this.” you say, spinning to face Haz, Bixby gnawing at his socks, rolling around at your feet.

You point towards the sturdy hook, embellished, engraved with two words. ‘Bixby Osterfield.’

“No, I did. I thought it was a nice surprise for you.”

He answers you as though it’s the most blatant thing in the universe. And really, it is something relatively small, but so thoughtful at the same time, so you open your arms wide, and nuzzle into him.

“Thank you, Haz. For everything. For this, for today, for loving me, for buying me Chinese takeout tonight.”

A laugh rips from him, his face breaking out into a wide smile, raising one hand to clutch at his chest while the other still securely encircles your waist.

“You’re more than welcome, babe. I’ll always love you. But I'm knackered.”

“Oh my God, same,” you breathe, slumping a little into him as you tickle the dog with your toes. “Who knew playing with a puppy would be so tiring?”

A low chuckle resonates from him, but he just holds you tighter, bending down to pick Bixby up as you trail over to the sofa, Haz’s footsteps silent on the glossy parquet floor of your home.

It doesn’t take long for you to get settled down, contentment filling you both, alongside ample Chinese food servings, and a fair amount of exhaustion too. Bixby has been with you the whole time, and while Haz sat down first, tugging you into his lap, legs spread wide as he lounged against the cushions a moment later, he ensured to position himself accurately on the ‘L’ shape of your sofa, so you could both reach the tiny snoozing puppy who curled into your side without a second thought.

“I’m glad we got a puppy,” you whisper into the darkness.

Night has come, the day having slipped away, and the movie you had playing is close to rolling its credits. You didn’t close your curtains but instead decided to watch the sun set and the star sparkle in the onyx sky, a stark contrast of beautiful silver, the light mirroring that that Bixby has brought into your lives.

“I am too, babe,” he replies, his nose burying into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, gently kissing your exposed skin, “how about we just settle here tonight?”

“Hmm, good plan,” is all you can muster, already feeling the tug of sleep, one hand on Bixby’s soft silken fur, the other holding Haz’s hand.

This is it, you think to yourself as you drift off, this is your family. Haz and Bixby, both of them snuggling into you, keeping you tethered, bringing you sheer joy. A happy day. All because you got a puppy.

#harrison osterfield #haz osterfield #harrison osterfield x reader #harrison osterfield one shot #harrison osterfield imagine #harrison osterfield writing #harrison osterfield fic #harrison osterfield smut #harrison osterfield fluff #harrison osterfield angst #leo the irregulars

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sadachmesarthim · 3 years

Note

For the sentence starters I need 16 and 34 please!

this has porn in it, so ur all aware. links are sfw, text is not

for you, my dear, anything. sorry it took so long, i'm giving you what i have now. 'm gonna come back to it n do a second part when i can 😘

song for this one is UGH! by the 1975

@longlivestarker some light plug content 4 u! @bluestarker i love u for this one

he’s got peter pinned, yet again overtaking the younger superhero. they’d been training for a few hours at this point, and both were feeling the effects of such an intense workout.

it was tony that insisted they all start rigorous combat training. after stitching the universe back together, a good majority of the avengers realized they weren’t exactly cut out for extraterrestrial hand-to-hand.

peter honestly didn’t see the point. he was stronger than anyone there, faster. he could swing or run away if he really needed to... but tony continued to hound him over it. he caved, finally, after a solid two weeks of pestering from the older man. he only conceded when tony’d promised to leave him alone after one (1) trial session.

one session turned into two, then four, and quickly became several hours every single day. peter really wasn’t complaining at that point, though - it was a great opportunity to get tony shirtless, and he genuinely was getting better at kicking ass unaided. street vigilantism doesn’t really facilitate developing finesse, and he enjoyed sparring without consequences. what could he say, he loved teachable moments.

apparently a bit too much, from the position he found himself in.

tony might have been a “normal” human man - no super strength or enhanced awareness to give him an edge over his coworkers. what he *did* have, though, were eyes, and enough situational awareness to pick up on the kid’s sudden enjoyment of their previously 'useless' training time. his exposed, sweaty form did quite a bit to the young man in front of him, and tony wasn’t upset about it. like, at all. quite the opposite, actually - why else would he have been so adamant about being the person peter trained with?

but now, having pinned peter’s wrists to the floor in an attempt to subdue him, tony was rethinking his motives decision.

the sight of peter below him - drenched in sweat, pink and red embarrassment quickly overtaking his cheeks, his ears, his neck... absolutely helpless and trembling in tony’s grasp...

he found himself hard. this wasn’t the way his tuesday was supposed to go, but jesus, he wasn't complaining.

and peter, christ. the poor kid. tony could feel the piqued interest under his hips, peter visibly trying (and failing, miserably) to restrain himself from pushing up into the presence above him. he whimpered, soft and pathetic, like he was begging for tony to stop and keep going and fuck, do anything, please, all at once.

tony smiled, entertained by his desperation. “come on, kid. i know for a fact you can be louder than that.”

peter groaned. it was overwhelming, so much and not enough all at once, and oh my god tony was on top of him. tony was grinding back down on peter’s dick and enjoying it. his flush deepened, a desperate ‘nggh, oh fuck, god, tony, please’ wrenching itself from peter’s throat before he could think to stop it.

"love the noises you make, pete, fuck. you gotta slow down, though, baby, and tell me what you want." tony continued directing as much smooth pressure he could down toward the writhing figure beneath him, laughing lightly. peter sounded delicious like this, so fucking needy, & tony wasn’t planning on letting him up any time soon.

peter, already way too frustrated and way too turned on, took the opportunity when he saw it - just as tony was shifting his hips backward, peter thrust up, hooking an arm around tony's elbow and using the leverage to flip their positions.

"can't just pin me here & tell me to slow down. don’t start something you can’t finish, old man.” heat flooded through tony at the quip - he wasn’t prepared for the display of power, for the sass. this was so much better than what he’d planned for, so much better than the writhing & submissive boy he'd had just a few seconds ago.

“i know you like this, baby, but i think you’d like it a lot more if we took off our clothes.” and christ, peter did. he liked seeing tony underneath him - liked feeling his ass pressing against tony's cock, clothed or otherwise. but the idea sounded phenomenal - getting tony out of those stupid fucking track pants, being able to feel so much more.

he released tony's hands, allowing him to reach down and undo the tie at his waist. peter did the same, sitting up on his knees and giving them both enough space to strip down.

"jesus fucking christ, you're kidding." of course tony'd be sparring commando. only him, peter thought.

"what, don't say you haven't pictured this before. can you blame me for wanting to show up prepared??"

that's the fucked part of it - he had pictured it before - so many times. even before they made it routine, he'd fantasized about it. tony grabbing him, pinning him down in the suit, metal fingers shredding his million dollar combat suit with little more than a thought. dreamt about it - tony fingering him stupid on the mats, doors unlocked and open for anyone to catch them. imagined webbing them up, riding tony while he was literally stuck to the ceiling. making him completely helpless to peter's wants and needs.

he'd shown up prepared, before, too - even today. he'd worked himself open, stretching enough to take his favorite plug. half of training is mental, anyway. seeing if he could fight with a plug in was both filthy fantasy and a challenge.

"fuck, no, but christ tony... if you don't do something i swear to god i'll do it for you." that earned him another laugh, broken & tinged with lust - confirmation that tony'd been waiting for this just as long.

"you have no idea how good that sounds kid," tony mused, taking the moment to finally get his hands on the poor little spider. every muscle was twitching, so incredibly responsive to the circles tony was rubbing into his ilium. peter jerked into the contact, falling forward onto tony's chest.

the pressure between them mounted, spurred on by the bare contact of their cocks against one another. it was heady, fogging peter's mind with need. he'd wanted this so desperately, and was so not looking forward to it being over.

tony, the gentleman that he was, pushed peter up a bit. he spit excessively into his hand and - oh fuck, tony please, oh god, - began pulling peter off in earnest. he was entirely unprepared for just how good it felt, arching into tony's grasp. peter lurched, grinding his bare ass down tony’s groin & fucking up into his fist.

peter looked down just as something feral flashed through tony’s eyes. suddenly aware of just how wide his legs were spread, he realized: tony felt his plug. there’s no way he missed it.

tony released the hair in his left hand, snaking it down between peter’s twitching cheeks. he toyed with the plug, smirking when peter’s movement stuttered. tony hooked two fingers around the base, damn near *tearing* it out of him.

another feeling - something like pride and lust and jealousy all mixed - surged through him when he saw exactly what he pulled from peter’s ass.

in his hand, he held a custom “iron slut” plug. tony’d seen things like it before - he wasn’t a stranger to weird social media photo replies. this was so much more, though - gold colored metal shining under the fluorescents, little red rhinestones encrusting the flared end. tony’s colors, peter had tony’s colors inside him.

he growled, tossing the plug to the side. he reached back down, excited to feel excess lube still leaking from peter’s hole. he pressed two fingers in, savoring the small stretch he still needed to fully enter peter.

the kid cursed, clawing down tony’s shoulders. he knew he was sensitive but fuck, he’d never experienced anything like it before. he could feel everything, every single ridge of his fingerprints, every press of flared knuckles against his prostate. it was perfect, so balanced on the edge of too much and not enough.

peter was splitting at the seams, close to drawing blood with how deep his nails had dug into tony’s flesh. he keened, whiny moans sprinkled between gasps and cries of "fuck, fuck me tony please, need you so bad”

tony twisted his fingers, forcing peter to feel the ridges of his fingers everywhere. "oh god, nngh tony, fuck, mr. stark please, i'm-"

"don't hold back, baby. you gonna cum from just my fingers in your greedy little hole? tell me just how much you want it, baby." he ended each phrase with the drag of his fingertips along peter's prostate, just enough to push him over.

peter’s whole body shook, entirely not used to being handled the way it just had. he fell forward, pleasure overriding strength.

peter came with tony's name on his lips, breathy little puffs of air just brushing the skin of his shoulder. tony fucked him through it, only letting up and pulling out when peter’s sounds turned painful.

once he’d come down enough, peter sat himself up, blushing at the man under him. “i can’t believe we just did that in the gym, tony!”

“what, was that not how you wanted to spend your morning, petey?” tony smirked, already aware of the answer.

“oh my good shut up!”

#starker #peter parker x tony stark #peter parker/tony stark #.mine #.text #.ficpost #i didn't edit this or even look it over post copy&paste pls go easy #nff #not family friendly #like a lot

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shortythescreen · 4 years

Text

Learned Skill

Summary: The reader has asked their partner, Bloodhound, to train them so they could compete in the Apex Games. When it proves to be more difficult than they originally thought, they get a little frustrated. Bloodhound is here to help.

Pairing(s): Bloodhound/reader.

Warning(s): NSFT/18+ under the cut. Gender neutral AFAB reader, AMAB Bloodhound. Bloodhound eats the booty at one point. Semi public/gym showers sex, though not a ton of emphasis placed on that. Some dom/sub undertones. Mentions of exercise being used as a punishment but it’s very brief and not spoken about in a negative way.

Author’s Note(s): A commission for the lovely @mika-aris! She has been so patient with me between work, school, and this, so what was ORIGINALLY supposed to be 2k wound up being nearly 3! She specified AFAB reader, so I got to talk about some clit action [insert eyes emojis here]. Anyway, she really seemed to like it and I hope y’all do too!

The worst part about this whole thing is that you were the one that asked Bloodhound to train you.

The worst worst part is that you didn’t think it would be that hard. Sure, you knew that you weren’t the most athletic person in the world, that you would need to have some patience with yourself. But if Caustic, who you’ve seen eat a whole cheesecake when he thought no one else was looking, can do it, then why can’t you? If Octane can do it when he looks like a strong breeze could knock him over, then why can’t you?

Why can’t you?

You expected Bloodhound to beat your ass at every turn. They’ve been the Champion of the Arena more than once, have earned the title Apex Predator. You didn’t think you were going to knock them off their feet in one fell swoop. You didn’t think they would stare up at you with hearts in their eyes, amazed and impressed by your strength and beauty (even if you thought about it a few times). You’re not stupid.

You just. Fucking. Are having a hard time.

“Again,” says Bloodhound. You have no idea how the hell they’re wearing a cloth face mask. Sweat must be dotting their upper lip beneath it and their tinted goggles give you no hint to how they’re feeling. You stand at the opposite end of the boxing ring, panting, your hands on your knees. “Do you need a break, elskan?”

“No, no,” you grunt. “I’m good. I wanna get this.”

“The decision is yours.”

You wonder if they’re annoyed with you. You two have been running this same fucking sequence for four days. It’s really not that hard and you’ve understood every other drill before it. Hound insisted before showing you how to handle weapons, you needed to know your way around your fists.

The overseers make us find our weapons, they said, if you ever intend to compete, you will have to know how to survive with only your wits and your fists. Especially in the event you are paired with Octavio and he throws your squad into the hot zone.

Which, okay, cool. You were disappointed that you weren’t going to be able to spin a Wingman around your finger like Elliott did but you weren’t opposed to learning how to upper cut someone, or whatever. Last week, they taught you about your stance, about basic punches and kicks, how to block. Now, you were combining all of those things. Simple, right? Punch, punch, block, kick, block, punch. Simple.

Yet you can’t seem to get it right.

You fix yourself, putting your fists up, tucking your elbows in. You shift one of your feet in front of the other, your dominant foot forward. Hound copies you and if you weren’t so wound up, you would probably be distracted by the way the muscles of their shoulders contract.

You two circle one another and then you launch yourself forward. Easy. Simple. Punch, punch, block, kick, block-

“Keep your hands up.” Bloodhound says and, fuck, when did they drop? You punch but you’re thrown off, overthinking how high or low your fists are, and instead of hitting their block, you miss them entirely.

“Damn it,” you huff.

“That’s alright,” murmurs Hound, “try again. Remember, if your hands are not protecting your face, your opponent may take the opportunity to hit it. It’s very easy to be caught unaware if you have to deal with a broken nose.”

“Right,” you say, then drop back into position. You got this. Punch, punch, block-

“Fuck!” You hiss, your foot slapping the floor of the ring. It echoes, and echoes, and it probably wouldn’t be fucking echoing if you could just get through this sequence. You throw your hands up, your legs spread in an awkward squat. “I fucking! I just! I need a shower.”

You don’t spare your partner a backwards glance as you stomp to the edge of the ring. You dip under the stretched band, hopping down and hurrying towards the locker rooms, blinking back the tears gathering in the corners of your eyes.

