#to him it affirmed those words and it also opened up a new level of trust between himself and Byleth

[dmclemblems]

also something I really love about Dimitri telling Rodrigue that his death would destroy him is that’s finally proof that it was Rodrigue dying that made Dimitri almost go out into a suicide battle in AM.

people have been saying (and actually meaning it, not as a joke) that Byleth just “fixed” Dimitri and that they don’t like how Dimtiri was just “magically cured” because of Byleth.

that was never true. both him wanting to die completely and utterly in that moment when he spoke to Byleth was because he lost all sense of hope when he lost Rodrigue; however, it was also because of Rodrigue’s words to him that he could go on living. Byleth was a deterrent from him going out into a suicide battle because he was so overwhelmed, but he also points out, iirc a couple times post Gronder in AM, that Byleth said the same thing Rodrigue did to him.

when Byleth says anything that seems to “change” him, it’s because it’s something he could think back on as “oh, he said the same thing to me so it must have been the truth if someone else can say the same thing and it wasn’t just because he loved myself and Lambert that he said those things”. basically, Byleth could verify the truth of Rodrigue’s words.

Dimitri also says he ISN’T cured and just “okay”. he tells Byleth directly that what is effectively his mental illness is something that he knows he’ll have to live with for the rest of his life, but that he’s no longer going to let it hold him down. he outright admits his understanding of his issue with the voices of the dead. he knows they may always be there and he knows his aggression due to losing so many loved ones in his life will always haunt him.

the sad thing is I feel like people just pick and choose things they want to see for the sake of argument, and I say that because it’s not even nuance in this case that it’s very clear that Dimitri isn’t just “cured” of his illness. it wasn’t ever something that needed to be looked more deeply into. it was said outright multiple times that Dimitri wasn’t just “cured” or “fixed” or any of that, and it’s also very outright that Byleth wasn’t the one who helped him to see things straight again. it was Rodrigue who opened his eyes (no pun intended) and it was Byleth being there to confirm Rodrigue’s words.

mind you, Byleth spoke to Rodrigue in private one night and Rodrigue shared some personal feelings with Byleth, then said he entrusted the future of Faerghus and Dimitri to Byleth. anything from that point on that Byleth did that helped Dimitri see his way again was because Byleth was keeping true to Rodrigue’s words.

prior to that, nothing Byleth ever did could sway Dimitri. the only person, right from the beginning to the end of the battle at Gronder, who could sway Dimitri or make him waver in his feelings was Rodrigue. he would argue with anyone else in a steadfast way, but when Rodrigue finally had enough and told Dimitri he would listen to him, Dimitri did. considering Dimitri has always seen him as a second father, it makes sense that Dimitri would take that as a scolding from his own father. even in the mental state he was in, he didn’t brush it off as “just someone” telling him those things. he took it to heart and he also thanked Rodrigue, calling him a friend despite his behavior up to that point (which was Ailell).

in other words, Byleth never really had much influence at all on Dimitri’s recovery until he lost Rodrigue. it highlights quite well imo that Dimitri truly saw Rodrigue as his own father. if Lambert had been there to speak to him similarly, Dimitri would have reacted similarly. he might have argued, but at the end of the day he was still affected by what he was told.

essentially Byleth was like a proxy for Dimitri after he lost Rodrigue. it was like all of Rodrigue’s wishes were within Byleth now because Rodrigue felt he could trust Byleth, and that got through to Dimitri (and it also helped that Byleth and Rodrigue see things similarly, as highlighted by them saying very similar things to Dimitri but prior to Gronder, Dimitri only listened if Rodrigue was the one to say something). it was not directly Byleth, but because it was like Rodrigue’s feelings for Dimitri were now within Byleth.

I just really feel like people looked right over the head of their relationship in Houses and just how much it meant to Dimitri. their relationship could make or break him and it did both. Hopes helped to emphasize how powerful their bond is and gives you more context into how and why he lost his will to live when Rodrigue died at Gronder. obviously Byleth is important to him, but Rodrigue has been with Dimitri for Dimitri’s entire life and wasn’t someone his age - he was a respected adult and the man who protected Faerghus for five straight years from the Empire when Dimitri had to flee and couldn’t be the one to do that. he respects the other adults in Faerghus, but even in Hopes it’s very clear that he doesn’t view Matthias or Gilbert as a father figure. Gilbert has a bit more on Matthias there, but Rodrigue is extremely special to Dimitri and as much a father to him as Lambert was.

#Three Houses #Three Hopes #Dimitri #Rodrigue #Byleth #also like the way he reacts to Rodrigue related things is similar to how he is about Lambert and Patricia #he reacts equally as powerfully when it has to do with any of them #he has the same feelings for all of them and there's no way one single person he knew for six-ish years #would be able to sway him the way a father figure he knew his entire life could have #Byleth is important to him but there's no replacing the words or love Rodrigue gave to him #when Byleth is the one to say the same things Rodrigue did #to him it affirmed those words and it also opened up a new level of trust between himself and Byleth #but there was never any replacing of the thoughts and feelings he and Rodrigue shared #those two are like the fucking definition of found family and or adoptive child bc like #irl you see parents who get protective over their kids and kids who will become angry in their parents' stead #like irl when people say something incorrect about my family I WILL defend them and they're my blood family #but Dimi and Rodrigue have the exact same emotional attachment so their bond is equally as powerful as blood family #and I also love that bc it shows just how strong formed relationships can be that aren't formed by blood #Rodrigue is his father like... it's really that simple. he doesn't have to sign adoption papers to call him his son!

[bemysinphony]

Are you feeling this too?

pairing: txt taehyun x f!reader

genre: os, au, fluff, smut

summary: when your attraction to him becomes unbearable and you fail to hide it, he has a surprise in store for you...

warnings under the cut!

warnings: beomgyu makes an appearance (but he's not part of the smut), friends-to-lovers, irony, tae is a bit of a know-it-all, they both have a thing for hands (quirofilia), they are veeeeery much down bad for eachother, cursing, mutual masturbation, handjob, thigh-riding, fingering, praising.

word count: 3,3k

notes: in case you haven't already noticed, I'm a big fan of friends-to-lovers 😋 this has been in my drafts for wayyy too long, I can't believe it's finally seeing the light! I kept editing it so many times because I was never satisfied enough (damn perfectionism), so I hope the final result is decent 😭 enjoy <;3

You two knew eachother for some years now and were the most comfortable with one another. You shared almost anything with no worries or embarrassment, as well as feeling a special kind of excitement everytime you had something you needed to talk about and knew the other was going to be there to listen without judgement.

Taehyun was a bit of a know-it-all sometimes and he loved to use that side of his personality especially to tease you, but that didn't stop him from validating your thoughts and feelings, however unrational they might be. And he found relief in you, who helped him to not think too rationally like he did most of the time. You balanced each other quite well, that's why you worked like a match made in heaven.

Same could have been said about your clingyness: you both needed your own space and individuality, but, when you felt like it, you were ready to cuddle the other until satisfied.

Neither of you could have predicted that this level of comfort would have extended even to sleeping together in the same bed though.

Lately, whenever you two hang out at night with your shared group of friends and you were too tired or drunk to go back to your apartment, as he was to accompany you, he started offering you to stay at his place, which was closer to the centre of the city. Not giving it much thought, you simply turned collapsing onto his mattress into an habit.

Last night was one of those nights: you checked out a new bar with your friends, the dishes were delicious, as well as the drinks, reason why it was easy to drink a bit more than usual.

"Looks like you'll come with me tonight as well" Taehyun stated, holding your waist to help you stand up. It was so unfair that he held his liquor so well and better than you.

As usual, Beomgyu teased you both about the situation: "At this point, I'm so sure they've been doing a lot more than just sleeping... when are you guys going to confess the truth to us, uh?"

"Shut up, Gyu" you mumbled annoyed.

"Let's go, he's just envious" Tae retorted, nodding to the group to greet them.

"I'm not envious! I'm not!" Beomgyu's shouted at your back, accompanied by the laughs of the others.

The last thing you remembered was slipping into the warm covers of Taehyun's bed, all clean up and ready to collapse and sleep for hours.

"Are you comfortable?" he made sure, pushing a strand of hair out of your face.

You groaned in affirmation, deeply inhaling his perfume that permeated the sheets, something that never failed to relax you.

"Goodnight then" he wished you.

"You too Tae" you grumbled before falling asleep, too tired to give any importance to the feeling of being stared at.

When you open your eyes on the half light of the bedroom the morning after, you rise your head to look at his soft sleeping face, following his features as if you were tracing them with your fingers. Honestly, it was also very much unfair how pretty he was and that you only got to look at him like that when he wasn't aware of it. You sigh softly and your gaze lands on his slightly parted lips.

The faint memory of the dream you had falls upon you all at once, making your cheeks flush. Did you really dreamed about fucking him? Again? And this time while you were sleeping in his bed, with him in it ? This was getting out of hand. How were you supposed to keep a straight face while looking at him now?

At first you kept telling yourself that having these type of thoughts about him was just caused by the curiosity that your friends' comments sparkled... but when you started to linger your gaze on him, feeling attracted to his body and the way he moved, until you fantasized of kissing and touching him, you understood that, no, it definitely wasn't just that at all.

You were terrified by the idea of ruining your precious friendship, of losing your best friend, just because of lust. Just the thought itself felt like losing oxygen. And yet you couldn't help your feelings that only kept on growing. What a cliché.

You try to get up without waking him up, moving slowly outside the covers, but the mattress betrays you, squeaking as you shift your weight. He stretches and blinks to adjust to the light, serene and unaware, while you freeze on the spot, still sitting on the mattress, blushing even more if possible.

When he looks at you he immediately notices: "Hey, are you okay? Do you have a fever?" He gets up quickly, worried. His raspy morning voice definitely wasn't of help.

"N-no, no, i'm fine" you manage to say.

To make sure he reaches out to touch your forehead anyway, causing a rush of chills running down your back. "Okay, you don't" he sights in relief.

"That's what I told you!"

"Why are you blushing this hard then?"

"It's nothing, it's just hot, I need a shower..." you want to get up and find refuge in the bathroom, but you can’t bring yourself to move. You feel your panties getting wet and instinctively push your legs closer together.

Shit.

He glances down at your sudden movement, understanding what was going on: "Oh, I see... you're horny" he smiles amused, "so, your plan was to get off in my shower?"

"I was just gonna take a cold shower!" Your heartbeat quickes at the thought of him imagining you touching yourself. You wonder if he has ever done it, but you immediately chase the thought away.

"Yeah, sure..." he mocks you, a playful smirk on his lips. "I am too right now, so... nothing to be embarrassed about"

"Wait- right now? Are you...?"

"Uhm, yeah, I'm hard right now" he frowns, confused by your surprise, "I was going to, you know, take care of it... while you're in the shower."

"W-well, now we can't do that."

"Why is that?"

Your eyes widened. Was he for real? Was he trying to act bold, pushing your buttons to see how you'd react?

"Do you seriously want to get off at the same time, in different rooms, while being aware of it?" You point out the obvious.

"Would you rather get off here? Together ?"

Was he joking or was he provoking you? And if the latter was true, why? Was he attracted to you as well? And if so, was he trying to find out how you felt about it? No, that couldn't be... those were just your delusional fantasies... right? You look away and blush even more if possible.

He registers your reaction and this time he fully blushes as well, thinking it's an affermative answer to his question: "Wait- seriously? Would you like that?"

This wasn't what you meant, but it wasn't wrong either: you do want that, him, with every fiber of your body.

You don't understand how he feels about it, what's behind his embarrassment and surprise, so maybe this is the time to address the elephant in the room once and for all and find out. You feel the panic growing quickly inside your chest as you say, "What if... what if I did?"

He looks you dead in the eyes and swallows.

Surely he's searching for the right words to reject you, to tell you that he wouldn't, that you are just a friend for him and that the way he's been staring at you is because of the affection he-

"I'd like that too" he admits. The cool and chill facade is crumbling before your eyes, piece by piece. "I... I fantasised about it. About you."

You can't believe what your ears have just heard. Is this happening for real or it's just a very vivid dream?

"You did?"

"Yeah... of course" he shakes his head, "I mean, I don't know, these days I feel very attracted to you so it just came naturally to imagine how it would feel... to do it with you" he looks down, the fiery red tips of his ears sticking out. Now that he's letting his vulnerability take over he's so cute. It's a pity that you don't get to see this side of him as often as you'd want to. You want to kiss him so bad.

"Has this happened to you?" He finally asks.

"Yeah..." you bite your lip out of anxiety "I am very attracted to you Tae... I've been for a while now and... recently it's been difficult to not mind it at all. Like, very difficult..."

"Fuck..." he lets out inadvertently.

"Yeah, exactly" you let out a nervous giggle and his eyes widens.

"Should we...?"

"Would you like that?"

"Damn if I'd like that. You? Would you?"

"Definitely, yes" you confirm.

Still a little uncertain and awkwardly, you both move closer to eachother, looking forward to the touch you've been craving all this time.

Your first kiss begins sweet and tender: your fingers run through his soft hair that you have always loved very much, while he's smiling on your lips and caressing your cheek.

When you give his tongue access to your mouth things get heated. He instinctively moves his hands to your waist to bring you closer, his fingers starts lingering over the bare skin of your back, just above the elastic of the sweatpants. When you release a soft moan and tug his hair, that drives him completely nuts: he's been dying to know what kind of sounds you make.

"Fuck, that was pretty. Do it again please."

"I need you closer... can I?" He nods eagerly while getting rid of the covers, you waste no time and sit on his lap. Feeling his hardening pushing against your core despite the fabric is heavenly, the string of moans escaping your lips prove it.

"You're music for the ears... whatever I've listened to until now can't even compare"

Your heart beats even faster at the compliment, threatening to burst out of your ribcage. How are you going to survive this? You're just getting started and you're both a mess already.

Your fingers run to the hem of his shirt, removing it to reveal his beautiful toned body for you to explore like you've been craving to do. You trace the muscles of his shoulders and arms he's so proud of have been enhancing, and leave sloppy kisses all over his chest.

"Are we really doing this?" His breathing is hard and irregular.

"Do you want to stop? Cause we can, anytime" you raise up to look into his eyes in search of any proof of doubt.

"No, I just can't believe it's happening" His soft smile contrasts with his lust-filled gaze. "Do you?"

"Not at all."

You start moving your hips slowly against his, making him let out a groan of pleasure. When you fasten your movements he throws his head back. "God, y/n..."

"Tell me what you imagined me doing to you"

"No, but-"

"What? Did I do something wrong?" You stop in your tracks.

"No, fuck no, this is great" he reassures you, "it's just that- I should take care of you first, you're the one that-"

"But you are going to, silly. Now answer my question."

"I..." he looks down where your bodies are closer, then reaches for your hand and kisses each knuckle tenderly. You hold your breath as butterflies invade your stomach. "I thought about your pretty hands around me"

You move to stroke the bulge covered by his underwear a couple times and watch him struggle to hold back his own moans, before getting rid of it. You stop for a moment to take in what your eyes are seeing: he has a nice shape and length, you can't wait to discover how he feels.

Meanwhile, he begins to worry about you being disappointed or regretting your decision: "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, I just never saw you like this and wanted to take a proper look at you... you're pretty, you know?"

Surprised and pleased, he lets out an "oh" that turns into a loud moan when you start palming him.

"Does it feel good?" Your chest is filling with pride.

He's already humming approvingly and instinctively bucks his hips into your hand. "You're so good..."

"As good as you imagined?" You tease him.

"Not even close... so much better"

You really need some contact as well and you squirm over him.

"Use my thigh" he proposes, gripping your hips. Loving the idea, you shift to have his left thigh between your legs and start rubbing your pelvis. His muscles flexe beneath you and the fabric creates an amazing friction.

You stroke his skin faster, circling the tip with your thumb, resulting in him bringing an hand over his face: "Shit, I'm close already..." he mumbles.

"It's okay, come for me" your voice sweet like honey, "I want to see your lovely face though..." and you gently take his hand away, locking eyes with him just in time before thick, white ropes start covering his stomach. His face contorts in pleasure and only groans leave his lips, that are eager and desperate when they take yours in a rough kiss.

"That was... way too good" he sighs, "I'm sorry I didn't last long..."

"Don't say that", you reach for the tissue box on his nightstand, "you were so excited of having my hands all over you, it was so hot." You lick your lips, passing him the tissues to clean himself up.

"It's your turn now" he moves closer to your ear and starts leaving a trail of pecks down your jaw. "What did you imagine?"

"I- uhm... well... I'm actually in this state because I- I did have a wet dream tonight..." You look away, your cheeks are burning again.

"Oh, you did?" You recognise from his tone that a smug smile is certainly tracing his lips, "Was I involved?"

You nod, finally revealing where this all thing started. "You were playing with my boobs..."

"Was I?" He starts rubbing your nipples through the thin fabric of the shirt, making you whimper.