You huff as you flop down onto a bench in front of the locker you stuffed your gym bag into. You’re yanking it out, digging through it to find your shampoo and conditioner. All you want to do is jump in one of the showers and rinse the grime off you and maybe forget what a fucking failure you are.

That’s harsh. You know it’s harsh. It’s so hard not to feel that way, though, when Bloodhound makes it look so easy. They move with such grace, such agility – they’re a warrior and you’re- you’re just-

You’re pulled from your thoughts when the bench creaks next to you. You look up briefly, seeing that Bloodhound has joined you. They’ve pulled their cloth face mask off, letting it rest on one of their ears as they stare at the lockers, their goggles on top of their head. Which means they can’t see shit. You turn back to your bag and the silence that follows feels stiff, rigid. Congested with the aggravation rolling off you in waves.

“Arthur taught me to hunt when I was a child,” says Bloodhound, breaking the silence. You pause, your fingers stilling in their relentless search. You don’t move, barely breathe.

“As a young one, mistakes seemed… Unimportant. I rarely wanted to understand the tracks of beasts for any other reason than to try and make friends with them.” Your lips twitch up. How adorable. “As a teenager, this changed. For many reasons. I did not want to disappoint my Uncle. At all things I have done, I have wanted to be the best. Though he might have been strict, and unrelenting, Arthur taught me one thing that I hold onto in the moments that I feel the competition within myself flare.”

You finally turn to face them, and you find their eyes on you. Their full lips are curved up at one corner, the softness of their copper colored eyes making your heart squeeze. “Rarely is battle something someone is naturally gifted in. It takes practice, discipline. Patience.”

You sigh heavily, sitting up, resting your hands on the edge of the bench. You press your lips to the side, in an ashamed little pucker. Your knee bounces but Hound doesn’t press, doesn’t force you to speak.

“You’re so… Good at this stuff,” you mutter, “and I want to be good at it too. For it to make sense for you to be with me.”

“Does it not now?” Bloodhound asks and their rough knuckles find the apple of your cheek, caressing the edge of it. You lean into their touch.

“You’re this amazing warrior. Four time Champion of the Arena. Apex predator. And I’m… squishy.” You say.

“You too can be an amazing warrior, beloved,” they say, “but please, do it for yourself. I would love you if you never chose to participate in the games or if you remained… squishy for the rest of our days.”

A laugh tumbles from your lips, unbidden. Bloodhound has the audacity to beam at you, clearly delighted they’ve made you laugh and with a sigh, you careen into them, your head finding their shoulder.

“Alright, okay.”

They loop an arm around your shoulder, resting their cheek on top of yours. “Once, when I kicked a rock in a fit of irritation, Arthur made me run the perimeter of our village three times.”

“Ouch. You gonna make me run, Hound?” They chuckle at your words, their gun calloused fingers blazing a trail down the length of your bicep before they gently grip your elbow, pulling your body firmly into their side.

“No. But I have another idea of how to make you sweat,” their voice lowers with dangerous promise and your breath hitches in your throat. “You meant to shower?”

“Yes.”

“Then go. And perhaps I will join you.”

Oh shit. Ohhhhh shit. The husk of their tone makes heat bolt through you, makes you squirm in your seat. They press a dry kiss to your temple, and you hop up, completely forgetting the shampoo and conditioner you had been digging for in favor of hurrying towards the showers.

You can barely focus on how good the hot spray feels. You don’t know how Hound cleared out the gym today, if they paid someone or just knew the Legends well enough to know they wouldn’t be here today. They did though and now they’re following your training up with fulfilling some of your naughty fantasies. Not that you’ve expressed to them that you’re interested in kind of public, kind of wet sex, but-

Rough hands find the swell of your hips and your breath stutters in your lungs. Shit. When did they even get in here? They waste no time, dragging you back, against their body as naked as your own.

“Do you think it yours to decide whether we have finished with our training, hm?” They whisper in your ear, the brush of their lips on the shell making a little tingle go down your spine. “Do you think yourself in charge, beloved?”

“No,” you say softly, shaking your head, only to tilt it to the side as their lips find the side of your throat, the juncture between it and your shoulder. “No, Bloodhound, I never meant-”

“Never. You never meant,” they nod against your shoulder, their curls sticking to your wet skin. “Oh, beloved, I understand. I do.”

They don’t. They walk you out from under the spray, pressing your front against the tile wall of the shower. Their hands that have been static on your hips move, gracefully migrating down to the tops of your thighs. They part them, nudging them apart and forcing your knees against the tile.

“But I cannot let you play at authority,” they growl out and the slow, steady roll of their hips against your ass lets you feel their cock, twitching and hard between your spread thighs. You gasp, pressing your forehead against the tile. “Keep your legs apart. Do not look back.”

You nod slowly, resting your hands on either side of your head. Hound shifts behind you and the delicious pressure of their dick disappears, much to your chagrin. They must sense this because they chuckle but before you can ask them what’s so funny, wriggle around, their hands grip your ass cheeks, spreading them apart.

Your breath hitches, whatever smart comment that you wanted to make dying on your tongue as your legs tremble. You have to fight the urge to close them, the feeling of being so exposed making you twitch in their hands. They let you sit like that, with your cheeks spread, your breath stuck in your throat like food that’s gone down the wrong pipe.

“Do you remember your safe word?” they ask, and you nod, eagerly. They blow cool air against your puckered asshole, and you shiver, knowing that the water must be hitting their back, knowing that their cock is bobbing between their legs. They say no more, their tongue finding home between the globes of your ass, and you squeak.

Their tongue is relentlessly, working against your tight hole. They flicker the tip against it, before dragging themselves all the way down until their tongue almost touches your cunt. The noise they make into your ass makes you squirm, but you know they have to see how wet you are, how much you want them. How much this is turning you on. They suck their way back up, pulling back to kiss each of your cheeks before their tongue flattens all the way into your ass.

“Hound,” you whine, desperation edging at your tone. They keep teasing you, their tongue flickering close to the wet edge where ass stops and your pussy begins, but they are not merciful. You find yourself panting, your breath joining the steam all around you both.

“Who do you belong to, elskan? Who decides when we are finished?” They ask, lowly. Before you can answer, their fingers find your wet lips and they slide two inside without warning. You absolutely wail at the stretch, at the way that once they have spoken, they attack your ass.

“Hound! You, you, shit, it’s you, please-” You plead, and you guess this must do it for them because they shoot to their feet. Their fingers don’t stop, curled inside of your cunt, fucking up hard and fast into you. You glance over your shoulder but instead of being reprimanded, their lips find yours, forceful tongue parting your lips to find yours as they seal their chest against your back. You squirm, your thighs trembling, aching, before you finally cum with a shout around their knuckles.

Your legs twitch and they barely move away, their breath mingling with yours. Their fingers slide out of you with an embarrassing squelch and you feel wet, sticky, but your clit still throbs when they push their cock between the seam of your pussy lips.

“Can you take me, elskan? Now that I’ve made you cum?” They ask, their soaked fingers creeping around to your front so they can massage your thick clit.

“Fuck, yes,” you whisper, and they grin at your eagerness, all hooded eyes and feral energy. The hand not toying with your clit finds your shoulder and they whip you around. That same hand slinks down and they hitch up your leg over their hip, kneeling just enough so that this time when they grind their hips up into you, their cock catches against your soaked hole.

They whisper your name and in a moment of tenderness, their lips find the apple of your cheek. You smile delicately, meeting their eyes. They give you a serene, sweet smile, before their cock sinks home into your cunt.

The pleasant stretch of them has you throwing your head back, your lower lip catching between your teeth.

“Look at me,” they murmur and it’s with great effort that you open your eyes. The second you meet their gaze they thrust into you hard, abrupt, hips smacking wetly into yours and you whimper. Your oversensitive walls are fluttering around them, squishy and soft from the way they made you cum earlier.

They don’t show you mercy, though, pounding into your wet cunt like they own it. They do, fucking Christ, you swear they do. Your fingernails dig into their muscular shoulders, your teeth weakly scraping across their throat and making them moan your name. They angle their hips just right, tilting in such a way that suddenly they slam into something hot, and deep, and it has you crying out as they groan.

“There,” they hiss. It’s not a question, not when they brutally thrust into your twitching cunt, so deep inside of you that you see stars. You suck hard at their neck, trying to fight back your noises, trying to make them feel as good as you do now. Their nails dig into the thigh they have hostage and to your surprise, they start talking.

Bloodhound isn’t normally a talker during sex, not unless you two are in scene. Giving orders, correcting you, calling you names. That’s usually what they reserve their filth for.

“You are more than worthy of me,” they almost whisper and you sob as they punctuate this with a sharp thrust, “you are the first thing I think about when I wake, the last thing I think about when I sleep. The love-”

They outright growl when your cunt flexes around them in tandem with your nails raking down their back and their hips stutter into yours. Their cock slowly grinds into you and you tremble in their arms.

“The love of my life,” they huff out, their voice deepening, thickening, “you’re mine, forever, I love you, I love you-”

They groan as their hips begin to stutter and clench and the twitch in their dick inside of you has you jerking, so, so close. Their fingers fondle your clit, haphazard, messy, and you whimper as you finally cum a second time around their throbbing cock. They twist their head to press against your ear, panting harshly, and you try to catch your breath too.

“I love you too,” you breathe.

They chuckle softly, squeezing your hip in their hand. Then they kiss your temple, eyes sliding shut as they relish in your warmth against their chill. The water behind you two has run cold by now and the parts of your hair that haven’t been under the spray are drying.

“We should clean ourselves.” They whisper.

“Or we could go again?” You offer and they growl out, sending a bolt of heat straight through you.

“That can be arranged, beloved.”

#bloodhound/reader #bloodhound x reader #apex legends #apex lemons #apex legends imagines #apex legends bloodhound #apex bloodhound #shorty writes #shorty commissions #mika-aris #nsft #lemon

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jadespeedster17 · 3 years

Text

More Blood God Phil stuff because I be in a mood. @nkhaotic

Asked a question on Tubbo being a new Vassal of the Blood God, and got an answer. Then got to writing this. Tis would be my th thing to this AU, you guys haven’t seen my drawing yet. Hehe, this gave me alot to think about. (When I get inspired, I can write like crazy, it’s how I can go months without content, then post like five chapters in two days.)

Plot: Tubbo is taken out by Techno and Tommy for what they call some 'fun'. Basically, they are testing to see how he takes killing people.

This is what happens when you are listening to Addict by Silva Hound and Blood-Water by Grandson.

Note: Wilbur is dead in this one, given he had betrayed Phil for the 'newest' god Dream. Read it by NKhaotic on their Tumblr. Also, this is an AU, some things were changed from Cannon to fit into my narrative. Like Tubbo being the one who says Techno should be executed or Phil's 'house arrest', were not his ideas in this.

Warnings: Blood, Killing, Burning things, Explosives, these boys are just Feral okay.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28557531/chapters/70366230

Tubbo walked beside Tommy as they followed Techno out. Truth be told, he had just come to apologize to the other. See, he had no idea of them having taken him from his home for the execution. He had been told they found Techno in the city and thus it was considered right to do so. Enemy of one nation wasn't so much of the other. As far as he cared, Techno could have stayed away and he'd be allowed to live.

He never understood why people around him insisted on lying to get by, it was easier, to tell the truth, and then get your sweet revenge. Which still doesn't explain why they wanted to head out of the server together. Tommy seemed excited, near skipping as he walked. Any and all questions he asked were just answered with 'wait and see'. So, after getting this for the third time, he resigned to the fact they wouldn't tell him.

As they neared up the hill, a rather decent sized town could be seen in the distance. So they weren't dragging him out here to kill him, good to know. Techno hummed as he tossed to Tommy a crossbow and fireworks. "To answer your questions." the piglin said handing the same to Tubbo with a look. "We're here to wreak havoc and kill whoever stands in the way."

Tubbo stared at that, not sure what he was thinking or feeling about that thought. Tommy was grinning at him, "Consider this an... assessment!" he said cheerfully. "I'm sure you'll do great!" Watching as they headed out, Tubbo shook out of his thoughts and quickly followed after them. The way down was silent as if the world itself was holding its breath for the first moment.

The feeling he got was vaguely familiar, remembering back to when he would take walks with Phil in the city.

*Flashback*

The world was silent as he could hear the sounds of their feet on the cobble paths. Tubbo looked around at that, the birds that normally made noises, were all too quiet. He looked over at Phil who was gazing up at the sky in thought.

He sighed heavily, "I am sorry about this... as much as I didn't want to do this, my cabinet had forced the issue." he muttered looking away from Phil.

The older male hummed at that, "You do have a duty to your people, if they want something you are to try and supply them with it. Such is the life of a leader."

"But still." Tubbo said, "It feels like they refuse to listen even when I do say something. They constantly override me, and this has caused some... discourse between us." he wasn't sure why he was telling Phil about this. This was supposed to be personal, but, Tubbo didn't have many people talk to about it.

Phil gazed at him and shrugged, "Then why not make them listen. From what Tommy tells me, you've not always been this passive about things." he tells him honestly.

Turning to that, then looking away with a soft hum. "I suppose I haven't been, not sure what really changed." it was true, he wasn't always passive about things. He wasn't afraid to kill should it come down to it. Gods know he's steeped in the blood of people who wronged him, and the fires still burn around him to this day. Since being president, he has become meeker and more unsure of himself.

"I'm just saying, grab back your confidence, and if they refuse to listen, make them an example," he suggested to him with a casual look, as if he didn't just tell Tubbo to kill people who went against him.

Tubbo frowned, "Wouldn't that just make me another tyrant?" he asked curiously.

Phil merely chuckled, "Not if you're smart about it Tubbo, which I am sure you are much smarter than that idiot before you." he said with a scowl, remembering how it all lead to him having to kill Wilbur.

Silence rang again between them, still the world held its breath. Tubbo looked off into the distance with a tiny hum at the words. Be smart about it... he was sure he could do that.

*End of flashback*

As they neared the area, Tubbo watched as Techno fired off into the buildings. Setting a flame one building. Before Tommy took off with a cackle, slashing through any guards that came too close.

Coming out of his musing to see the fire around them, the blood that ran into the ground. He looked around to see Techno setting up the flames with each fire of the crossbow. In the light of the fires, Tubbo swore the other's eyes were glowing red in two voids, black holes where his eyes should be.

The two were chaotic and just going all over the place. Though they were passionate, they were also unfocused.

Such is the life of a leader.