"God, I love the sounds you make too much." He frees you from it and admires your body like you did before with him. "You... your shapes..." he starts kissing and massaging your breasts, "...are so gorgeous..."

You look at him working your skin and intertwine your fingers with his locks once again, pulling a little everytime he licks the right place the right way.

"And then you went down..." you continue to guide him.

"Of course" he starts kissing your stomach, slowly descending.

It was taking too long and you couldn't take it anymore. "I seriously need you between my legs. Right now." You rush him.

"How exactly do you need me?" He looks up at you and that's so hot of him, you swear you could pass out.

"Your fingers..."

"Seems like we both have a thing for hands, uh?" He lets out a giggle detaching his lips from your skin. He guides you to lay down before removing your thin sweatpants. The darkened spot in your panties is so wide now, his fingers linger over the damp cotton.

"Stop teasing..." you complain.

"You're right, you had to wait this long to take care of me..." he finally gets rid of the only piece of clothing left and takes a look at you, mesmerised. His fingers runs through your folds, his digits circle your opening. "How are you so pretty?"

The first finger enters you easily, shortly followed by the second one. You gasp for air when he curls them, the sensation of finally having him inside of you burning in your chest, waves of pleasure crossing your body. As soon as he starts pounding, you buck your hips to get him as deep as possible.

"Look at you... this is so much better than anything I could ever imagine." Feeling how warm and tight you were around him was simply delicious.

"Faster, please..." you ask gripping the sheets and he immediately begins to thrust with more vigour, his other hand on your knee to keep your legs open.

You start clenching around him and feel your clit pumping looking for some attention as well, thus you reach for it, rubbing your digits in a circular motion.

"God, you're so hot like this" he grunts while your juices drip into his palm, "I can't believe I'm watching you touching yourself for real."

You slightly lean forward to get a better view of his veiny hand and your mouth goes agape. You've always been enamored with his hands, seizing the opportunity everytime you two felt cuddly to caress and play with them, but this... this was a whole another level.

"Tae, fuck, I'm almost there, keep going"

"Whenever you want baby, let yourself go" he breathes out, making a last effort to keep his pace steady.

You feel your orgasm exploding in your chest and spreading all over your body, leaving behind a prolonged moan to delight him.

He's out of breath, his fingers slowly slip out of you and he waits for you to look at him again.

You're panting but you get up and smile at him: "Okay, now explain how are you so great? You definitely rank number one for fingering."

"Thanks for confirming the suspicions I had about my abilities." He says gaining a roll of eyes from you.

His digits still shine with your juices so you lean close enough to lick them clean, surprising him.

"I'm going to grow a boner again at this rate"

"I wouldn't mind it" you run your fingers on his chest and bring him closer to you.

He tucks some tufts of hair behind your ears and scans your face, focusing on every little detail. In this moment you are both asking yourself the same question: is it just lust or there's something else you're both feeling for eachother?

When you indulged in imagining the two of you confessing, you definitely didn't picture this situation as one of the possible scenarios. Yet, here you are. "What do we do now?" you break the silence.

"I think the most logical thing to do is to not panic and see where this takes us."

"That's such a 'you' response" you wrinkle your nose, and the word 'cute' invades his mind.

"Am I wrong though?"

"Ah, you're so annoying" you snort, not wanting to give him the pleasure of agreeing with him, and lay down.

"I know you know I am" he lays on top of you, crossing his arms over your stomach and resting his chin there. "What do you suggest?"

"We've been friends for years now, right?" you start playing with his hair, "many of our friends have been teasing us about how similar to a couple we look, considering how comfortable we are with eachother..."

"The affection was already there"

"Exactly" you nod, "and now attraction joined..."

"In conclusion, you think we are in love already, even if we don't think so yet"

You're taken aback by his response, especially because of the use of the words "in love", but yes, that was what you were aiming for. "Maybe? We should find out."

He giggles, "you just explained what I meant earlier."

"God, I hate you" You let out frustrated, covering your face with your hands to hide the big smile that's actually painting it.

"No, you don't" he gets closer and removes them.

"I truly don't" you admit, moving your eyes to his lips and viceversa.

"Good, because me neither." He's still holding your hands when he kisses you slowly and softly, in a way too romantic manner for you to still be "just friends".

"When he will find out, Beomgyu is never going to let this down."

"Shhh don't make me think about it yet!" You frown, before joining his laugh.

#txt smut #taehyun smut #tomorrow x together smut #txt fanfic #taehyun x reader #txt fluff #taehyun fluff #tomorrow x together fluff #kang taehyun smut #kang taehyun fluff #txt x reader #one shot #bunnywrites!!

[fxshigurosbae]

THE LEARNING BOY . . .

your boy wants to practice what he learned.

⋆.ೃ࿔* megumi fushiguro (19) x f!reader (18)

✶ mature content (minors do not interact) — fingering, mirror sex, pet names, praise, edging, multiple orgasms, squirting, guidance, strong language.

taglist | masterlist

He told you he wanted to try new things. He told you he was dying to make you feel good. Gosh, how he’s got you wrapped around his finger, quite literally too.

Megumi-chan, had you sat between his legs — with your own also spread quite shamelessly, a rose tint on your cheeks to decorate the cute doll that you are— you imagined he’d just eat you out casually, after coming back from college, and being horny all day long, but no. He wanted to have you to fucking stare at his every move in the mirror that was in front of the bed you were both found laying at.

“Tell me if you like it, and if you don’t, ‘kay, baby?” He whispered in your ear, staring at every inch of yourselves, his hands holding onto your trembling — from anxiety — waist. Noticing him take a peek of that wet aroused pussy of yours, and all you could do was nod in response. “Good, ‘cause I’m here to serve you, baby.” While spilling those sweet words, his middle finger was found drawing circles and straight up-and-down lines on your clit — earning a gasp from your lips.

“Gumi.” You wanted to beg for a faster pace but the way he’s been playing with you is already good enough for a start — even if you had asked so, Megumi was dedicated in following the instructions Gojo explicitly described that advised him about how to please his girlfriend, and mentioned something about taking it slow at first, just to stir up this same feeling of wanting more — but the image of his digits caressing your folds was helping no one at all.

“Yeah, baby?” Holding onto his wrist, arching back like a cat in heat, slightly parted lips that let out short humming moans — since the pace had finally sped up a little, and he rubbed the most stimulating spot which even made you notice the low-cracking noise from moving the muscles from your clit.

“Keep it, like that.” Whispering, escaping a few whines that sounded like a crying cute little puppy. Both you and Megumi couldn’t seem to look away from the scene happening down there, the reflection was just so entertaining it made your boyfriend blush, a lot, and fluster a little, so his ego and pride began to reach high levels by hearing those affirming words. Wasn’t even too long before there was this brief flinching feeling in your lower stomach, wondering how the fuck did he got you to get this close with just having your clit rubbed for a little less than about two minutes. “Gumi, g’nna cum.” Resting head over his shoulder, moaning lowly on his ear in such a pretty tone. What you expected was that: Megumi letting you cum for the first time and wrapping up for the day, but no — once again, it was unexpected — there was no longer any sort of stimulation, just for a few seconds. He looked at your furrowed eyebrows with a frustrated aura, and smirked a little — so fucking cute, you thought.

“I’m sorry, baby, I promise I’ll let you cum now, and how many more times you want.” His long slender digits — middle and ring one — found a way inside your moist pussy, loud moaning leaving your mouth as a way to let him know it was better than ever. Megumi wasn’t that experienced with these sorts of stuff, more specifically for the two or three times you both had been sexually active — he did make sure you orgasmed every time, or else he’d feel guilty — but each time he got a little better, he just hadn’t had the chance to finger you properly yet, because of him being hesitant. So, for him to have his fingers curling in and out of you — like he had done it thousands of times — was dizzying, as if you’d cum right on the spot. Megumi was loving the feeling of having your pussy, of your walls embrace, and how he certainly wished to open you up to make some room and prepare for his cock, yet he was too shy to admit that.

“Gumi, fuck, keep going. Please, don’t stop.” You begged, closing your eyes ever so hurriedly that right then he had stopped you from looking away from the mirror — the image of being finger fucked by your innocent and soft boyfriend lit up a burning flame deep in. His focused stares, admiring your entireness, paying specific attention to his moves and analyzing every single step to make sure perfection was being achieved — by your engulfing whining that goal surely was coming true.

“You like it?” His gentle voice melted you like chocolate — Gosh, Gumi, I wanna have you fuck me like this all day, you thought.

“Yeah, I love it, I love it! Y’ur so good to me, Gumi, so good.” Finding precisely, and predictably, your spongy spot, which — without any warning, whatsoever — led you into oblivion, echoing humming lewd moans, so readily squirting and clenching your walls around his fingers, what a surprise.

“Fuck, baby, what a mess you made.” Even though already reaching over the top for the first time, your boyfriend hadn’t stopped, only slowing down the pace of the fingering.

“Gumi, Gumi, too much.”

“Sorry, baby, let me do it once more.” There were no complaints, after all, this situation seemed to be way too arousing for him — made it obvious by the feeling of his bulge against your bare back — so you let him keep fingering your clenching cunt, yourself sliding down his back a bit, laying all of your weight against his chest and trying your absolute best to close your legs — yet he successfully spread them apart with the unoccupied hand. — From all the moving around from your previous orgasm, his fingers were no longer in that right stimulating spot.

“Gumi, curl, curl your fingers more, please.” Guiding him effortfully as he finally picked up the pace and moved a little, only to find it for the second time — and making your legs tremble harshly — “Hmhm, fuck, f-fuck, right there, Gumi.” Watching with intensity your walls clenching over the brusque movements on the mirror, whining then moaning, moaning then whining ever so loudly. You could feel his tired breaths against your neck, the pace fastening — just how you wanted but was too dizzy to express it out loud — leading yourself into holding his wrist and pushing them further inside your cunt as you squirted, again, and all over the palm of his hand, and the sheets, without a doubt — like an earthquake, your legs shook violently and closed together, squeezing his hand between them and the same goes to his fingers, that for him felt like it’d burn them — you threw your head back, over his shoulder, all while having kisses pressed all over your neck and choking on your own moans with a shut mouth, until you went back to a sane state of mind. While he thanked Gojo over and over inside his head, which was very odd and that would definitely be a one-time thing.

“Think I came on my pants, Y/N.”

fxshigurosbae © please do not upload my content on any platform

🔖 [taglist] @fueledbysano @reiners-milkbiddies @kitabestboy

#fanfic #anime #one shots #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #megumi fushiguro #fushiguro megumi #megumi smut #megumi fushiguro smut #fushiguro #fushiguro smut #megumi x reader #megumi x you #manga #jjk smut #jjk x reader

[neon-junkie]

I've spoken about married Tech before, but let's just consider Tech in love.

I mean, his love language is... strange.

At first, he's distant. He analyses you and the situation from afar; and hell, you probably presume that he doesn't like you, given how blunt and aloof he is. However, he's simply piecing things together, determining if he's really fallen for you, and better yet, if you've fallen for him.

You will likely have to be the one to initiate things. Little comments here and there, brief flirting, giving him open windows for him to leap through. It'll take a few attempts, but Tech will soon put his foot in the door, and flash you a cheeky look with a raised brow that has your heart thumping in your chest.

He doesn't need to impress you. A man with such an exceptional mind has no need to flex, or at least, that's what he's telling himself. To everybody else, Tech won't shut up. Blahblahblah, my intelligence, my wit, my sarcasm, blahblahblah. Maker, Tech! We get it! You're the whole package!

From your perspective, he's only trying to show that he's mature enough for a courtship. You know he's cleaver, but oh! how helpful he is! Tech suddenly wants to fix all those little things that bother you, like how your datapad's battery falls flat within an hour, or how your caf maker doesn't automatically turn off at the right temperature.

He's a very hands-on guy. Acts of service are his way of flirting, but once committed, things take a turn.

Tech, when new to a relationship, can go a little overboard with physical touch. I mean, he has to be touching you at all moments. Hell, he'll probably follow you around with his hand on your shoulder, if you'll let him.

It's not that you're going anywhere, nor is he, but he needs that physical confirmation of "they're mine! Maker, they're actually mine! And it's not a fantasy, they really are dating me, and I need this physical touch as a form of confirmation that they're MINE."

Words of affirmation. Praise. Pet names. Shit, he's going all out. It's always My Darling this, and My Dearest that. "Oh, my love, you should know by now that giving me those pleading eyes will not falter from the fact that you broke our heated blanket."

You weren't expecting this, but on date nights, Tech likes to coordinate his outfit with you. A matching colour, fabric pattern, accessories - anything! Tech likes to dress up, especially if he's trying to one-you-up, something that he'll never achieve (by his words.)

Tech is the type to hold your hands across the table whilst you're waiting for your meal, gazing into your eyes whilst saying, "darling, I am delighted that you decided to treat yourself to an entrée and main tonight. Perhaps desert will be enjoyed back at your apartment?"

He's raunchy. His main aim of flirting is to leave your cheeks burning brighter than the sun, and to top it all off, he'll whisper even more alluring secrets against the skin of your neck whilst he peppers it in kisses.

Maybe it's time to tell him to tone it down? You are in public, after all.

And when the night is over, Tech will curl up to you. He likes to chat before bed; this is usually the prime time to discuss anything that's been bothering you, and vice versa, until one of you ends up replying through snores. Tech is also very adamant that you're the blanket hogger, when really, it's him.

The honeymoon phase never seems to end with Tech. It will level out, but it'll never 'end,' because Tech is someone who puts his entire self into a relationship, and how could you fall out of love with a man like that?

#tbb #the bad batch #tbb tech #tech #bad batch tech #tbb tech x you #tech x you #tech x reader #tbb tech x reader #gn!reader

[apparitionism]

Bonus 2

Here’s the second part of a holiday story, begun in part 1, about how Myka and Helena, in a vaguely season 4 world in which nobody’s going to go to Boone but through which they have thus far been separated, are reunited for a day-before-Christmas-eve retrieval in Cleveland. Helena has been summoned by Claudia to serve as Myka’s backup, for Pete is spending some holiday time with his family... but as it turns out, the retrieval is necessary because—plot-semi-twist!—Pete Christmas-gifted his cousin, who is a bigwig at an accounting firm, with an artifact, a pen that apparently has something to do with Santa’s naughty/nice list. Which said cousin used to confer end-of-year bonuses—and penalties. As this part opens, Myka is just beginning to process the fact that the whole situation is Pete’s fault...

(And no, I didn’t manage to bring this thing in for a landing in this part. Nobody faint from the surprise.)

Bonus 2

“Okay,” Myka acknowledges, because what else can she do? The fact is that in any Warehouse-related context, “coincidence” is a non sequitur, and she begins formulating a plan to Christmas-gift Claudia with a T-shirt featuring that sentiment. How fast can she get a custom T-shirt made?

The irony is that Claudia would know.

“Yeah,” says Pete’s cousin—Pete’s cousin! She might be affirming the Claudia-irony in Myka’s head, or the situational irony Myka is now stuck in, or any of the vast array of ironies that make up the Warehousian unfolding of time itself. Myka would not have expected Pete’s cousin’s words to contain multitudes. And yet.

“He told me it was the kind of thing he thought I’d like,” that cousin continues, “and he was right. Effects aside, it’s a gorgeous implement. Perfectly balanced... which I guess works on an existential level too, doesn’t it? Naughty, nice.” She shifts the pen to rest a delicate crosswise on an extended index finger, testing its equilibrium as a chef might a knife.

The pen—or is it merely a different species of knife?—basks in Nancy Sullivan’s regard. “Resonant little instrument,” she says, with clear affection. “Anyway, we were talking about Pete.” A different sort of affection now colors her voice. “He went into this big production-number apology about it being sort of secondhand.”

“Oh?” Myka says, distracted by pens, knives, resonances... but, right, secondhand. Of course it’s secondhand. No new item could be an artifact. Or could it? This seems like a Steve-conversation topic.... and it certainly beats “H.G. is god knows where” for philosophy.

“Not because it’s not new,” Pete’s cousin says, apparently reading Myka’s mind, “but because he initially was thinking he’d give it to somebody else.”

Myka repeats her interrogative “oh?”, but she’s getting a feeling again.

“Yeah,” says Nancy Sullivan, and Myka really has to applaud her talent for broadly applicable affirmation. “He said he wanted to give it to his partner because, and I quote, ‘she likes the old-fashioned stuff,’ but then he realized he shouldn’t because, and I also quote, ‘she’s got this whole family feathery-pen dealy-thingy and I don’t want to upset her.’” She waves the pen again, this time directly at Myka, like a conductor imploring the oboes to pick up the pace. “And he told me his partner’s name,” she concludes.

“I’m sure there are lots of Myka Berings in the world?” Myka tries, weakly, raising her hands as if to offer Nancy Sullivan all those other Myka Berings. The last vestige of defensibility... then her hands drop, because really. She looks at Helena in apology, with only an indistinct, tangled sense of what she’s apologizing for. I’m sorry I occasioned this is part of it, yet there’s a deeper fault she feels but can’t quite ideate, one more consequential than an anodyne “oops.”