Tubbo gripped his weapon tightly, pulling out a stick of TNT given to him. Lighting it up he tossed it into the fray of people running. The resulting explosion rang up with screams.

"Now you're getting it!" he heard as Tubbo turned and stared at what he saw. Tommy now had sharp teeth like fangs, black eyes with two red dots. "Come on, still much to destroy we are only on the south side!" he laughed running off to catch up with Techno who was already heading over there. Normal people would be horrified by this, normal people would turn and run. But, if he did that, Tubbo would be denying the fact the thrill this left him with was all he ever loved in life.

And he's been in need of a stress reliever after days trapped in L'manburge.

Running down the streets as he would lit up areas with fireworks and torches. The hot days from before with no rain making the grass easy to ignite under the tiniest of sparks. Tubbo found himself grinning as he jumped from roof to roof, sitting off explosives behind him. People inside screaming out when their house was blown up and the resulting fire from it would burn them or debris would crush them.

Slowly the awkwardness delved into pure destructive glee between the three boys. The smokes that billow into the reddening sky as the sunset casts a glow over the orange flames that rose high into the sky.

Laughing along with the other two as they left the place late into the night Techno was covered in gunpowder and blood, Tommy had it on his hands from having barehanded some others. The ends of Tubbo's outfit were burnt as Tommy had an arm around him grinning widely with his fang-like teeth. Addicting the feeling was, just letting go of all conforms in this world and going pure feral on any and all.

The way back was mostly then recounting people they ran into. Acting out their terror and laughing with tips and compliments on making it better. And they did admit Tubbo had kept them on track to make sure they got all sectors of the city.

But, this also meant this night was coming to a close. So he'd have to go back to the city he ran as if this night never happened. Tubbo tried not to let that thought get to him as they neared Techno's house as the moon was high in the sky. He paused however when he saw Phil on the porch smiling at them when they neared. "Look at you boys, did you have fun?" he asked as Tommy and Techno got onto the porch.

"Sure did!" Tommy said smiling as Phil ruffled his hair.

Techno just grunted with a shrug but did smile at the hand on his shoulder. Tubbo mostly kept silent he turned to head back home. "And just where are you going young man?" near jumping he turned to see Phil with his arms crossed. "You can't be heading back looking like that, much less this late into the night."

Tubbo mouth moved but no words came out as Tommy snickered and got up pulling him over to sit with them. Techno going inside to wash off his hands and get something for them to eat. Tommy was leaned on the left side of Phil, smiling as fingers ran through his hair. He was mostly back to 'normal' looking if you overlook the blood still on him.

Shifting a bit, Tubbo felt slightly awkward about this, yelping when an arm pulls him closer to Phil. Tubbo managed to look up to see a soft smile from him, he could faintly hear Tommy's soft breathing. Closing his own eyes as he found Phil was very warm despite how cold the night air was in the snowy plains.

"You did really good today, all three of you." Phil praised them quietly, Tubbo vaguely hearing him. "I'm pleased with your work." A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, somehow those words filled him with warmth.

Something soft wrapped around Tubbo, a ruffle of feathers. Yet, he kept his eyes closed, exhaustion finally creeping into his body.

Somehow, he knew everything would be okay. He was safe, here and now. Latching onto this thought, and onto the calming feeling Phil gave off. Tubbo slowly drifted off to sleep, dreaming of the night they had.

#dream smp #dream smp au #philza #technoblade #tommyinnit #tubbo #Blood God Philza #tw blood #tw destruction #tw killing

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toloveawarlord · 3 years

Text

Ch. 1

Pairing: Wren Blackwell x Jonah Clemence

Tagging: @plumpblueberry @starry-starry-night24 @youreawizardharr (please let me know if you want to be tagged!)

A/N: Day 4 of the 12 Days of OCmas! Are Wren and Jonah as Star Crossed and Wren believes?

The tinkling of the bell above the door signaled their arrival. Too early for incoming influx of captains and merchants with documents to be reviewed and approved. Another two hours should have been free to work on overhauling the filing system that her boss had struggled to keep in order. She didn’t need to rush after hearing her son exclaim the visitor’s names.

“Uncle Fenrir! Uncle Ray!” The ten-year old’s voice echoed through the small building laced with surprise and joy. Abandoning his schoolwork for a chance to spend time with his two uncles. Amber eyes sparkled up at the two. Rarely did he get a visit from his family.

Fenrir beamed a grin at him, accepting the welcoming hug. “Reece, ya got taller!” He stopped by any time he came down to the ports, pitching in to help if Wren needed it.

Which meant today must be business. Never did Ray come by her work without warning. Placing down the files in their proper piles, Wren maneuvered through the chaos to emerge from the office. “Reece, you can go out for a break.” She didn’t want him to hear any military discussions, lest he want to join.

“Come on, I’ll buy ya a treat if it’s alright with your mom,” Fenrir offered to the eager boy, glancing to her for the okay.

It was like looking at two needy puppies. “That’s fine.” As Reece raced out the front door, Wren called to the ace with a serious tone. “No guns this time. I’ll kick your ass if you even think about it.”

She received a salute paired with wicked grin. “Yes, ma’am.”

“This time?” Ray questioned, emerald eyes moving from the vacant doorway to his sister.

“Reece is becoming increasingly interested in weapons ever since he was allowed to shoot Fenrir’s gun,” Wren replied with irritation. She’d agreed to teaching her son a little hand-to-hand combat for self-defense. At no point, had permission been given for him to wield a weapon.

Ray chuckled at her frown. “I count myself lucky that Fenrir came away in one piece.” His memories of a protective older sister when they were but children resurfaced with nostalgia. Though she came across as calm and collected, she possessed incredible fighting skill that could rival some of his chosen thirteen.

The army would gain much if Wren agreed to join, but he knew that she would never, not with her son to protect.

The two moved into the messy office for privacy. Wren cleared a spot on the desk to sit while Ray claimed the only empty armchair. “What are you looking for?”

“Shipping manifests that could pass initial inspection but might be importing contraband.”

Wren cast a glance over the organized mess. “I’ll look into it. Though, it will undoubtedly take me a few hours. What is it that’s being smuggled in?” If she had a frame of reference, then it would make the search much easier.

“You know I’m not supposed to tell you that.” The investigation now a joint one. He’d have to explain to the Reds why he involved a civilian in a sensitive, top secret mission.

“If I know what I’m looking for, the box size and contents will be much simpler to find.”

Ray shifted to cross his legs, mulling over his options. Trust wasn’t the issue. He knew Wren would be discrete and quick. But involving her meant bringing up her name at the meeting with Red Army late tonight. Was it better to have some information than come up empty with those smug bastards?

“Stop worrying. I want to help, so let me.”

He sighed. “Tainted magic crystals. They’re small enough to go undetected but a single one can cause massive damage. If the calculations are even slightly correct, the influx that has been reported could destroy half of Cradle. Wren, you don’t have to agree to this. I understand if you want me to walk away.”

A dire situation. Time sensitive.

Wren could see why he’d been hesitant to tell her. Part of her, the mother part, wanted to tell him no. Becoming involved opened her and Reece up to being targets. Her common sense wanted her to walk away.

But Ray would only come to her with something so dangerous if it weren’t his last option.

“I’ll do what I can.”

The King of Spades relaxed at her agreement. “Thanks, sis. I’ll assign a soldier to keep watch here and at your home. Just as a precaution.” His gaze flickered to the large clock sitting on the wall. They’d made a detour here.

“Go on. I know how busy you are. I’ll come by with whatever I find,” Wren said with a wave of her hand. They hardly saw each other but on a few of his off days.

After the two officers left, Wren gathered all the shipping manifests that were within the last few months to pour over at home. She only took a break to cook a light meal and eat with her son before it was back to examining the documents.

Night had settled in by the time she discovered anything significant. There were a handful of suspect items that had been flagged, but only one stood out. Regardless of her gut feeling, Wren took all of the evidence and would allow them to mark off the ones that were unneeded.

“Reece, I’m going to take some things to Ray. I’ll be back later-”

“I wanna come!” He cut her off, abandoning his schoolwork to scramble over the back of the couch. Amber eyes as big as a puppy, begging to for permission.

Wren reached out and brushed her hand through his red hair. Normally, it would be alright, but she wanted him nowhere near this case. “Not this time. I won’t be gone long. Stay here, okay?”

“Aww, but mom!” Reece protested with a frown.

“Please don’t fight me on this, Reece.” She pressed a kiss to his head as she gave him a tight hug. To admit it would be too hard, but there were more reasons than simply his safety from outside threats that she worried about.

<< << <<

Soldiers at the gate had redirected her to Central Quarter. The two armies had convened, and she’d have to find Ray there. The neutral zone hadn’t changed much. Wren only came when she absolutely needed to. She’d chosen to live in the port town of Black Territory, far away from anyone in Red Territory.

The meeting had come to a close by the time she arrived. She’d been greeted by the 10 of Spades on his way out with a tip of his hat. Wren stayed in the foyer of the Civic Center, finding a nice pillar to hide behind. The Jacks exited next and following them the Queens.

Their boots were all that echoed throughout the large room. Their dislike for each other well known. As one came to a stop, so did the other. “Who’s there? The Civic Center is closed. You’re trespassing.”

Ten years.

It had been ten years since she’d heard that voice.

And it still caused her heart to throb painfully inside her chest.

His steps grew closer.

If she continued to hide, it would reflect poorly. Wren moved from her spot behind the pillar. With stiff movements, she passed Jonah without a word, instead moving to Sirius. “I brought what the King of Spades asked for. I was only waiting for him to come down.”

“He mentioned that. I’ll deliver them for you.” Sirius took the compiled documents and headed back for the stairs. He cast a worried glance back over his shoulder, but the woman was already heading for the door.

Don’t look back. Keep walking.

Her palm pressed against the door, but cool fingers wrapped around her other wrist. Wren tensed at his touch, wanting to pull away but found herself unable to.

“I’m owed an explanation.”

He was right.

“You drop out of school and disappear for ten years.”

Her reason one that he wouldn’t understand.

“Wren! Look at me!” A gentle, but firm command.

Emerald green met beautiful molten amber.

Wren swallowed down the lump in her throat. It hurt more than she’d imagined it would. Strong emotions that she’d bottled up and shoved deep into her heart, rattled in their cage, threatening to burst out. If they did, she feared she’d lose all control. “We were dumb kids, who didn’t understand that it would never work.”

Not even she believed the words that passed her lips.

“How could you possibly know that?” He wore so many emotions. Hurt. Confusion. Anger. She’d vanished. The day prior they were sneaking off during a break to be alone, and the next, gone. No explanation. No note. “I searched for you. I went into Black Territory against my families wishes-”

His family the catalyst of her disappearance.

But she couldn’t reveal that.

“Jonah, we’re different people now. You’re exactly where you’re meant to be, and if we’re being completely honest, the Queen of Hearts could never be with the King of Spades older sister. One thing or another always got in our way.” Whether it be his family or the Red Territory fan girls who hounded her for even speaking to him back in school. His duties joining the army would have broken them apart, and once Ray became the King, that would have done them in as well. “It’s for the best.”

He was still the Jonah she’d fallen in love with. His brows creased, not willing to accept that he couldn’t have everything that he wanted. “Did you think me not enough to protect you?”

It had little to do with protection. Wren tugged her hand free, shaking her head. “You would never go against your family.” She turned and shoved the door open to escape into the chilled night air. Pain blossomed across her chest. Her legs threatened to give out.

Return to Black Territory and try to forget.

As if it worked the last ten years.

“What is that supposed to mean?” He couldn’t simply give in. None of his questions had been answered. Jonah followed; his voice drenched in confusion. “This isn’t about my parents. You left me, Wren! Without so much as a word. I deserve to know why!”

She clenched her fists and whirled around to face him. “It’s always been about them, Jonah! Do you have any idea how many times your mother found a way to make my life miserable? She’s the one who had me pulled from your class, turned my teachers against me, and she tried to pay me off when--” Wren caught herself before she blurted out the one thing she refused to speak of. Emerald irises fell away from the shock on his features.

Their raised voices had drawn the attention of the Jacks loitering by the fountain and with them, someone who was meant to be at home.

“Pay you off for what?” Jonah couldn’t think of a single thing that would require an exchange of money.

“It doesn’t matter. I didn’t take the money, but I did leave. It’s over, Jonah. I think it’s better if we just pretend we’re strangers.”

“No. I refuse to leave things this way-”

A small hand slipped into hers. Reece wore a concerned expression. He’d never seen her so upset. “Mom?” He’d disregarded her wishes, following her all the way to Central Quarter, where he’d never been before.

Jonah glanced between the two. “Mom? You have a son?” It was dark but the moonlight illuminated the boy well enough.

Matching amber eyes met for the first time.

The missing piece walked right into the puzzle.

#ikemen revolution #ikerev #jonah clemence #ray blackwell #fenrir godspeed #reece blackwell #wren blackwell #star crossed lovers

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lovelucybradford · 3 years

Text

I Pretend You’re Mine (4)

A/N: Hi all! I know it’s been a while. Unfortunately adulting sucks and I was so caught up in my work situations that I had no more left to give. Thankfully, the writer’s block has gone away (for now). I planned to have this up on Valentine’s Day, butttt *writer’s block*. So, to make up for it, I’m (hopefully) giving you two chapters this weekend. Chapter five is a continuation of four; it was just so long that I decided to split it into two parts. Hope you enjoy, and thanks for all the love!

Masterlist

Tags: @empath-bunny

@ityagirljay

@wolfarrowepz

@supernatural-crazed-girl

Chapter Four: Drag Me Headfirst, Fearless

As soon as the plane landed on the tarmac in sunny Florida, the reality of Rosalie’s upcoming situation had hit her like a freight train. She’d been a nervous wreck since. Rosalie jiggled her leg so much on the Uber ride to the port of call that Stiles, the human form of the Energizer bunny, had placed a hand on her knee and urged her to stop. At that point, Rose figured she’d better cool it before she completely lost her resolve and ‘jumped ship’, so to speak.

So, Rosalie began listing things that she could count on in an attempt to center herself. It was something that the woman had been taught and perfected over many years of intense therapy sessions. She rattled off the list in her mind as she concentrated on the quickly passing palm trees on the side of the highway.

Things That Rosalie Could Count on For the Trip from Hell:

One: Knowing Rosalie’s stepmother Evelyn, who made her career out of creating high-class soirees such as this, everything would be meticulously planned out, down to the minute. If it were up to her, she’d even plan the times that they could use the toilet.