“Listen, he’s a really good guy,” Nancy Sullivan says.

“I agree completely,” Myka assures her. But in the interest of full disclosure, she adds, “Mostly completely. I mean, I’m going to kill him for this.”

Helena says, “Are you.” Her tone brings Myka up short: it’s impossibly knowing, suggesting insight into everything Myka has been thinking, about someday and talking and things.

Again with the reading so right.

Myka would love to have the panache to do more than glance furtively at Helena, to pull off a playful, similarly knowing response, like “that depends on my backup” (or something actually clever that will doubtless occur to her during some post-holiday post-mortem). Instead she goes with a not at all interrogative “Oh.”

Nancy Sullivan looks from Myka to Helena. Then she says, “Okay, revision: A really good guy who might be hanging onto some unreasonable hope.”

Myka wishes she could keep from glancing yet again, now, at Helena—now as she grasps the fullness of her underlying error, now as she formulates a hopeful plan regarding someday saying out loud “I’m sorry I didn’t recognize that he had any such hope and that I didn’t make completely clear that any such hope would never have been anything but unreasonable”—but the wish doesn’t work. She glances... thus proving Nancy Sullivan’s point.

“He didn’t mention you,” Pete’s cousin tells Helena. “I think I see why.”

“I’m both offended and pleased,” Helena says, with her customary little thank-you head-bow.

Rather than luxuriating in the familiarity of that head-bow, Myka tries to head off a more detailed discussion of Helena’s role in it all (and what a nondescriptively limp phrase that is) by observing, “The sixth-sense thing is quite the family trait.”

“Ah. Sure. You’ve had experience,” Nancy Sullivan says, a little droop in her voice.

Has she taken Myka’s words as criticism? Myka hurries to reassure, “Sometimes it’s very helpful.”

“But. Other times.” This is heavier, and now she must be referencing her own vibe-related experiences.

“Your family get-togethers must be really... charged?” Myka tries.

Nancy Sullivan offers another all-encompassing “Yeah.” Then she laughs. “But at least we don’t have a feathery-pen dealy-thingy like your family does.”

Helena clears her throat, an attention-garnering ah-ha-hem, as if it’s in the stage directions preceding her next line in some farce. She inclines her head: more stage-direction drama. Finally, “You do now,” she says in benediction.

Nancy Sullivan’s jaw drops. “Wow,” she says, and “wow,” she repeats. Then she laughs again and says, “He really should’ve mentioned you.”

Myka might laugh too, but she is preoccupied by the way in which Helena’s well-chosen articulation has persuaded her body to remind her that it and she have reached no mutually satisfactory agreement about appropriate reactions.

And that in turn sparks Myka to a realization: once the retrieval is accomplished, there may be a nonzero chance that she and Helena could enjoy a bit more of that liminal together-presence...

Myka’s body makes its best effort to crash through the gauzy ideating her brain would prefer to do about what such time could entail, and after no small amount of nethers-vs.-cerebrum struggle, she manages to propose, truce-wise, a simple Let’s just hope it exists.

Surprisingly, body and mind are willing to shake on that, giving Myka leave to slip on a glove and pronounce, “Just give us the pen. Then it’s over. Mostly. The money will probably revert... so you’ll most likely have to redo the bonuses the old-fashioned way.” Hearing herself, she amends, “Well. The regular way.”

“I don’t mind redoing. But reverting...” Pete’s cousin tightens her fingers around the artifact, pulling it near to her body as if she might be considering, for one last “maybe,” the idea of punching her way out.

Myka tenses, and she doesn’t need to cast a glance to know that Helena is doing the same.

She glances anyway... and indeed, Helena alive with wiry readiness is a sight worth the seeing. So worth it, in fact, that Myka is genuinely, if improperly, disappointed that said sight doesn’t cause the truce to collapse.

After a moment, however, color returns to Nancy Sullivan’s knuckles, and Myka removes the pen from her slackened grip.

But then Nancy Sullivan cocks her head. “Is it really over though? I feel like something else might be happening.”

No. No. Absolutely not. “Something else is always happening,” Myka says, affecting nonchalance as she slides the feathery foolishness into a static bag, ignoring its yipping sparks of protest. “Don’t worry about it.”

Nancy Sullivan casts a skeptical look at the barky little bag. “If you say so. Anyway seeing Pete’s face when I tell him you and I –and he and I!—are fellows in family feathery-pen dealy-thingies now? Might end up being the second-best end-of-year bonus of all, given everything.” There’s a little mockery in her voice, echoing the cousin Myka knows so well.

“And the best such bonus?” Helena inquires.

“Docking Bob’s pay,” Nancy Sullivan says instantly.

Myka snorts, and Nancy Sullivan turns back to her and says, “Are you okay with me being glad we met?” Like she’s mostly but not entirely sure of the response she’ll get, and that’s another echo.

“Only if you’re okay with me being glad too,” Myka says, her own voice sounding a familiar note—one she’s pretty sure Pete would recognize.

After a nod, Nancy Sullivan turns to Helena. “I’d say it to you, but I feel like there’s something extra going on with you, like—”

Myka steps in: “Honestly, always,” and then she’s hustling Helena out of the office even as Helena chirps, “I’m both offended and pleased by that as well!”

Back in the elevator, Helena speaks first. “I did not expect that,” she says, sounding entertained by—practically bubbly about—the entire scenario.

“I should have,” Myka grumbles.

“You’re too hard on yourself.”

“Oh god no,” Myka says, involuntarily. “Too easy if anything.”

Helena’s eyebrows rise, and her eyes accuse. “I’ve known you for no small amount of time,” she says.

Myka’s previous review fights that statement, but she doesn’t speak of it.

Her lack of response prompts a heavy I-am-no-longer-entertained sigh. “Must I return to the phrase ‘your truth’?”

“Please don’t,” Myka says. That’s also nearly involuntary, but it sounds too harsh, like she’s dismissing as unimportant that bookstore interaction, as well as the entirety of those in-extremis manifestations of herself and Helena. Rather than apologizing for that, for surely it would prove far too entangling, she tries to draw Helena’s attention back to the entertainment. “I like Nancy Sullivan. She reminds me of Pete and his mom.”

“Pete’s mother? I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”

That’s a bit more jousty, backed by curiosity. Good. “She’s a Regent,” Myka says, for it’s the most salient piece of information she has about Jane Lattimer.

Helena stills. Her jaw hardens. “Then perhaps I have indeed had the... pleasure.” Cold. Cold. Cold.

You idiot, Myka scourges herself. Why couldn’t she have done the normal thing and left Pete’s mom as “Pete’s mom”? But now, but now: now she’s seen this wound, down there under the ice, and she wants to test that ice, but she can’t, regardless of her wish and want to know know know, to know everything Helena has been put through, so as to know whom to hate (and she hopes that doesn’t include Pete’s mom) and whom to someday thank (and she double-hopes that does include Pete’s mom). “Anyway I think the cousin had the right idea,” she says, pushing back to the now, to what just happened. “Using an artifact to do what are really decent things, even if they were judgmental.”

“Rather Old Testament,” Helena says. “Strangely inappropriate for this holiday, no?” She asks that like she’s really thinking—wondering—about it.

Myka congratulates herself on having provided a distraction, however minimal, from whatever Regent-pain her unthinking reveal caused to surface. “I hadn’t thought about Santa being more Yahweh than Jesus,” she says, to enhance it, “and I’m not sure what it says about my position on salvation that I genuinely wish we could have let her keep that pen. Or even better, if we could maybe ferry it around to deserving arbiters... wouldn’t that contribute to the greater good, even if it’s in a judgy Old-Testament way?”

Helena’s face moves as if she’s about to answer, but before she can, a rupturing screech of metal-on-metal complication resounds decisively through the space, and their ear-popping descent slows, slows, slows...

...and stops.

After an appropriately irony-bearing pause, Helena says, “This elevator seems to disapprove of your suggestion. Or perhaps it’s your theological indecision that displeases?”

All Myka can manage is an extremely resigned “I am not surprised.”

Efforts to summon help strengthen the “disapproval” interpretation: they’re fruitless. No one answers the emergency line, and this mirrored box is, according to both their phones, the place where cell service goes to die. Or where that service is interfered with by a theologically offended pulley-based mechanism.

“I genuinely cannot believe we’re stuck in an elevator,” Myka says. It may be the most true statement to which she’s ever given voice.

After a beat, however, she concedes, “But of course I can.”