Two: Rosalie would most likely be the talk of the event, until the gossip hounds found something, or someone, juicier to bite into. The last time that she had seen the relatives, all twenty of them (minus her Uncle Joe and Aunt Natalie, who wanted nothing to do with her father), was three days before Drew and Rose had their untimely breakup. Drew, who was more family to them than Rosalie ever was.

Luckily, if she had to go through hell, at least…

Three: Rosalie’s support system would be with her 100%. She had Lydia to give reassuring hand squeezes and the family subtle insults. Her brother Levi who, as much of a jackass that he could be, would defend his sister’s honor to the (metaphorical) death. Stiles and Rose would lounge around the open bar and mock her Uncle Tom as he attempted to ‘dance’, or Aunt Sarah who would undoubtedly flirt with Derek.

Derek… Rose’s confidante, her best friend, her anchor, who hadn’t spoken a word since they stepped foot on the extravagant vessel.

Rosalie could chalk it up to being so breath taken from the scenery that Derek had nothing to say. Even Stiles had repeatedly commented “Holy shit this is so bougie” ten times in the last five minutes. (Not that she couldn’t agree. Her father Jason was the poster child for ‘go big or go home’) To be fair, it was beautiful. The atrium was adorned floor to ceiling in shades of gold, a large diamond chandelier smack in between two beautiful staircases.

Staircases that gave Rosalie an eerie sense of déjà vu. Only because she had seen something bearing a high resemblance to them in a movie featuring her fictional doppelgänger, a fellow redhead who shared Rose’s name.

Part of her wondered if this was her father’s idea of a sick joke. Rosalie had always said that Drew and her were ‘Jack and Rose’. Turns out Drew was more of a Cal Hockley than a Jack Dawson. As for Rosalie, she was still Rose, forever searching in that freezing sea for her Jack. She should have known that she and Drew were doomed to sink beneath the waves.

Sink beneath the waves… Rosalie’s heart began to pound faster as she grabbed ahold of Lydia’s wrist, relying on her cousin to guide her through the maze of humans and staircases to the staterooms.

Derek and Stiles walked ahead of the two, the former’s back stiff with tension.

Was he predicting, too, that this plan of theirs would go down like the Titanic?

Or was he dreading playing Rosalie’s lover in front of a ship full of pompous asses and the occasional normal person?

Derek normally exuded confidence, from the strong set of his jaw to the way that he entered a room. At that moment, he looked more like a frightened schoolboy than a man with enough swagger for their whole friend group.

His blatant anxiety just heightened Rosalie’s. Before she could really process it, Lydia was pulling her arm away and gently shaking Rose’s shoulder.

“Rose? Rosalie!”

Rosalie shook her head, clearing her thoughts and focusing on the hazel of Lydia’s eyes. “Hmm? Sorry.”

Lydia let out a puff of air, blowing upwards the tendrils of hair that weren’t securely fastened in her high ponytail. “We’re here. Go settle in and we’ll meet you in a bit.”

Lydia then shoved Rosalie towards Derek, who caught her with a hand on her elbow. He took the key card from Rose’s sweaty palm and slid it into the slot on the handle, opening the door to a stateroom with a balcony overlooking the crystal sea. The stateroom… with one bed.

Rosalie tried not to hyperventilate thinking that Derek and she had to share that.

“You can take the bed,” Derek commented as soon as he too laid eyes on it.

Rose ignored him, deciding to handle that situation later, flopping full-bodied onto the plush mattress. The white comforter smelled like a swift ocean breeze, and she couldn’t help but press her nose further into it.

“What is it with you and smelling things today?” Derek chuckled.

Rosalie threw a nearby pillow at him, her face still buried in the bed. “Shut up, asshole.”

The bed shifted to the right of where she lied, the fabric dipping a foot away. That made her feel better. At least if they had to share it like when they were kids, there would be enough space between the two of them so that things wouldn’t happen. Which Rosalie would make sure of. Well, sober her would make sure of it. Drunk her could not be trusted.

“I didn’t hear a word you said, but I assume it was something along the lines of ‘you’re an asshole.”

Rose rolled onto her side. “Close, but no dice…” She lost the train of thought as her eyes caught on a glittering cardstock pamphlet lying between the two of them.

Martin Family Reunion 2019

Day 1: Thursday, June 13th

5:00 pm- Disembark from Cape Canaveral

7:00 pm- Welcome Cocktails in the Stardust Lounge, Deck 6

All must attend.

Proper Cocktail Attire required for entry.

Rosalie groaned so loudly that a masculine laugh resounded from the other side of the wall.

“What?” Derek responded to his friend’s displeasure. Without a word, the woman passed him the pamphlet, watching out of the corner of her eye as his beautiful olive eyes took in the itinerary. His face contorted into a sour expression, and he put down the paper at once.

With a pat to Rose’s thigh, Derek got up from the bed and grabbed his wallet and the aviator sunglasses that were resting on the vanity table. Her eyes followed his form, waiting for some kind of explanation as to where in the hell he thought he was going.

“You and Lydia have fun getting ready. Stiles and I are going down to that bar we saw in the atrium.”

Rosalie gaped, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “Wh—what? What about—”

“Would you chill? I’ll be back before seven. I need a drink before I see The Stepford Family.”

Rosalie snorted rather unattractively at Derek’s choice nickname for her father and his new family. Evelyn and her daughters certainly were like characters dragged out of The Stepford Wives film.

Derek was about to leave the room, when he paused, two fingertips grazing the golden door handle. He turned his body slightly to face Rose, a mischievous look in his eyes.

“It’s all-inclusive, right? Everything we buy with the key card goes on his tab?”

She assumed that by ‘his’, Derek meant her father, Jason.

“Yup,” Rosalie replied, popping the ‘p’.

“In that case, I’ll make sure to get the most expensive liquor that they have,�� Derek smiled deviously, lazily waving the golden keycard.

She was momentarily distracted by his pretty face, and the familiar but unwanted fluttering in her stomach. By the time Rosalie snapped out of her thirstiness, he was gone.

__________________

Rosalie stumbled in her Louboutin’s for the sixth time, looking quite like the person who’d had three shots of Whiskey that was bottled before she was born.

Derek, the one who actually had, so smoothly wrapped his arm around Rose’s waist for support. The heat of his palm warmed her skin, even through the mint green cocktail dress she was wearing, but it was the last thing on her mind.

With every step that they took towards the wooden double doors at the entrance of the Stardust Lounge, the more Rose’s stomach churned, and her vision blurred. Eventually, her heart pounding through her ribcage was the only sound that Rosalie could hear.

Rosalie stopped abruptly, frantically searching for a bathroom, for a garbage can, for a balcony that she could jump off of.

Derek continued walking but was pulled back by the hand that was grasping Rose’s still figure.

“I can’t do this. Oh god, I can’t do this. I think I’m going to throw up,” she breathed shallowly, the urge to vomit slowly creeping up her throat. Rose hastily removed Derek’s grip from her waist, struggling to find her balance, and teetered towards the opposite wall. Before she could go very far, Derek’s rough hand was in hers, squeezing it in a likely attempt to bring Rosalie back to center.

“What?” She heard Lydia begin, but Derek had silenced Lydia instantly with a rushed command of “Go, stall for us. We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

“Hold your breath, Rosie!” Stiles called as Derek led a dazed Rosalie to a cream-tiled room.

Stiles’ advice brought Rose back to the time, years ago, when Lydia had told her that she’d kissed Stiles mid panic attack after his dad was shot pursuing a perp.

“When I kissed you, you held your breath,” Lydia had said to Stiles.

Rosalie had thought it romantic at the time. So romantic. But she prayed that Derek didn’t try that trick on her. Rose couldn’t handle it, not when…

Derek grabbed hold of either side of Rosalie’s face with both hands, forcing her to look at him.

“Rose. Rosie! Look at me. Breathe,”

His face so close to hers just made her breathing speed up, not slow like he intended.

“Fuck Rosalie,” Derek voiced, sounding almost as breathless as his best friend.

He nodded once, then took a deep breath through his nose and out through his mouth, his eyes never leaving Rosalie’s tear-stained face. “Breathe with me, babe. In, out.”

She tried to follow his lead, but only to appease him. Rosalie couldn’t stand that desperate look in his eyes, the frantic shifting of his gaze, or the tense set of his jaw. The thought of him being in pain like that, even emotional pain,it physically hurt her.

“Good. Good, Rosie. Keep going.”

She took a few more breaths through her nose, the world-ending feeling lessening with each exhale.

“You good?” Derek questioned, his thumb rubbing lightly up and down the woman’s cheek.

Rosalie nodded softly, still not having the breath to voice any thoughts.

She leaned back on the countertop, feeling the coolness of the tile and the mirror behind her. Rose hadn’t noticed before, but they were hiding from the family in a large single bathroom. Rosalie laughed to herself. It wasn’t the first time that she’d had a mental breakdown next to a toilet. And it probably wouldn’t be the last.

“Thanks,” Rose commented hoarsely, not daring to look at Derek in fear of what he might think of her. Weak was the only word that came to mind. “Sorry for freaking out. Never thought you’d have to console someone in a bathroom, did you?”

Derek snorted, and Rose’s heart dropped a bit at the sound, thinking that he was mocking her. “Actually, you’re not the first crying woman that I’ve held in a cramped bathroom.”

She raised one brow at him, a wordless cue to elaborate.

“I may or may not have had a girlfriend with a pregnancy scare back in college.”

“Of course, you did,” Rosalie said before she could really think about it, heart once more dipping in her chest. What was she thinking, pretending to be engaged to someone like Derek Hale?

Derek Hale, who could have any woman he wanted. Who would think that he would settle for someone as quiet and average as Rosalie?

“Hey.” Derek stepped in front of her, further away than he was minutes ago, but not by much. “Never apologize for being human, for having feelings and fears. Especially not to me.”

All Rosalie could manage was a small smile, to which he reciprocated with one of his own.

“You’re still the strongest woman I know. Stronger than Cora, stronger than mom—”

“I don’t know about that,” she replied playfully.

Derek rolled his eyes and continued on with his motivational speech, every word loosening the tense muscles in her shoulders. “Yes, even my mom. But don’t tell her I said that. Hey, if you’re worried about your family, then fuck them. They should be thankful that you’re even here after all the shit they threw at you.”

Rosalie nodded, fingers playing absently with the sapphire ring on her left hand—thinking about the last time she had worn a diamond on the same finger. And the man that put it there. Who took it so easily and put it on someone else. Not just someone else: Ashleigh.

“No, I can see it in your face. You’re worried about seeing Drew again, aren’t you?”

Damn him for being so perceptive, and for knowing her so well. Rosalie went to deny it but found that she couldn’t lie to him.

“You know what, we’ll walk in there, I’ll see him, and you know what I’ll say?”

He was smiling again, grinning ear to ear like he thought he was hilarious. It was so rare to see him like that that she humored him just to keep that smile on his face.

“And what will you say, may I ask?”

“’Me thinks thou art a general offence and every man should beat thee.’”

Rosalie couldn’t help herself as her head swung back in a fit of giggles. “Oh my God, Derek Hale. You are such a dork.”

“Ah,” he countered, holding up a finger, “You can’t say that. Not when you totally got my joke.”

Rosalie beamed up at him. “Ok, fine. We’re both dorks. Happy, Derek the Bard?”

“Yes, princess. I’m enthused. You ready to go?” Derek gestured with a thumb towards the door. The door that lead to the hallway. The hallway to the Starboard Lounge, where all of Rosalie’s family would stare at her like she was some rare creature on the auction block.

“No,” Rose said weakly.

Derek rolled his eyes again, a look that Rose was more familiar with than the Cheshire Cat grin that previously lit up his face. “Yes, you are.”

Rosalie stared at herself in the large, lighted mirror, checking over her face and hair for damages. Trust Rose’s family to point out a single flaw in her appearance. She looked mostly put together, save for the tiny specks of black mascara under her eyes and the slightly faded red lipstick. Rose grabbed a paper towel from the dispenser on the wall, wetting it and dabbing under her eyes until all of the mascara smears disappeared.

Satisfied, Rosalie tossed the towel in the garbage bin and grabbed her clutch. “Do I look okay?”

Derek’s eyes swept her form, taking in everything from the pale white of Rosalie’s untanned legs to the lace of her dress, to the retro curls in her hair. She suddenly felt self-conscious, even more so when Derek stayed silent.

Rose nudged him with her elbow, hoping he would say something, anything, and end this deafening silence. His eyes flicked back towards Rosalie. “You look beautiful.”

She opened her mouth to protest, to tell him that she knew he was just saying that because he’s her best friend and he has to.

“I mean it, Rosalie,” Derek added firmly.

“What about me? Do I look good enough to fit in with high-society?” Derek asked, hand sweeping down his body.

Rosalie took it as an unashamed excuse to study him. The unbuttoned suit jacket that he wore hugged his biceps so nicely that it was hard to not stare at them for too long. The white shirt under it was buttoned, except for the two closest to the top that were left open to show a peek of dark chest hair.

In short, he looked like a snack, and damn was Rosalie hungry. Not that she could tell him that, of course. So, she just repeated what he already knew. “Of course. You know you’re hot.”

Derek’s eyes widened, his ears turning slightly pink. “You think I’m hot?”

“You think you’re hot.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Um, yes you do. You get that look on your face when you’re flirting with girls like ‘I’m sexy and I know it.’”

“God, that was one time Rosalie! It guess I will never live it down.”

Rosalie snickered at the memory. “No, you won’t. Now be a good pretend fiancé and help me walk.”

“Why the hell are you wearing those stilettos if you can’t even walk in them?”

“Lydia made me.”

Derek said nothing, knowing that there was no arguing with Lydia Martin. He offered his friend his arm, ever the gentleman. In turn, she placed her hand in the crook of his elbow, trying not to get too distracted by the muscle under it.

#derek hale fic #derek hale x oc #derek hale fluff #derek hale #tyler hoechlin #teen wolf

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thanksjro · 4 years

Text

Dark Cybertron Chapter 7: Simon Furman and His Lack of a Relationship with the Singular They

The Lost Light is still being attacked by Ammonites, like it has been for the last few issues. Hound’s taken over as acting field commander and is calling all the shots. Chromedome uses his stupid beefy arms to punch things. Trailcutter is screaming. Swerve’s got his My First Blaster™ strapped to the top of his alt, and saves Crosscut.