Helena casts her gaze around. Once again, exaggeratedly stage-direction-y. “At least it’s reasonably well-appointed. For an elevator in which to be... stuck.” She seems to relish articulating “stuck,” so she’s back to being entertained. Not quite bubbly, but definitely entertained.

Myka can’t get past her annoyance with the elevator’s disapproval, so she says a peevish, “I don’t like mirrors.” She’s painfully aware now that they cover not only the walls, but also the ceiling. She can’t even look heavenward in supplication, sarcastic or otherwise, without regarding herself. It really is too much.

Given that no other communication technology is working, she resorts to the Farnsworth. She gives thanks for Warehouse mojo, or whatever enables it to elude the elevator’s wrath, when Claudia answers with, “No info on ‘lists, making them’ yet.”

“We dealt with that,” Myka tells her. “New problem.”

“Another artifact?”

“Who knows? Maybe Pete’s in an elevator somewhere else in this town making bad decisions, and they’re redounding to our detriment.” She’s vamping. Stuck in an elevator with Helena, she’s vamping. Instead of simply basking in such fantasy-made-fact, she’s vamping.

She doesn’t bother wondering whether Helena knows she’s doing that; if this little adventure has done nothing else, it’s reminded Myka that Helena always knows. It’s both wonderful and terrible to be so legible, particularly to someone Myka so often finds frustratingly illegible.

“I’m not following,” Claudia says.

Speaking of illegible: Myka, heal thyself. “We’re stuck. In an elevator,” she clarifies.

Claudia makes a noise that, impressively, marries a gasp and a snicker. “Are you really? Or did you push the stop button, like people do?”

“Like people... what?”

“When they want to have a little uninterrupted chat,” Claudia says, pedantic, as if now she’s the one who’s “clarifying.”

“Nobody does that in real life,” Steve says from offscreen. Myka is pleased to know he’s around.

“Myka just did,” Claudia insists in his direction. “Didn’t you,” she insists at Myka.

“If I did,” Myka says, “why would I be calling you to get us out of here?”

“Yeah, why would she?” Steve asks, but from farther away.

Don’t leave! Myka wants to exhort. She would never admit to needing backup in a counter-Claudia sense... but she does appreciate when Steve provides it.

“Oooh, because maybe the chat didn’t go so well,” Claudia says with great, and to Myka’s thinking entirely inappropriate, relish.

Trying for calm pragmatism, she says, “Wouldn’t I just... unpush the stop button then?”

“Myka,” Claudia says. It’s the most chiding, disappointment-laden use of her name Myka has ever heard, even when measured against all the times her father has uttered those two designating syllables. “Believe me when I tell you I’m a fan,” Claudia goes on, turning mollifying, “but you really need to lean in when it comes to tropes.” Myka can’t imagine how to respond to that, so she doesn’t. Claudia sighs—seemingly everyone’s preferred go-to when Myka fails to produce words—and says, “Did you try calling maintenance? Pushing the emergency button? Using your cell?”

“Yes, yes, and no service. Do you genuinely think I don’t understand modern communication technology?”

“I think you pretend you don’t understand newfangledness all the time. Particularly when you’re trying to show off how sympatico you are with H.G., who incidentally doesn’t seem to be piping up like I’d expect. Did you knock her unconscious after your terrible chat? Or maybe during it?”

Helena has indeed been very—very surprisingly—quiet while Myka has explained the situation to Claudia. And she doesn’t step in to help Myka out now. So much for any counter-Claudia backup.

“There was not a chat,” Myka says.

Helena is regarding herself in the mirrored ceiling.

“But there could be one now?” Claudia nudges. “Let me see if I can see what’s up. I’ve got cell service.” She disconnects.

Helena abruptly abandons her ceiling self-contemplation, focusing her gaze upon Myka. It’s disconcerting. “Are you attempting to avoid an uninterrupted chat?” she asks.

Myka can’t suss the question’s sincerity. And notwithstanding all her ideas about talking, she suffers a cringing internal “yes.” Externally, however, she says, in what she hopes offers at least a veneer of sincerity of her own, “No.”

She doesn’t follow up by asking “why would I be doing that,” because Helena would probably have a guess. And because that guess would probably be accurate: “You are a coward,” Helena might say, and Myka would regrettably have to either tell the truth and agree, or lie and disclaim any emotional investment in whatever the outcome of such a chat might be.

Silence. Longer than it should be... or is it as long as Myka deserves?

You wanted time together. Don’t bellyache about the form it takes.

“Your objection to mirrors,” Helena eventually says.

“What about it?” Myka asks. Her very soul flinches.

“What is it?”

Myka has never before stated her dislike of mirrors aloud, and she regrets having done so now. To play it off, she says a dismissive, “An artifact.” And yet the truth is that despite the unnerving nature of her interaction with Alice’s mirror and how it continues to prey on her mind, it isn’t really that—or rather, that only intensified her dislike.

But when Helena proposes, “Yet another ‘dealy-thingy’?”, clearly (and preciously) trying the phrase out in her mouth, Myka misleadingly (intentionally misleadingly) nods and says, “They’re all dealy-thingies.”

To that, Helena says, “Interesting.”

Myka would probe that word, but to do so might destabilize the ground, here in an elevator. Instead, for the moment, she tilts her head in the direction of the Christmas muzak, the literal elevator music, being piped in. “Oh, sure, that still works.” She gestures at the speaker, a thin dark stripe between two mirror-panels, from which the sound is emerging. The elevator is nothing if not insistent.

In truth, she doesn’t mind Christmas carols. She does mind the bowdlerization thereof, and isn’t that an attitude the dogmatic elevator really ought to share? O holy night, the stars are brightly... synthesizing? It’s wrong.

Now even her mind is vamping. Great.

Helena tilts her head toward the speaker, however, and Myka appreciates her willingness to be redirected. At least for a moment.

In fact, for all her vamping, mental and otherwise, Myka finds herself absurdly content to simply stand against a mirrored elevator wall and regard Helena... who in that instant of Myka’s acknowledged contentment seems to accept their predicament as unlikely to be resolved in a timely fashion: she sits down, of course elegantly, resting her back against her side of the box and stretching her legs (her legs, Myka’s body notes, just to let her know it’s still paying close attention) out in front of her.

The looking-down perspective is a bit disorienting—although at least this time it has nothing to do with being stuck to a ceiling—but Myka has no time to process it, for Helena’s next salvo, looking up, is, “You’ve been expecting me to remark further on naughtiness, haven’t you.”

Reading, yet again. “I kind of have,” Myka admits. It seems an overly judgmental statement, particularly given that Myka has to deliver it as if from an elevated bench. And yet... she kind of has.

“I’d rather not fulfill that expectation,” Helena says. “If we could speak of other things.”

Myka is a little thrown, but thankful. “That is entirely fine by me. What do you want to talk about?”

“Honestly?”

“Honestly,” Myka says, meaning it as an answer to either interpretation of Helena’s interrogative: Are you asking what I want to talk honestly about? or Are you asking, with honest intent, what I want to talk about? She hopes Helena will respond similarly.

“Something that interests you,” Helena says.

That’s not in any way what she was expecting. “Really?”

“Really.”

It’s a word similar to, yet very different from, “honestly.” What, in a real sense, interests Myka? In this moment, all she can think to say is “you.” And perhaps because her normal inhibitions are disordered, here in this stopped elevator, that’s what she blurts out.

And that seems, incongruously, to take Helena aback. “What about me?” she asks.

Myka can’t say “everything.” It’s the real answer (really), but it’s far too... big. For an unexpected reunion, an unexpected uninterrupted chat—although Claudia or rescuers could at any point interrupt it, which Myka should hope happens (should)—it’s far too big.

So: smaller. What occurs first to Myka is “where have you been”—but that would most likely seem accusatory. She needs something else. Something something something...

In the aftermath of the Warehouse not being destroyed, she’d felt herself full of hard-earned wisdom and bravery: enough, surely, to stop hesitating. Enough, surely, to act. Or enough, at the very least, to articulate.

“Wisdom” and “bravery” now seem nothing more than labels on empty containers, and so “faintheartedness” is the fullness with which Myka here initially accuses her today self. But as Helena breathes and waits for an answer, Myka revises that, gentling it to “caution.” And she adds “care.” Because she is trying to attend to, to appreciate, that breathing. And that waiting.

These might be nothing more than self-indulgently comforting shifts in vocabulary... but then again they might be akin to the shift from “Christmas” to “end-of-year.” Gentle. Inclusionary.

The something something something that occurs to her—because in attempting to avoid her own reflection, she is confronted instead with multiple Helenas—concerns a topic she probably should censor but doesn’t: “When you were a hologram... or a projection, or whatever we should call it... did you have a reflection?” She then reflexively backtracks, “It shouldn’t matter? But I don’t know.” That last, she means both ways. She doesn’t know: whether the reflection existed, or whether it matters. But maybe it’s a sneak-up on things, because she shouldn’t ignore things, and because a seemingly inconsequential tangent might tiptoe toward importance.

“I don’t know either,” Helena says. “I suppose I would have?” Her face contracts. “Or perhaps not, as I don’t know how that holographic projection of myself was... projected. But I do intend to look into it.” She says this last as if Myka has caught her in some inattention, a recklessly uncompleted assignment.

“I never even started majoring in physics,” Myka laments, which is true but also, she hopes, reassuring in an I didn’t do the homework either sense, “so I don’t know the optics of it. Projections. Light and mirrors. “ She doesn’t mention that in the wake of Pittsburgh, she had indeed tried researching such things... she’d got as far as some advanced volumetric displays, ones using dust particles as screens onto which lasers projected light, but at a certain point, a tipping point, the idea of Helena existing as—being relegated to—nothing more than light and dust screamed a surpassing insult, a degradation conjuring death, and it was more than she could bear.

For now she puts that away. She shakes her head, shakes it free, and changes tack. “Anyway, that’s probably the wrong approach. This is Warehousey, so thinking outside physics, the laws... okay, all I know about reflections, unphysically, is that vampires don’t have them. So if you didn’t have one, then maybe all holograms are vampires?” Ugh. Ugh ugh ugh. She would have done better to speak of dust, that and light and despair. Going with vampires instead? Talk about vamping...

“Presumably not vice versa,” Helena observes, seemingly taking Myka’s words far too seriously. “Certainly fictionally. Also not overly flattering, in the syllogistic sense of ‘Helena was a hologram, therefore.’”

“They’re very popular though,” Myka temporizes.

“Stoker’s novel was all the rage,” Helena allows.

The chat stalls out. Interrupting itself?

Myka nevertheless feels pressure to fill the silence: it’s her fault. Will a simple truth suffice? “I didn’t expect to be spending the day before Christmas eve with you,” she says. “Or any day with you. In Cleveland.”

A small smile from Helena marks this as a more welcome fill than a question about reflection. As do her next words: “Nor I with you. In Cleveland, or any place. Equally, I didn’t expect to be sent on a mission with you.”

“That part of it went well.” Myka gestures at her bag that contains the artifact.

“We did—and now do once again—make a good team.”

“I’m glad we got the chance to do it again. Glad, but also... relieved.”

“Relieved,” Helena echoes.

That wasn’t a question, but Myka answers anyway, “Well, obviously, first,” she says, feeling herself launching into an explanatory babble that she fears she’ll be powerless to stop, “because you didn’t have to talk anybody out of using Joshua’s Trumpet, so that really makes a difference in terms of how we—”

“‘First’,” Helena quotes, interrupting (stopping), conveying her full knowledge that that too is a vamp. “And second?”

“That we still are.” This, Myka says simple and frank.

“A good team?”

That is a question. Myka knows “yes” is the only sensical answer, so she tries to say it. But the depth and weight of the ways in which she and Helena “still are” choke her: they “still are” in the basic sense of existing, which was never a certainty; and even better, higher, these hours they’ve spent together today have made clear, to Myka at least, that they “still are”... well. She’d like to finish that with something like “in love,” but instead she tries to leave it, even in her head, at “still are,” with their time-crossed, maybe-destined predicate undefined.

“A good team” should be good enough—true enough—for now.

So after a stretch of time during which Myka knows she’s been focusing her gaze far too intently on Helena, she manages that “yes.”

Helena waits to speak.... are her eyes glistening more brightly than usual, or is Myka hallucinating? “I’m relieved as well,” she says, and Myka chooses to simply delight in whatever prompted such a saturated sparkle.

It draws her closer.

She crosses the small-yet-large elevator-width that separates them. “I need to either sit down beside you or help you up,” she says. “Do you have a preference?”

“For?” Helena’s eyes continue to glow.

That shine... Myka has hopes. They may not be realized, but she has them, the product of relief, “still are,” and an unknown predicate. “Whatever’s next,” she says.

A bit of time passes, with Helena now being the one focused most intently. “I’ll stand,” is her verdict.

Myka reaches down with both—both—hands, offering, and Helena reaches up, accepting. Their fingers meet and clasp, and too cold, Myka thinks, for both of them have a chill in those extremities... but first impressions of temperature promptly fall away as the new reality of the clasp roars into precedence.

Myka has never been so certain of, so certain of and enchanted by, what must and will happen next in her life. Never in her life so certain, as the clasp tightens, as their torsos lean, as Myka’s body begins an at-last congratulation, one that will become a celebration—

A voice from somewhere overhead barks, “Everybody okay in there?”

TBC

#bering and wells #Warehouse 13 #fanfic #holiday (but not Gift Exchange) #Bonus #part 2 #you never can tell what mechanisms might be up to #sneaky ghosts in machines #(sneaky ghosts ARE machines) #anyway like I said in part 1 #I wanted to put a couple of people in a clichéd situation #and the way this part ends was probably obvious from the get-go #but really #was that space the right venue for... #anything? #Claudia's encouragement aside

[bardraelyn]

On Disaster Puppies, Anxious Angels, and Applesauce

NOTE: This post has been revised and expanded. To view the updated version, go here:

https://www.tumblr.com/bardraelyn/729218926815379456/on-disaster-puppies-anxious-angels-and?source=share

So the key to understanding the end of S2 boils down to this:

Angel!Crowley = disaster puppy (all enthusiasm, not much sense)

Aziraphale = anxious kid who grew up in a house with plastic covers on all the furniture (this bit is important)

Let’s break it down:

Aziraphale doesn’t warn Crowley off questions because he thinks there’s something wrong with Heaven. He warns Crowley off questions because he lives in a restrictive environment with rigid rules and is terrified of (vague, unspecified) CONSEQUENCES. Anxious children don’t have to have erred or been punished previously in order to be afraid of punishment. In fact, having not been punished (because their anxiety mostly keeps them in line without need for actual adult intervention) makes the fear—not threat, but fear—of punishment that much more powerful because they don’t know what the punishment will be, and the unknown is terrifying. (What’s more, they are desperate for praise and reassurance that they won’t be punished and are doing the right thing, hence Aziraphale’s love language being words of affirmation.) Aziraphale is trying to protect the innocent, joyful angel he just met, even though he doesn’t yet know what he is protecting him from. He just knows you’re not supposed to muss the furniture, and what Angel!Crowley is suggesting feels dangerous.

That also explains why even after the Fall—the punishment—Crowley is willing to bend the rules and “go along as far as he can”: He’s already been punished, so he knows what punishment feels like. He knows where to toe the line and knows what to expect if/when he doesn’t. He’s not a puppy anymore; he’s a old dog with a long memory, who is willing to take a stand to protect those he’s loyal to, even while he still cowers at certain types of threats (“We can run away together!”).

Angel!Crowley was punished and cast out of the restrictive home with all the plastic on the furniture, and the new house he’s been stuck in for the past 6000 years is run by the sort of abusive f*cks who beat puppies and raise them for dog fights. (I have a theory that Crowley was punished less severely than some of the other Fallen. He is, after all, one of the most beautiful demons we see, and that suggests that the person in charge of doling out punishments was more annoyed at him than angry, and so didn’t curse him with the truly nasty afflictions we see on the more repugnant of demons—like Hastur, who delights in pain, or Beelzebub, who had some leadership role in the Rebellion—but that doesn’t matter because his new home was terrible, possibly in part because of that lesser punishment. I bet that prior to the Rebellion, “Lucifer and the boys” delighted in the cliquish equivalent of “throwing sticks for the Disaster Puppy to chase,” and poor Angel!Crowley didn’t realize they weren’t really his friends so much as a different set of abusers who used attention instead of neglect. But after the Fall, they became his keepers, and his eyes were opened to a whole new level of loss and betrayal. Anyway.)

As a member of the Fallen, Crowley doesn’t remember the names of some angels/demons (Furfur, Saraqael, and yes, Aziraphale at first) but clearly remembers others (like the Metatron and Gabriel), even though they remember him. I’ve seen suggestions that this is a trauma response or the results of a partial memory wipe, but I think it has a much simpler explanation: He only remembers the names and faces of entities who stood out to him. That enthusiastic angel who bubbled with joy and absolutely annoyed some of the other angels with his exuberance? Of course, he sticks in their memory! But they barely registered to him because they were each just one in a billion random strangers he played with in the park. The Disaster Puppy enthusiastically plays with everyone. He remembers the ones who had the power to slap him on the nose—and the one angel whose daring and kindness impressed him enough for his name to finally stick after it didn’t during their previous encounters.