Crosscut is our toy tie-in character for this issue. He’s a senator, and drafts play scripts. Arguably one of the more interesting tie-in guys, at least in theory. In practice, all he’s doing is forgetting Swerve’s name, which isn’t going to help the guy with his through-the-floor self esteem.

Crosscut points out that Swerve’s communicator is flashing, and while he’s checking his voicemail, all the Ammonites seemingly vanish… at least, until the gang realizes that they’re instead heading for Metroplex.

Inside, it would appear that the Rod Pod Squad aren’t actually dead, though their ride is probably toast. Before everything went to hell, a wall slammed down from the ceiling, protecting everyone from being utterly destroyed. Skids has figured out what all the arrow graffiti is about, earning himself a BOMP from Getaway. Looks like the internal structure of Metroplex has been shifting, and that’s why they got the runaround last issue. Also, Whirl’s gone missing, but we don’t have time to worry about that, because Swerve just called back with some bad news: the admium flakes they saw earlier mean that Metroplex has an alchemical virus.

Don’t you look at me like that, I’m getting to the explanation.

Alchemical viruses turn the metal of the body into admium, a rare, incredibly soft metal that will break down very easily and also kill you. It’s pretty bad to have. Also, contagious. Fellas better get outta there, posthaste.

The Ammonites are also storming Metroplex, so that’s an additional issue. God, it just never stops, does it?

Over in the Dead Universe-

Is that a fortress of evil in the shape of Nova Prime’s head?

Is that a goddamned fortress-

Anyway, the center of Nova Prime’s universe is Kup, who was the guy who got oh-so-dramatically revealed at the end of the last issue. Unfortunately, Orion Pax also considers Kup to be very near and dear to his heart, and the whole “being turned into a space bridge” thing is going to be an issue.

This is the weirdest love triangle I’ve ever seen.

How the hell did Kup even get here? Well, in order to know that, you’ve have to had read Infestation, the bullshit zombie crossover comic miniseries that ran in 2011.

But I’m not going to do that.

Because I don’t want to.

After a bit of showboating, Nova Prime orders Nightbeat to take Team -Imus to their cell.

Over on Cybertron, Shockwave is getting real sick of Galvatron’s shit, but Galvatron is too busy posing dramatically to notice. Waspinator, Metalhawk, and Dreadwing float in the air. I’m not sure what they’re up to, but I’m sure it’s important. Jhiaxus shows up with a gaggle of goons, one of which seems to have forgotten his face in the jar by the door.

Galvatron gets shamed for tearing Megatron in half, since that sort of broke the space bridge in his torso, but he’s too busy being classist to care. Waspinator floats in the background. What are you doing back there, pal?

Shockwave orders Waspinator to carry Megatron to his quarters, but Galvatron’s decided that he’s going to be an asshole about everything today, even when he’s being helpful.

…Okay, Boomer.

Waspinator still ends up hauling Megatron’s ass away, and Shockwave and Jhiaxus have a little chat.

Back in the dead universe, Team -Imus are in their cell, as Nightbeat double-checks the locks or some shit, I dunno. They’re gonna get their sparks ripped out later in the day, so that the space bridge Kup’s got running in his torso finally has enough juice to actually friggin’ work.

Then Rodimus flashes his mystery hand at Nightbeat and makes him fall down. In order for the whole brainwashing thing to work, Nightbeat’s true nature had to be suppressed; however, whenever Rodimus shows off his mystery hand, it makes his brain kickstart back on, messing up the brainwashing.

Well, you know what, Cyclonus? That’s not my fucking fault. Blame Roberts and Barber. I certainly do.

ORION PLEASE.

We finally get a look at what Rodimus’ hand mystery is, and if you read Eugenesis, you might know where this is going. It would seem Nightbeat has not- which is for the best, really, given what happens to him in it- but he’s still a pretty smart cookie and can suss it out through the power of deductive reasoning. Here’s what he’s working with:

After a moment’s deliberation, he asks Rodimus, who he knows to be the captain of a ship, how many folks are riding around in the space yacht. Rodimus tells him 190, and shows off that he’s got his lipgloss on, and it would seem that Nightbeat’s a free man again. He lets everyone out of the cell, and they gear up to go pick up Kup. Orion Pax is confused as to what the hell just happened here, and Rodimus promises to explain why he’s carved a division problem into his palm once they aren’t in immediate danger.

Back on Cybertron, Galvatron and Waspinator are dragging Megatron’s halves towards Shockwave’s quarters, when Bumblebee pops out of nowhere with a gun and a mouth full of swears. He’s here for Megatron, and he’s not taking “no” for an answer. Galvatron thinks that this is super fucking funny, and tosses Megatron like an empty soda can into the wall so he can squash a bug.

It looks pretty grim for ol’ Bumblebee, but suddenly Galvatron realizes he left the oven on that Megatron’s gone missing.

Oh, there he is!

Megatron blasts Galvatron in the torso, then- in a surprisingly polite manner, at least for him- tells Bumblebee to grab his legs so they can get out of here. As the two of them traverse the burned-out husk that is Cybertron, Megatron decides to be a complete bastard, as he smiles at the idea of Starscream suffering. Like, dude, I know he kept you in weird hamster ball jail and spouted soliloquies in your general direction every single day you were there, but folks are dying right now.

Speaking of Starscream, he’s having a moment, as he sits on his knees and stares at the sky in abject horror while the world burns around him. Scoop comes by to yell at him for being a harbinger of death, and generally being a less than stellar leader, and Starscream halfway calls himself a dumpster fire.

Back inside Metroplex, the Rod Pod Squad are fortifying their defenses against the Ammonites, even though they really need to be getting the hell out of there before they get turned into talcum powder through the power of alchemy. Whirl shows back up, the Ammonite hanger-on in his grasp, and we get the skinny on why the hell the Ammonites are involved with this whole debacle anyway.

The answer is Shockwave.

The answer is always Shockwave.

Then the little dude explodes. It’s fine, they do that sometimes.

Before he went kablooey, little dude uttered the phrase, “if the dead are not enough.” We’ll get to what all that’s about later. Right now there are far more important things going on.

LIKE MOTHERFUCKING LADY ROBOTS.

But why is this such a big deal? Why is it that non-male coded robots who aren’t Arcee haven’t been seen up until this point? What’s up with that, huh?

Well, in order to understand IDW’s complicated relationship with gender, we’re going to have to do some digging into the history of Transformers as a franchise.

We’re going to have to talk about Simon Furman.

We're going to have to talk about Prime's Rib.

And we’re going to have to talk about Spotlight: Arcee.

Simon Furman wrote a lot of Transformers. You cannot get away from Simon Furman, because the man is so ingrained in the franchise. He was there for Marvel UK, he was there for the back half of Marvel US, he wrote for several other publication runs of Transformers, he worked on the Earth Wars mobile game-

-and, of course, IDW publishing.

Because Furman is so very well established and known in the industry, he gets the benefit of not being questioned on a lot of the calls he makes.

Which is a problem, because the man is a massive misogynist.

In 1989, Marvel UK #234 came out, containing the story entitled “Prime’s Rib!” in which the Autobots built Arcee in order to appease a group of strawmen feminists. Of course, one female Transformer isn’t enough for them, and they yell at poor Optimus Prime for trying his best. This is the point where Hot Rod is used as a writer avatar to try to smooth things over with the reader, because you see, the Transformers don’t even know what sexual dimorphism and gender identity even is, so of course they wouldn’t have female members of their race! Jazz is used for a breast joke. Arcee acts like a massive, stereotypical bitch the whole time, despite not having been written like that at all in the other issues. It’s a bad comic with hideous ideology leaking out of it, and I'm halfway sorry I read it, so I’ll just give you the essence of this nightmare.

Oh, those big, mean, scary feminists are bullying the robots for living their lives, huh Furman? Life is just so goddamned unfair when a woman exists in your fucking line of sight.

Furman has gone on record saying that he doesn’t see the point in including the concept of gender in a race of non-sexually reproducing robots. He sees them as “genderless.” Which, if that statement existed in a vacuum, I could perhaps see where he’s coming from.

But Simon Furman does not exist in a vacuum. He exists in a world where sexism exists, something that he’s willingly participated in.

Let me back up that little tidbit with a bit of a disclaimer: I’m not in any way an expert on gender. I didn’t study it in school, I’ve not read an obscene amount of pieces on the topic. I’m not even sure about it on a personal level.

Maybe some of y’all have noticed the whole other set of pronouns I slapped into the bio in the last month or so. It doesn’t really matter, 90% of people don’t read the FAQ/About, I know that, and then 95% of those people only read it once, and this has been a relatively new self-revelation.

BUT ANYWAY.

Let’s be… fair about this. 1989 was a while ago, a lot of research on the concept of gender has taken place, maybe he’s ch-

Oh, what’s that?

Misogyny?

Transphobia?

Transmisogyny?

Treating women as an aberration being forced on Transformers as a whole?

And the writing is clunky and overstuffed?

Well, that’s just fucking fantastic, Furman, thanks so much.

This was in 2008. Because Furman established that female Transformers weren’t something natural, but rather made, and forcibly at that, and nobody fucking smacked his little hands away from this terrible idea, AND nobody tried to fix it for years, there was a lack of gender diversity within IDW until 2014, with the release of Dark Cybertron Chapter 7. Because we waited six years to fix this nightmare, things couldn’t be done quite the way that Roberts had been hoping, in that he intended for our female robots to not have the whole… fembot build happening. IDW wanted them immediately clockable, because this was very clearly a problem that needed rectifying.

So, in short: because of boys’ club mentality and a lack of understanding of what gender means or why it’s important for roughly 50% of the world’s population to have representation in media, Nautica and Chromia are here now.

And despite the convoluted road they had to take, I love them very much.

#transformers #jro #dark cybertron #issue 7 #rid #exrid #issue 25 #maccadam #Hannzreads #overthinking about robots #incoming analysis #text post #long post #comic script writing

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plaidandwhiskey · 3 years

Text

The Lost Wolf

Chapter Seven: Suspicions

Warnings: This story will contain mature content such as gore and violence, alludes to nsfw, as well as mentions of alcohol and weed, some chapters may also contain mentions of abuse

Word Count: 1.7k

Christina was still coming down from her heat, still feeling the strong urge to seek out Paul. Wearing his clothes was helping, allowing her to be surrounded by his scent until she was able to see him again that night. Today she was back at work, feeling better than she had yesterday. Though she noticed a change in the Frog Brothers behavior. They were watching her more today, every time she looked up she could catch at least one of them staring and watching her.

She glanced at the clock, seeing she had about an hour left before her shift ended. Her view of the clock was suddenly blocked by the two brothers.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with the twisted sister.”

Christina raised an eyebrow in confusion before she guessed that they were referring to Paul. He did look a little like the lead singer of Twisted Sister. She nodded her head slightly, wondering just where this conversation would be going. With the brothers, she could never tell what they were going to say to her. Edgar set down a comic in front of her. She glanced down at the title. ‘Vampires Everywhere’ was in big letters, the cover being the image of a vampire holding a damsel in his arms.

“We think you should read this.”

“You may find out a few things about Santa Carla.” Alan chimed in.

Christina flipped through the glossy pages of the comic books, seeing the images of the vampires and hounds of hell. The more she flipped through the pages, the more it dawned on her just exactly what the boys were implying. Of course, it surprised her that the boys had even been able to come up with the conclusion. It was clear though that they had no idea what she was so that put her mind at ease a little. Considering the pages also only contained information about vampires, she guessed that they had little knowledge of werewolves. She closed the comic book and shoved it back towards them.

“I can’t believe you guys are still on about this crazy shit. First, you wrap the poor new kid into your crazy conspiracy theories and now you are trying to convince me that my boyfriend is supposedly a vampire.”

She stood up, glancing at the clock and seeing only five minutes had passed. Clocking out this early wouldn’t hurt. She also knew if she stayed any longer and heard anymore about vampires from Alan and Edgar, she may rip their heads off. She went to the back room and clocked out, grabbing her bag before walking out quickly. She walked through the crowd, her mind wandering and not focusing on where she was going till she heard the familiar sounds of four motorcycles and heard his voice. A wide smile broke out on her face as she ran over to him.

Paul had spotted her walking towards them, laughing when he saw her break out into a run when she spotted them. He held his arms open for her, wrapping them around her when she collided with him, picking her up and spinning her around. He set her down, his arms still around her.

“You’re a little early sugar,”

“The Frogs were annoying me, I needed to get out of there before I ripped their heads off.”

The boys laughed at her comment, knowing that the little wolf before them could have quite the temper sometimes. Dwayne walked to the comic book store to get Eloise, the rest of the boys waiting by the bikes. Paul smiled and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips.

“What did they do now?”

“They were trying to convince me that you were a vampire,” she said with a soft laugh.

Paul chuckled, they had figured the brothers she worked with had caught on in some way to the fact that they were vampires and it seemed to amuse them rather than frighten them. After all, the brothers were two teenagers, in way over their heads.

He continued to hold her as they waited, swaying with her. She smiled and let him, used to the fact that he always seemed to be in constant motion, not one to sit still often. She pressed her cheek to his chest, savoring his touch and affection. Being with him now reminded her of how strongly she had missed him while he was back at the cave and she was at work.

Dwayne finally came back with Eloise and the group made their way down the boardwalk. Star and Laddie had stayed behind at the cave it seemed, Christina noticing their absence. Paul’s arm was around her waist, holding her close as they walked through the crowds of people. She noticed his eyes flicker from blue to golden, sensing that he was hungry and wanted to feed.

“Let’s go get something to eat,” she said to him.

Paul nodded, pulling away from the others, searching out an easy target for them to grab. He chuckled when he spotted a pair of guys up ahead, their eyes glued to the girl he had his arm around. Naturally, he wanted one of them, his jealous and protective nature prominent when it came to his mate. He leaned down to whisper in her ear.

“The guys standing by the surf shop.”

Christina nodded, spotting the guys he was talking about. She felt him leave her side, disappearing into the crowd. While she made her way over to him, he ducked into an alley, waiting for her to lure one of them down it. She made her way over to them, a smile on her lips. One was particularly staring her down, his eyes wandering over her as she walked over, stopping in front of them.

“Where did your boyfriend go sweetheart?”

“Wandered off. Though I think you could show me a better time than he does.”

He smiled and she could smell the arousal on him. His buddy rolled his eyes in amusement and he took it as a sign of approval.

“Lead on sweetheart.”

Christina smiled sweetly at him before taking his hand, leading him in the direction Paul had gone, following the familiar scent of him. She turned down the alley, sensing the uncertainty.

“It’s a shortcut.” she explained, to ease his fear.

She continued down the alley with him, hearing Paul’s footsteps join theirs.

“Now look what we have here.”

He came up behind them, throwing an arm around the guy’s shoulders. He looked at the blonde with a growing sense of fear in his eyes.

“Look, she asked me to come,” he began.

“I don’t blame you for following, she’s a beauty isn’t she.” Paul said.

Christina smiled up at the blonde. The two could smell the strong scent of fear coming off the male they had between them. He moved to back away, Christina grabbing hold of his forearm.

“Shh, it’ll be alright,” she said, her eyes flashing a deep red.

Before he could let a scream, Christina clamped her hand over his mouth, Paul sinking his fangs into his neck. Soon, her own fangs sunk into the flesh as she fed off the boy with Paul. She felt the body go limp against them, pulling away once she had fed enough.

Paul didn’t look at her right away, his face still vamped out, still nervous about her seeing his vampire face. She touched his cheek gently, blood staining her fingers, causing him to look at her. She smiled at him, staring at his golden eyes that were looking back at her.

“You’re not the only monster, remember,” she said with a soft laugh.

Paul smiled back at her, pulling her close as the body of their victim slumped to the ground.

“Let’s go back to the cave,” he said.

The two of them laid on the mattress in their little corner of the cave, having both cleaned up from their hunt earlier. Christina reached over, grabbing her sketchbook from her bag as Paul pulled out a joint and lit it, the smoke starting to fill the small part of the cave they called their own. He looked over curiously as he saw her sitting up, drawing.

“What are you doing?”

“Drawing you, now lay back down and stay still.”

Paul laughed and did as she said, laying back like he had been. He stayed as still as he could, listening to the music play. But he grew bored, leaning up on his elbows to look at what she had done so far.

“Stop moving,” Christina said with a giggle, smacking him with her sketchbook.

Paul laughed, getting a playful grin on his face as she smacked him. He grabbed her, pulling her over to him as she laughed.

“Paul! Let go!”

Paul shook his head, peppering her face with kisses.

“Oh come on Sugar, I want to see it already. I’ve forgotten what I look like.”

Christina rolled her eyes before turning her sketchbook to him, letting him see the sketch of him laying on the mattress, a joint in between his lips. He smiled and kissed her cheek, liking the picture.

“It looks great,” he exclaimed.

Christina smiled at the compliment, setting her sketchbook off to the side. She took the joint when he passed it to her, taking a hit from it. She relaxed as the buzz started to creep in. Paul wrapped his arms around her, his one hand resting on her torso.

“You never did tell me how you got these scars,” he mentioned.

His fingers ran over the four long scars that ran from just below her left boob to her right hip.

“My father gave them to me,” she whispered, seeing his shocked expression.

“Was he like you?”

Christina nodded, thinking back to the night she had received them.

“I didn’t show signs, so as I got older, he feared I wouldn’t be like them and because of that, my brother would take over as pack leader,” she began to explain, “He’s not a leader. So, one full moon, when I was fourteen, my father tied me up and changed before me. He bit me and then lost control, slashing my torso.”

Paul watched her with a gentle expression. He leaned down and kissed the scars gently as if to tell her that he would never let something like that happen to her again. He leaned up and kissed her gently.

“I love you Chrissy,” he whispered.

She smiled before she said it back to him. She watched as he leaned down and kissed the scars again before he suddenly nipped at the skin, a playful grin on his face as she squealed.

“You just had to ruin the moment.” she teased.

#the lost boys #the lost boys fanfiction #paul x oc #vampire #werewolf #fanfiction

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angeli-marco-writes · 3 years

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Elizbeth Debicki - Reunion Revenge

A/N - I love Elizabeth with everything I am, I'm sure I've said this before. I don't know why there aren't more fics about her. As always, I do not know Elizabeth, nor do I claim to: this is a work of fiction and wholly my own. I mean no disrespect to any of the careers mentioned at some point in this, just bear with. This is a set at a high school reunion, but I went to a private secondary school in England, so my experience is obviously not everyone else's. Reader has a twin brother, have fun with that. I also based this on a Tumblr post I saw, and thought that would be a swell concept to work into a Liz piece of writing: ‘never understood the whole showing up at your high school reunion revenge fantasy cause, like, really? high school?? I don’t want anyone from that time in my life to have any idea where I am or what I’m doing. do not perceive me I am dead to you and you are dead to me.' 8k.

Warnings - a little angsty, mentions of bullying, smoking, mentions of homophobia and slurs, wlw explicit smut, fingering, sex toys (strap-on), bathroom wall sex in a semi-public place, the whole shebang (literally). 18+

Summary - At first, when your brother roped you into attending your high school reunion with your wife, you hated the idea. Now, all eyes are on you, all the focus on your career, and maybe this is the revenge you always needed, of course aided by Liz's quick thinking and hidden surprises.

AT THIS CURRENT POINT IN TIME, you would more than happily murder your brother for roping you into this. And for convincing Liz to come along, which is somehow worse than your own enforced attendance, as though your presence will make any difference to the people who made the seven ‘best’ years of your life a pure living hell.

Your brother did have your back through it all, and considering that he was supposed to be the best one to succeed, he needs you there for some moral support after his career took an unfortunate nosedive that everyone is undoubtedly going to be gawking over.

You never understood the whole ‘showing up at your secondary school reunion revenge fantasy,’ but that’s mostly just because they don’t deserve to know who you are anymore. They broke you continually, and you’re past it now: the only thing that could take you back to that mindset is being back in that great hall with the gossiping busybodies. It’s not your fault that you were a closeted gay for so many years. Well, that’s another cause of concern. Notorious homophobes, and you’re bringing your wife.

“Come on, honey, we have to go inside.” Liz tells you, her long fingers curling around yours affectionately.

She has a point. You’ve been in the car park for ten minutes now, your knuckles turning white on the steering wheel. Her continual lavishes of kisses to your neck seem to be the only redeeming factor of your procrastination.

“Hmm, kiss me first.” you say.

She doesn’t disappoint, curling your hair behind your ear—wearing special diamond earrings she got you on your second anniversary—and catches your chin tenderly between her polished forefinger and thumb, tilting your face up to meet hers, her lips slanting over yours, melding together perfectly.

She’s the only good thing about this situation, about any situation: the only reason your brother was able to bribe you to come. Your main qualm about today is that you don’t want anyone from that period of your life to have any idea where you are or what you’re doing. You’ve been dead to them for years, and they to you. You don’t want them to perceive you whatsoever. But maybe, with Elizabeth on your arm and a brilliant career under your belt��everything you ever wanted—you can reap revenge. No one is in touch with you, so your arrival will be such a surprise, not that you exactly care about that, having blocked out and repressed a whole lot of that time period. You wouldn’t be able to even do this without Elizabeth, though.

“Liz,” you moan when she nibbles on your lower lip in that signature way she does. “We can stay here, we don’t have to go in.”

You shift your hand over the centre console to rub over her clothed thigh, your grip more than a little suggestive, prying further up…

“No baby,” she coos, “later, I promise. We’ll be late.”

You grumble, but only momentarily. She has a point, and a thing about being on time to everything. So you load out of the car, Liz coming around to the drivers side where she offers you her hand. She’s more chivalrous than any guy you ever pretended to date, an absolute gem of a person. You don’t even get jittery on the short walk inside, not with her thumb caressing your hand, your legs brushing together.

You can’t say you’re surprised when, at first, no one even turns to look at you, though relief floods your system, Liz bending down to kiss your forehead in a conciliatory manner.

“Oh my God, y/n, I’ve been here twenty minutes! Why didn’t you pick up?”

“I was busy,” you say to your overzealous brother who is suddenly hounding you, attaching to your side.

He bristles, visibly shaking off his discomfort, before he’s linking his arm through yours and is tugging you along, out from beneath the wooden balcony, tugging you away from the shadows.

The hall is the exact same as it was both when you came and left the school, oak panelling everywhere, great glass windows stretching to the ceiling with sills too high for anyone to climb onto, a stained glass shrine above the stage. Put-me-up tables are littered around, sheathed with white cloths and ribbons with your school emblem on them, decorated with drink dispensers, mugs, wine glasses and cheap biscuits. The whole… scene brings back that awful sense of dread you got when forced to sit here, in tacky red woollen chairs, frayed and bobbled, that itched your legs, every Monday and Friday for assembly. It’s a beautiful room, truly, with a reinforced floor beneath the original boards, slightly splintering beneath your low heels, and you know every nook and cranny, every escape route, but the bad memories tarnish the space.

Liz, darling as she is, senses your discomfort, and creates small talk with your brother as you’re steered between groups of people you scarcely recognise until you reach the apex of the room, where his old friends stand, hunched over in ill-fitting suits, brooding over their brandy, no doubt complaining about their dead end jobs and lack of girlfriends.

“Hey buddy…” one of them says, trailing off once he hears a woman's voice, his eyes darting up—first to Elizabeth, then down to you. “Your sister and your girlfriend? Dude, she’s hot.”

“Isn’t she just?” Liz teases, a malicious smirk creeping onto her lips.

You haven’t even noticed, but some subconscious part of you has tucked your joined hands behind you, covered by Liz’s long, flowing dress.

“How you doing, wait, I know, don’t tell me…”

“y/n.” you snap. “Fine, thanks.”

“Well that’s good, good, isn’t it? I was just gonna call you mini y/l/n—”

“Don’t, that isn’t my name anymore.”

His eyes dart down to your left hand not held by Elizabeth’s slender fingers, instantly noting the glistening silver princess-cut ring nestled above a platinum wedding band.

“Married? Nice. No wonder the guy didn’t come,” another one chimes. You’re not entirely sure what he means, though it’s undoubtedly a dig at the fact Elizabeth is far hotter than you are.

Your brother is slowly growing angrier and angrier, the cords of thick muscle in his shoulders tensing, his nostrils flaring, his thinned eyes conversing with Elizabeth’s blues over the top of your ducked head.

“Yes, well,” you play along, and desperately look to your brother to continue the conversation.

“What are you all doing for work now?”

Everyone gives a boring answer: salesman, accountant, finishing up law school, working in an office, with one trainee chef in the mix. These men have all just done what the school or their parents expected and wanted them to do, no one has any ambition. No wonder you were always the odd one out.

“What about you?” the chef asks your brother.

“Oh, I’m on a sabbatical at the moment,” he replies sheepishly, eyes suddenly training on the floor before turning quickly, fixing on you. “My sister’s done really well for herself.”

Their surprise is palpable, seeping off them, dripping onto the floor via the loose threads of their cheap blazers.

“Yeah, I’m a translator for political and legal proceedings, you know, with cabinet ministers from all over the world, those who speak the languages I do, at least.” you answer pridefully. Your talents always were overlooked when you were at school, apart from by one special teacher, whom you haven’t actually seen yet.

“She’s marvellous, really,” Liz says, and you can’t help but feel a hint of guilt from neglecting her for so long, so you squeeze her hand a little tighter, and rub your thumb over her wedding ring. “I’m gonna get us some drinks, babe. What do you want?”

“Red wine would be lovely. Unless you want me to drive home?”

She pecks your lips, “Of course not, enjoy yourself. You want anything, mate?” she turns to your brother.

“I’m good, thanks.” He mock-salutes.

“Don’t be long,” you warn her, swinging your hands out from their cover with a sudden flush of courage, and detaching them.

She looks down at you curiously, but her smile quirks into a smirk the second you pinch her hip and lean up on your tiptoes, capturing her pretty pink lips with yours, swallowing the small surprised gasp that escapes her. You can feel eyes on you all over the room, the situation genuinely feeling as though everyone besides your brother is staring upon you with disgust as her lithe arms wrap around your body, her one hand straying lower than you were prepared for, arching into her chest as she nibbles your lip again, your one hand cupping her flushing cheek.

A moment later, she’s releasing her hold and strutting away, all eyes then glued to the sensual sway of her hips, her long legs carrying her across the room faster than they thought possible. Then again, being 6-foot-3 as a beautiful woman is quite the surprise to people, they all expect her to be garish, uncoordinated, and though she’s clumsy at times, she’s certainly better at general levels of human functionality than you are.

“Dude, stop staring at my wife’s ass.” you hiss to the first man. If only they were worth your bother or time, you might have remembered their dreary names.

He splutters for a moment, bringing a ring-less left hand up to loosen his lilac tie. “Wife? What the fuck? How are you married to a woman before we are!”

What a mystery.

“You gay or something?” the trainee lawyer chimes in again.

“You got a problem with that?” your brother accuses, puffing up his chest pompously.

“Well, no… just surprised.”

“Astonished.” another pipes up.

“Isn’t that a big word.”

You showed the tell tale signs of being a lesbian for years, the popular girls all pretended you were preying on them in the changing room, calling you a d*ke for years until you reached the point of just changing in the bathroom to stop yourself from snapping at them. They must’ve always had a hunch, and why ever they thought Liz was your brother's girlfriend is beyond you. Men truly are more trouble than they’re worth.

“Yes, I’m gay. Yes, Elizabeth is my wife. I didn’t realise this would be earth shattering information.” You cast your eyes up to the ceiling, erected like a great old Church steeple, and shutter them for a moment, gathering your bearings. “I’m going to find Liz, little man. Told you I shouldn't have come.”

“Don’t call me little man!”

“I’m ten minutes older than you, I’ll call you what I like.” you tease, sticking your tongue out childishly, receiving a sarcastic sneer from your brother. Right now, all you want is Liz. “I wish I could say it was nice to see you all again, but then we’d all be liars. Goodbye.”

They gawk in a greatly uncouth and infantile manner as you stride away, pep in your step as you approach your stunning wife, wrapping your arm around her stomach as she waits for her tea—English Breakfast, naturally—to cool down.

“Hey beautiful,” you greet.

“Hey, you. What happened?” she asks, instantly noting the sallow bags that have swiftly formed beneath your eyes.

“They were being arseholes, c’mon, let’s just stand in the corner until it’s socially acceptable to leave this hellhole.”

“We can go now if you’re uncomfortable, baby.”

Ever the forward, sympathetically thinking wife.

“No, no. I came here, I’d better make it worth my while.”

She tangles her fingers with yours, “Okay darling. Say the word, we leave.”

There aren’t words for how safe you feel thanks to Elizabeth, even just with this fractional amount of contact from her. She’s the answer to all your prayers and more, the thing in life you'll never deserve. Her love for you is endless, her affections infinite, and every day, you fall more and more in love with her, especially when she’s as kind as she is now.

It barely takes five minutes, the two of you hugging, kissing, leaning against a broad oak pillar, half shadowed, for someone to approach. One of the girls you despised, costume jewellery on her wrists, a self aggrandised smirk painted onto her fake lips. Martha? Mabel? Maddie?

“I heard you were here,” she starts, placing her tackily manicured hand onto her hip, “it’s so good to see you! How are you?”

“Great, thanks.” you say blandly, keeping your attention on Elizabeth’s hand entwined with yours.

“This is your… friend? Why did you bring a friend to this?”

She laughs mirthlessly, such a fake sound—like this cow's boobs—it makes your primal instincts flare. Elizabeth holds you impossibly closer, her arm around your waist tightening as you seek solace in her.

“y/n and I are married, thank you. I don’t appreciate the homophobic, disrespectful insinuations.”

She stifles another laugh, “You’re punching above your weight a bit aren’t you, y/n.”

“Don’t rise to it,” Liz headily murmurs in your ear, sending pleasant, calming vibrations throughout your whole body.

You gulp down as much air as you can, curling tighter into Liz, before saying what you thought all those years ago, “I’d rather be ‘punching’ and married to a woman I love rather than be a Goddamn trophy wife going nowhere, leeching off daddy’s money. People like you will never change. I’m happy, and I have a good feeling that’s more than the likes of you and your sad old minions can say.”

“Sweetheart, come on.” Liz whispers, and her hold on you increases until it begins to pinch, not that you mind, and then she’s thankfully tugging you away.

You barely make it out the door, Liz leaning down to kiss you heartily, passionately, before people are clamouring over you, what’s-her-faces friends, people you used to be in fair acquaintance with, all speaking together, their voices overlapping in what you can only believe to be expressions of acceptance.

“Um, thank you, I’ll just be back in a moment.” you say to those who bother to listen. Next thing, you’re darting out the way you came, tugging Liz down the great stone steps in front of the behemoth building, and then are leaning against the old wall, almost crumbling with rubble on the exterior at least, not as well preserved as the inside.

She joins you not a moment later, ferreting around the pockets in her skirt for the spare cigarette and lighter she slipped in earlier. Liz doesn’t condone your smoking in any way whatsoever, and in fact she’s the main reason that you quit, but she knows that when your anxiety is high during times like these, one can’t hurt. She always comes prepared.

She is definitely the most consistent, reliable thing in your life by a long shot. Naturally, you two have your fair share of ups and downs, and on the occasion you get your periods at the same time, you’re a complete dichotomy of furious fights and condoling cuddles, while the rest of the time you find yourselves in sheer throes of passion. You may be a dependable couple bound to stay together forever, but that doesn’t mean that the flame of lust once born there has even momentarily flickered: it’s why you work so well. Men are awful in bed, from both of your experiences. Only a woman truly knows how to please another woman. And in the many ways that Liz is a home-body and sticks to the safe side of things, sex is not one of those areas, and you frequently wind up in another one of her barmy—though blissfully pleasurable—experiments. Her daring never goes amiss, and you can’t help but pray that she has something up her sleeve (besides the cigarette) to dull the ache of the day, and also the growing desire pooling between your legs upon seeing have such a naturally demanding power, and looking so Goddamn stunning in her maxi dress. And the lip nibble, God—

“Before you ask, I’m not shagging you out here.” she says, lighting your cigarette with steady hands.

You inhale the smoke, allowing it to form dark halos around your head once you puff it out through pursed lips, hoping it obscures your sheepish smile and averted eyes from Liz’s view.

“I wasn't thinking about that.”

“Yes you were. You forget how well I know you.”

You shoot her a sardonic smile and take another deep drag, the bitter taste pouring into your senses, filling your lungs, calming your mind before you let it go with one long, shaky breath. The smoke has a way of revealing the air, making an artistry of its swirls and flow, something you’ve always been able to appreciate. Ever the wise one, Liz just sees the poison it’s creating within your body, and will do anything to make you stop.

The sick, intrusive thought that you might be disappointing her by this simple act alone rises a cough to your throat with the next puff, but in reality she looks so nonchalant, her eyes closed, a simple smile playing on her perfect lips as she revels in the moment, in your presence, her pinky finger looped just over yours against the crumbling brick wall. Nonetheless, the uneasiness is enough for you to stub the cigarette out under your shoe before it’s even half-way smoked.

“Baby, you okay?” she asks sympathetically, turning to face you so that her shoulder is pressed to the wall, her spare arm flying around to brush against your upper arm, thumb caressing the flesh there through your clothes.

“Yeah, course. Can we stay out here a bit, though?”

You expect her to wholeheartedly agree, because you could tell by the subtle sensing of her limber body and the sudden snap attitude she had that she was just as uncomfortable in there as you were, perhaps more so. Her reflexes may as well be yours with how used you are to them. That’s exactly how you know that she’s going to refuse your request by the almost imperceptible crest of her nails into your supple skin.

“Your brother texted, he asked you to come back in: people won’t stop badgering him about you.” She pauses, but upon hearing you huff, hurriedly leaps back in. “I mean of course we don’t have to if you’re not comfortable, this is about you, not your brother…”

But it is about your brother. You agreed to come here today to be of help to him. And besides, Elizabeth has almost as much loyalty to your brother as she does to you, the two of them having been friends before he introduced you to her. That certainly didn’t have the outcome he was expecting, but you’ve all remained close nonetheless. Mentally, you give yourself a shakedown. How could you be so selfish? Today isn’t about you, not really. Sure you’d like to make peace with your past and your old tormentors one last time before leaving and never seeing them again, but the main reason is support.

“No, you’re right,” you say after a long moment of lamentation.

“That’s a first,” Liz snorts.

You smack her playfully, “Watch it, you.”

“Hey, who’s the pillow princess around here?”

Your cheeks instantly flush. “That was one time.”

“More like five,” she umms and ahhs, but grasps your hand a little tighter regardless.

It’s a fair comment on her part: Liz does wield the majority of the power in the relationship, and is definitely more of a top that you are, but you ensure that you pleasure her just as much as she does you, it’s only fair. Apart from those few times you decided to try something new… you got tired of that pretty quickly, though, since you couldn’t go too long without tasting her while you were in bed. No matter how many times you’ve had sex, no matter how many mind-blowing orgasms you receive, your desire for her is never quite quelled. Frankly, you hope it never is.

“Stop thinking about fucking me, babe,” she scolds, and pulls you up fully standing from your temporary reprieve against the wall. “Later, I promise. Not here.”

Embarrassment heats your cheeks at the fact she so easily deciphers your filthy thoughts, but then again, she always has. She leads you back inside, and all but hands you over to your brother, practically jumping with impatience at the door to the hall.

“Thank God you’re b—” he cuts himself off, moving closer to you, imperiously sniffing your clothes. “Did you smoke again?” You nod. “Fucking hell, well, there’s another conversation topic, we’ll talk about this later. Can you believe this lot didn’t know you were gay? What morons…”

“Hey, I’m not that obviously gay, am I?”

The dead silence that envelops you gives you the answer you weren’t too keen on receiving in the first place.

“But!” Liz helpfully adds in her most cheery tone. “If you hadn’t been so obviously gay, I probably never would’ve asked you out.”

She beams even as you roll our eyes, “So endearing, babe.”

“Hurry up, this lot are arseholes.”

“I know.” you deadpan. He sends you a snarky smile.

Following him through the small clans of people meandering and congregating amongst themselves, all with some sort of beverage in their hands, you feel your hand grow clammy in Liz’s. Your mind doesn’t get the chance to run away with itself or whirr on for too long, though, before you’re pulled into a group of people—all three of you—and are all welcomed with enthused hugs and professions of well wishes.

“Oh how are you? You look so well, I hope you’ve been doing good!”

Well, you think, if they cared enough they’d have contacted you. Half of them are your brothers Facebook friends and he’s often posting pictures of you hanging out, or childhood throwbacks, and tagging you in them in plain view. Thankfully, your page is private, and Elizabeth doesn’t even have social media. She’s smart.

You engage in conversation—well, they do, you just listen and hum when you’re supposed to, making surprised faces at the right parts—about one classmate who couldn’t be here because she married a mobster and isn’t allowed to discuss her lifestyle. She isn't. She got pregnant straight out of school and is going through her second divorce: your brother saw her recently. Who are you to deny them gossip when you really couldn’t care less?

In minutes they seem to have exhausted all possible fascinating subject matters, or at least make it appear that way as they turn all eyes on you.

“So, y/n, we hear you have a girlfriend!”

Not again.

“Wife; this is Liz.”

“How are you.” she says, more by way of greeting than having any regard for them.

“Oh my God,” one woman clamours, “are you Australian? My boyfriend is Australian! Maybe you know him?”

Liz’s face breaks into a wide smile, the first one of the event. Who cares that it’s at the expense of another person's intelligence, or lack thereof? You and your brother struggle to stifle your own laughter as you loll your head against his broad shoulder, too.

“Australia is more than seven and a half million square kilometres. In context, the UK is only two-forty-two thousand. We have a population of 25 million. I’d be more likely to meet the queen and the president.” she quips. Ever the fount of useless knowledge; as are you both.

“Oh,” says the woman, casting a sheepish gaze away.

“But, um, yeah, I am Australian.”

“You’re tall,” another blatantly observes, “you look Dutch.”

“Polish-Irish. Not far off.” she says again, fixing a smile of nonchalance.

People turn to you for something to say. You have nothing: nothing to say to these awful sycophants, so you’re half relieved and half angered further when your name is called from somewhere behind you.

“y/n y/l/n!”

Great, another bellend. Star of the football team. You settle yourself after a sudden wave of dizziness from spinning on your heel to see just who was calling you, and you’re not particularly surprised, but not glad either, when he’s excited to join the dull circle.

“Actually,” you correct, “it’s y/n Debicki.”

Silence cools around the circle. What, have these people been living under rocks for the past God knows how many years?

“Oh, why?” he asks.

“I got married and took my wife’s name.” you grit out just barely, balancing from foot to foot, the wooden floor creaking around you. Some more wine would be really good right about now, but instead you just settle for an intoxicating peck from Liz’s lips, the chiffon of her skirt shifting again to reveal your held hands and glistening wedding rings.

“Oh!”

The silence is agony. Why can’t the ground just swallow you up already? Your brother's getting angry, his fist clenching, picking at his nails, while everyone else in the group is exchanging anxious eye contact. Liz and her insanely long legs could probably give you a leg-up to one of the immensely tall windows as a quicker, though slightly more problematic escape route…

“By the way, that’s totally fine.”

“Yeah,” someone adds, you can’t be bothered to look who. “We totally accept it.”

“It’s like you’re not even gay, but straight, and normal. N—not that being gay isn’t normal, just that we don’t see you any differently.”

“You’re the same y/n you always were.” one smiles at last.

Your brother is going to lose it in three… two… one…

“Oh yeah? The y/n that you all relentlessly picked on and victimised for years? The same y/n who was forced to hide her identity and everything she wanted to be for years just because you back-thinking bastards didn’t want a lesbian in the class?” he shouts, flailing his arms madly about, hissing one of the broad, tree trunk pillars in the process. He doesn’t flinch. Turning to you, he starts in a softer voice, “I never should’ve asked you to come here, I’m so sorry y/n, I was so selfish to bring you back to this hellhole. It’s no wonder you didn’t want to come with these dipshits tossing around! And Liz, you don’t deserve this either. Please, do us all a favour, and take y/n home, never bringing her back here. You were right all these years, sweet, it’s the place nightmares are born. And you scummy lot should all be ashamed of yourselves!”

His breath is ragged once he’s done with his rant, his forehead glistening with sweat, his knuckles white with tension.

“Liz, could you get him some water, please?” you whisper into her ear.

She nods affirmatively, and breaks from your grasp, steering your hunched, tense, seething brother in the direction of the drinks table.

“Thanks, I guess,” you begin, kicking your heels into the splintering oak floor, your wine long forgotten, “like, for the acceptance and stuff. But I’ve always been this way, he’s right. It’s not some earth shattering revelation, I was just too shy to come out because you all tossed slurs around like it was okay.” You take a deep breath, and in that time, Liz has returned and stuck herself to your side, your brother happily alone in the corner with a cold glass of water as you cast a glance over your shoulder. You comb your fingers through Elizabeth’s coiffed blonde hair to relieve some anxiety, and are further reassured when she presses her lips to your earlobe, glistening with the diamonds she gifted you. “Besides, this shouldn’t be a thing you have to zealously profess to accept, it should be just as normal as one of you walking in with your heterosexual partner.” As some of them have done, and no one’s batted an eyelid.

A din of agreement sounds out from them, but you know they’re all more than a little meek after being scolded like schoolchildren by your big scary brother. He’s a teddy bear, really, but when he flips, he flips.

When you arise no cohesive response from anyone, you rest your head on Liz’s shoulder, and ask, “Did you see that article on the BBC yesterday morning?”

You have no idea what article you’re on about, but one leaps in with something about climate change, and one about a rise in violent crime in the area. Thank God you don’t live there anymore.

“I forgot about that one!” you gasp with feigned surprise.

Liz looks down on you warmly, chuckling at the mischievous glint in your eye. She knows exactly what you’re up to. But after today, you can walk away from this place, despite the stunning old architecture of the gorgeous building, the beautiful panelling on the walls and the window you spent so many hours gazing at while daydreaming wistfully through assemblies and exams, never to return. Frankly, after this shit show, you’d have it no other way. The teachers will be arriving soon, and in the hopes you see your favourite old teacher, Mrs Alleman, you decide it can’t hurt just to stick around a little bit longer, even if you don’t listen to anyone's conversation. It’s not like they want to involve you.

Before you know it, ten dreary minutes have passed, and as each second slips by, you’re losing the will to live. Even these people are bored to death by the sound of their own voices, unsurprisingly. You’ve just busied yourself the whole time by playing with Liz’s long, slender fingers and her glistening silver ring. She’s becoming more and more antsy, though, so you’re unsurprised when she moves to stand away, speaking only when there’s a brief intermission of silence.

“I’m heading to the loo, honey. Which way is it?” she asks politely.

“Out the door we came, but on the other side of the corridor is a closed door, down that corridor it’s the fourth on the right, up a couple of stairs.”

Her eyes widen, “This place is a maze.”

“I know,” you chuckle, and lean up to peck her lips. “They’re the staff ones, down a cohorted route in a forbidden corridor so we wouldn’t use them.”

“You,” she shakes her head, bending down to kiss you again from her standing position, though she does practically double down, and has to press a hand to her chest to prevent her dress from falling, “are so randomly knowledgeable.” It’s really more of an awkward stowed away memory, but you take it anyway. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

As she draws away, she catches your lip in her teeth. Again. If it wouldn’t arouse suspicion, you’d be after her like a bullet, but, well… So you just sit there, counting the minutes, the seconds until she returns and you’re able to make a quick exit, barely making an agreeable sound or two when someone deigns to involve you in the deathly boring conversation they’re having about the FTSE or something, but she doesn’t return. It’s only after five minutes—you meticulously checked your watch—that you realise she’s probably gotten lost, your heart fluttering into your throat.

“I think Liz is lost, I’m gonna go find her,” you say, not that anyone exactly notes your absence or offers you as much as a nod, so you stand and stroll away, not caring about your knocked over glass as you stalk out of the great hall, breaking into a slight jog as soon as the doors are closed behind you.

You could swear you catch your brother winking across the room as they close, but you can’t be sure, not with how crazy you are after Liz did that thing she does every single time she instigates sex. You’ve been together for more than four marvellous years, and yet it still brings fire into your veins, butterflies into your stomach, and lust into your mind.

She’s not in the foyer, or down the ostentatious portrait corridor, so you burst into the pristine white and purple bathroom, only to find Liz leant against the wall, a slight bulge in her dress.

“God, I was wondering if you’d ever get the message, I’ve been waiting for ages.” she huffs, slamming her mouth onto yours impatiently.

You gasp, winding your arms around her neck, not complaining in the slightest when you hear the door lock and you’re lifted high against the wall. Your hand flies down on instinct, and you’re not disappointed when your hand wraps around something long, hard and thick.

The squeak of surprise that leaves your lips only spurs Liz on more. “You wore the strap.”

“I went and fetched it from the car, thought we could have some fun, make this worth your while.”

“I love you so much.” you breathe, no time for courtesy.

Crashing your lips down onto hers, you lick filthily into her mouth, your tongue skimming her teeth, but your control barely lasts a moment before she’s overpowering you, nipping at your lip as she busies herself otherwise with gaining access to your throbbing, drenched core.

“Liz…” you moan. When she skims her fingers over the lace edge of your panties.

“So wet already baby,” she taunts, her breath hot on your ear, “have I done all this? Such a dirty girl…”

Her voice holds a gravelly quality, down to lust you’d wager. Her accent becomes so much more pronounced during times of passion, too. Her voice alone sends another wave of wetness gushing through you, soaking Liz’s fingertips as she slides them under your panties and into your folds.

“Oh poor helpless baby,” she croons, biting down on your neck harshly. “I don’t even need to use lube today, do I?”

You can’t respond, can’t even try to. She’s so intoxicating you could cry. All that’d come out is senseless babble. You can barely muster a breath with her gaze of such intensity burning into your fucked-out face. In all fairness, she doesn’t usually have to, since she makes you gush with a single glance, but the sensual jibe does make you a little embarrassed.

You can’t think straight when she plunges a single, long digit deep within your velvety walls, stroking at a torturous pace.

“F— fuck, faster, please.” you stammer.

“Only because my baby asked so nicely.”

Her hand begins to move faster against you, the rustle of clothes nothing compared to the sounds of your wetness. She adds another digit daringly, and pumps within you faster, her technique impeccable. If she’s not careful, you’ll be falling apart around her fingers in little more than a moment. Over the years she’s learnt how to bring you to mind-shattering climax embarrassingly quickly.

“Lizzie…” you moan when she hits that special spongy spot that makes you see stars behind your eyes.

Quick thinking as ever, she clamps one elegant hand over your mouth, her pale fingers digging into your cheeks, the metal of her rings cool against your lips. You can’t help yourself, your tongue darting out to lick the band of her wedding ring, skilfully wrapping your wet muscle around her. She can never resist when you do that, and her own knees begin to buckle, but her pace speeds up.

“Baby, I’m close,” you hiss against her hand, words muffled.

Your shoulder presses painfully into a ridge of the wall, but you can’t care, not when her wrist is flicking so quickly, yet somehow each thrust is deeper and more pleasurable than the last, the pads of her fingers catching all the right places within our quivering walls, continually hitting that spot. The heel of her palm keeps hitting your clit with a voracious intensity, needing to bring you toppling over the edge.

You come unravelled with a cry of her name, your legs unable to even partially hold yourself up as she settles you down gently on the floor, forcing you to lean heavily against the countertop. Stars and fireworks erupt to create images of Liz behind your eyelids, in the front of your brain. And the noise you made… After that, you wouldn’t be surprised if everyone in the hall knows what you’re up to, and somehow, that only fuels your need for Liz further.

“How do you get hotter every time you do that?” she husks.

Purple glittery potpourri on the window-sill prickles at your upper arm as you shuffle backwards, reaching out to Elizabeth with grabby hands. Her petite chest heaves with heavy breaths, her hair sticking up a little in cute blonde spikes.

“You wanna sit, babe?” you ask breathlessly.

Your own vision is a bit blurred from riding on cloud nine just moments ago, your juices running down your legs, glistening in the harsh bathroom light.

“You’ve always got a seat with me.” You wink, and wet your lips with your tongue. “Come sit.”

She chuckles at you, instead moving to kneel between your open legs on the edge of the counter, hovering over you

“Wait until we get home,” she teases, pressing the cold rings on her hand to your inner thigh, “I don’t trust myself, I’ll never leave if I sit now.”

Her lips lace with yours filthily, and you find yourself unable to stop your legs reflexively bolting out to wrap around her hips again, hand coming up to cup her cheek and neck with a bruising hold. Her hips rock against yours, and with your core already opened and revealed to her, all it takes is a slight fidget and a particularly harsh rut of her pelvis, and the priapic extension of Elizabeth—attached, thankfully, by a harness—is buried to the hilt within you. Your gasp is silent, your mouth opening in an inaudible ‘o’, a soundless plea for more. She’s prepped you well as always, and sought to open you up fully, which means that only a moment later you’re tapping her shoulder to signal for her to move.

The bulbous tip of the toy gains your attention rather swiftly as it grazes that heartily stimulated spot that Liz was so focussed on just minutes earlier. Her hips move with such grace even in such an ungainly act, her years of dance training aiding her elegance. God, she’s just so perfect in every way.

“Fuck, baby, I think I’m close—” she murmurs in your ear.

She begins to suck hickeys into your jawline, rendering you utterly speechless at the onslaught of pleasure you’re receiving all at once. Your boobs are bouncing as she pounds into you harder on the counter, the base of the strap now hitting your clit.

“Me too,” you eventually garner to choke out.

Your own pleasure can wait, take a damn backseat, because sweat is beading on Liz’s forehead as she wrecks her knees to fuck you more furiously, delivering you all of the pleasure you could ever want. But Elizabeth? She deserves it far more than you do after everything she’s done for you today.

She bites her lip, probably to keep a moan down the same way you are by biting your tongue, and she proceeds to hook her willowy arms around the crooks of your knees, thus tugging your legs up onto her shoulder, allowing her to hit an even deeper angle than before.

You can’t help the obscene whimper that escapes you, shrill and so pleasured, “Baby, keep— ohmygod please!”

Your head falls back against the hard porcelain rim of the sink, knocking some sense into you. This is your chance, while her eyes are still closed and the veins and ridges of the fake plastic cock are driving deep inside you, squeezed by your clenching walls. Slipping your own arm down her body and between the two of you, you find your way beneath the strap and onto her throbbing pearl.

“Shit!” she squeaks upon the first spark of contact, her body temporarily seizing, but she falls back into her previous pace within moments.

You rub circles on her voraciously, suddenly darting up to capture her lips in a sloppy kiss as a cry threatens to spill from her lips. But then you feel it coming, and your entire body tenses in anticipation, your eyes flying wide open to watch heaven crash right before your eyes.

First, her shoulders tense, followed by her eyelashes fluttering against her sharp cheekbone without her even being aware, then her legs try to involuntarily clench around your hand, her clit throbbing with anticipation as you speed up your movements. Her knees go next, then her arms, and she’s unable to hold herself up, but her hips don’t stop once. That’s when it happens.

“y/n, y/n, y/n.” she repeats like it’s her prayer of salvation.

Every muscle in her body quivers, her lips parting, her nose scrunching. Her teeth then catch your lip in the kiss you’re mixed up in, and her hips still. It doesn’t matter, since you’ve reached your own climax just from watching her fall apart at your very own mercy, your own legs falling from her shoulders, open wide on the counter as you chant her name in as quiet a whisper as you can muster.

Heavy breathing resonates through the small room, the stifling air now reeking of sex.

“C’mere,” you coax.

The counter is cold beneath you, the sink uncomfortable as you lie down flat, but when Liz crawls feebly into your arms, it matters a whole lot less. The comfort she provides is, and always has been, incomparable. Ethereal is the only way to describe her this way, too, blonde hair ruffled as she curls into your side, burying her nose into your shoulder, her arm slung over your waist.

“Do you think you got your revenge, babe?” she asks in a quiet voice, husky, laced with sex.

“Definitely. There’s no way they didn’t hear that.”

“Probably more than what most of those has-beens have got in years.”

You meet her twinkling eyes, and dissolve into a fit of giggles together, gripping her even tighter. It always was a secret fantasy of yours to do something like this, but you never imagined you’d be here nearly a decade later, fucking your wife in the staff bathroom. That’s just… beyond, but so hot.

“Ready to blow this place?”

“More than,” you answer, “but safety first.”

She gazes up at you, pouts and grumbles, but slips off you and into the left hand stall anyway, while you take the right. Once she emerges, the strap is safely stowed away in a discreet bag—one you purchased specifically should a chance like this ever arise since you’re not fans of handbags—and she turns the tap on. You wash your hands in a contented silence, and fix each other's clothes and hair the same way, until you’re at least half way presentable (though still more than mildly dishevelled) in order to just escape to the car and then hope at long merciful last.

“Should we text your brother?”

“I’ll do it when we reach the car,” you tell her, taking her hand as you unfasten the lock and pelt out into the corridor. “Wait, one minute.”

She watches you peculiarly as you pull out perfume from your pocket, spritzing it around the room, before re-entering fully and cranking the window open. At least this way the scent of sex is partially masked.

“Ever the resourceful one,” she chuckles, following your lead down the corridor, her long legs bounding beside you.

Your giggles carry around the high ceilinged building, bumping and bouncing off every wall so it seems, and once you're out into the foyer, she ensures to kiss you loudly, bending down to meet your height, just to test if your kisses have the same effect.

You don’t get to test that, however, before an all too familiar voice snaps you out of your trance, and suddenly, you’re fifteen and being told off for late homework again.

“y/n!”

You scurry to hide Liz behind you, as if that’s of any use whatsoever, and almost melt into tears when you see Mrs Alleman.

“Oh dear, how good to see you.” she professes, and before you quite know what to do with yourself, she’s standing right in front of you, wearing the same stylishly sensible shoes she always did.

“And you, Miss.”

“Who’s this?”

Glee forces a wide smile onto your face, standing aside to allow Elizabeth’s full beauty to be appreciated.

“This is my wife, Elizabeth,” you say, the proudest thing you’ve said all evening. “This is Mrs Alleman, my language teacher. She taught me everything I know.”

“Oh stop it,” she plays coy, but is gasping and gawking joyously beneath it. “Mr Smith owes me a tenner now. I predicted you’d come here with a female partner of some sort, he said you’d just come as an out and proud lesbian but single.”

Your jaw drops, and you can see Elizabeth’s chest rattling a little with swallowed laughter.

“I’m sorry, what? You had a bet on me being gay?”

“Oh yes, it first started when you were in year eleven and so helplessly queer, we couldn’t help but keep placing bets on how long you’d stay in the closet.” She places a gentle hand on your upper arm, noting the evident flush about you, and turns towards Liz. “Anyway, hi Elizabeth. You treat our girl well, she was a great student.”

“Always, Ma’am.” Liz answers dutifully, squeezing your hand even tighter in a silent promise. “She’s the most wonderful thing to have ever happened to me, and I’m glad she had an influence like you among all that lot of bogans.”

Mrs Alleman is impressed, you can tell since she’s wearing that same delighted expression she did when you told her you got into your top choice university with the results you aimed for, thanks to her teaching. “Tall, out, and Aussie? She really does have it all. And as much as I’d like to argue, you’re totally right, that year was a damn nuisance.”

“Somehow, no one has matured since we left?” you comment with feigned shock.

“That doesn’t surprise me.” It didn’t surprise you either. They were a fat lot of use, the whole lot of them. At least you and your brother were able to do good on your promise to get away from them all. “What are you doing now?”

“Oh, I work in translation for the home office and cabinet ministers.” Though your statement doesn’t hold as much pride as the one about Elizabeth being your wife did.

Her eyes grow wide, “That’s brilliant! I know you always wanted to do something like that.”

“I did, and I actually enjoy it.”

Mrs Alleman’s face softens, “I hoped you would. But promise me you’ll never become a teacher.”

You loose a chuckle, saying, “Never,” before stilling to a beat of easy silence.

“I love those earrings, by the way.”

“Oh!” You twist them subconsciously. “Anniversary present.”

“Y’know, I’d love to stay and chat, but I have to get inside and make a speech,” she grumbles. “Drop me an email, I’d love to catch up and properly see how you’re doing. Bring this tall drink of water if you’d like,” she adds with a wink.

“I’d really like that Miss, thank you.” you say, flushing a little.

Mrs Alleman was always one for affection, so you’re not entirely surprised when she approaches you with wide arms, her court shoes muffled on the foyer carpet. You accept the hug, and you’re surprised when Liz does the same. You say your goodbyes, agree to meet again, and let Elizabeth lead you back to the car, your fingers woven together.

“Was that worth being dragged out of the house for?” Liz asks.

“Hmm, I’m not sure. Perhaps shoving that strap down my throat will make it a little more worthwhile,” you say with a smirk.

“I heard that!” Mrs Alleman shouts from the top of the stone steps, gazing at you disapprovingly despite the laughs tumbling from her.

You cling to Liz, pressing your lips into a thin line when you feel your phone buzz, your brother's name popping up on the screen.

‘Everyone knows what you were doing. Don’t come back.’

‘We weren’t planning on it,’ you type back. Not now you’ve reaped your revenge, at least. You shut your phone after adding to the message, ‘Drinks at ours tonight.’

These people from your past are insignificant, Liz is your future and your forever.

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