At their very first meeting, Aziraphale introduces himself; Angel!Crowley doesn’t reciprocate. Names are irrelevant. He’s too caught up in his nebula to even take note of the introduction. So later, when they meet on the wall of Eden, introductions are needed again: Aziraphale because Crowley didn’t recall his name, and Crowley because he never gave his name at their first meeting (and probably never during any of their chance encounters in Heaven, because remember, Disaster Puppy just isn’t all that concerned with names), but also because even if Aziraphale did pick up Angel!Crowley’s name in passing sometime after their first meeting, he absolutely would not assume that the fallen angel still uses it. Rather than risk dead-naming him, he waits for Crowley (or Crawly, at the time) to tell him what he prefers to be called.

So, it’s obvious why Crowley didn’t remember Aziraphale’s name, but did he recognize Aziraphale at all before approaching him on the wall? I would bet on absolutely, yes, but with the vague sort of recollection of a conversation he probably should have taken a bit more to heart. He sees a being who tried at some point in the past to warn him, whose name he doesn’t recall because it didn’t seem important enough at the time, but who makes him feel comfortable enough to approach: “You tried to help me before, which means you are kinder than those other angels who didn’t, and so you probably won’t hurt me now, even though I’m Fallen. I’m feeling conflicted about this notion that knowledge of Good and Evil is a Bad Thing, and as someone who tried to advise me earlier, I feel like I can talk to you about it.” (What neither of them has yet realized is that knowledge of Good and Evil is the key to recognizing that Heaven and Hell are two ends of the same poison pill, and it’s not only humans who have been kept in the dark; a lot of the Angelic Host are also in need of some applesauce.)

And this is why the memory-wipe theory simply doesn’t make sense. Think about it. Gabriel is the Supreme Archangel, and their intent with him was to perform the equivalent of a full hard drive wipe and reinstall of the base angelic software. They think of him as corrupted beyond repair. If even the highest of high archangels isn’t worth the massive effort of selective file deletion, why would they waste that same amount of effort on Crowley to wipe (and possibly replace) a few select memories from before the Fall? Yes, it’s clear that Crowley was an angel with a reasonably high level of access, given his ability to open the archives, but there’s absolutely no indication that he outranked Gabriel. In fact, his scorn for the Supreme Archangel is exactly the sort of scorn you’d have for someone who used to have authority over you and abused it extremely casually but was mostly the kind of negligent adult who ignored you until you were useful and/or pissed them off.

And that ties back to the question of why angels don’t eat while demons do. Aziraphale eats—with enthusiasm!—so clearly angels can eat, and Crowley mentions “food not that good anymore” in Heaven as part of why he started palling around with the other discontents, so also clearly angels did eat at some point, but now they don’t. Well, yeah. Because somebody in Heaven wants to keep it pristine, so they won’t allow food anywhere near all that Heavenly furniture. I mean, it won’t kill the angels to go without meals, because they are immortal beings, so all the ban achieves is a) starvation, b) loss of pleasure, and c) control. But that’s really all it comes down to: Keeping everything pristine and spotless and perfect. And the Rebellion gave whoever is in charge of those decisions (my bet would be on the Metatron; God seems too self-involved to care about the furniture) the perfect excuse to change the house rules to ban food. And since it’s definitely a cult, all the ones who are deeply indoctrinated just sort of…go along with it.

If Aziraphale feels any guilt over Crowley’s Fall, it’s a mild twinge over the fact that he wasn’t able to convince the Disaster Puppy to stop jumping on the furniture. That’s not the primary motivating factor for why he’s so adamant about protecting Crowley at the end of S2 or at any other time in their long association. Aziraphale and Crowley are both, in their ways, protectors. That is established over and over again, throughout all of their actions and conversations. Protecting is a primary drive for each of them, something that is at the core of their beings, and it often puts them at odds over the exact same objective: Protecting the one(s) they care most about. They withhold information and behave in sometimes appalling ways to protect each other when what they really need to be doing—as they should have learned from the first Armageddon attempt—is working together to protect what they have with each other along with everything else that they love.

Because the reality is that if either one of them sacrificed themself to save the other, that very sacrifice would destroy the other. They are of one heart, and it cannot, WILL NOT live if it is not whole. But neither one fully trusts the other to coordinate a defense because of that same history and past trauma. Aziraphale thinks Crowley won’t listen to him because Angel!Crowley didn’t, and Crowley is still afraid of being kicked if he lets his guard down because he can see how much his beloved is still a victim of the cult programming (and Aziraphale is not above kicking if he feels panicked). Crowley doesn’t think Aziraphale will hurt him on purpose, but rather because Aziraphale doesn’t see all the angles and manipulations and therefore can’t see all of the threats—and in their conversation at the end of S2E6, the angel seemingly proves him right.

I don’t think that Metatron’s intent is to kill Aziraphale. He will almost certainly resort to that if looks like Aziraphale won’t give him what he wants, but right now, he just sees a tool that can help him achieve his goal (provided Crowley is out of the way). Because here’s the thing: the archangels are clueless about some very important things. That has already been established (see: the flashback to Job and conversations about human birth). Metatron is probably a bit less so than most, but there are things the Angels in Charge fundamentally do not understand, and they don’t know it yet, but Aziraphale is one of those things.

Metatron sees an angel who has not only lived on Earth long enough to truly understand humans, but also (and this is key) has collaborated with a demon—a tempter—and then effectively lived in the company of that tempter for the past four years. Metatron sees Aziraphale as someone who can be tempted and manipulated. That’s why he brings him coffee. He’s trying to use that. He wants a tool he can control. But he, like all of the highest of the Host, is guilty of neglect. He has never paid close enough attention to Aziraphale to see the Bastard Angel: the one who pushes back against Crowley, and even against God, who offers his own temptations, who is stubborn and implacable (much to Crowley’s frequent annoyance even while he loves it), and who isn’t afraid to stand firm in the face of Heaven, Hell, and Armageddon to protect the world and the keeper of his heart. Metatron thinks Aziraphale's resistance to Armageddon was the result of Crowley's manipulation, so he figures he'll just get Crowley out of the way or keep him too busy to interfere, and use Aziraphale for himself.

As to why Aziraphale hasn’t fallen yet (and isn’t going to fall, even in S3) in spite of all of his misdeeds and mini-rebellions: it all comes down to the fallout. The Rebel Host—including the poor Disaster Puppy angel running around with them—started a war. In Heaven. They didn’t just individually act up on occasion in ways that could be ignored. They engaged in a violent and bloody act of rebellion. The Fall wasn’t about the small sins; it was about the big one. They messed up the furniture. They had to go. Aziraphale’s not messing up the furniture—yet. By the time he does, it will be far too late for Heaven to do anything to stop him.

See, that smile at the end of S2E6? It’s not pleasure at taking charge, and it’s not determination to fix Heaven. It’s a mask. Aziraphale just spent that elevator ride bottling up his pain and hiding it down deep. I would bet my immortal soul that he put on that smile right when the elevator stopped, before the doors started to open. Heaven is about to learn the hard way why choosing Aziraphale was their fatal mistake. Because the Bastard Angel is broken and angry, and he’s done with their bullshit rules and their plastic-covered furniture. Maybe he pushed Crowley away to protect him. Maybe he really wanted Crowley to come with him to try to change things from the inside. None of that matters. All of the maybes that happened before Metatron came back to collect Aziraphale are irrelevant. Because Metatron doesn’t understand Aziraphale, and he just tipped his hand when he spoke the words “Second Coming.” Aziraphale has long since realized that Heaven is toxic—that’s what he wants to fix—but until that moment he didn’t have the context Crowley had to know why Gabriel left. But he has just learned that his love, his heart, and his world are in mortal danger, and he will stop at nothing to save them. Heaven hath no fury like an angel with a broken heart.

Aziraphale has never worried that Crowley was ever made to forget him. He’s intelligent and observant. He noted that initial un-introduction (and was even a bit disappointed by it), so he knows why Crowley doesn’t remember his name when they meet on the wall of Eden. Their coded-language dance around the depth of their association has never been about fear of rejection over imagined faults but rather the very real threats from their respective Home Offices, which they are too wary to immediately forget even after thwarting Armageddon and their own executions. (They are right not to trust that sense of peace! It has taken them four years to let down their guards even the tiniest bit, and they are still speaking in code—hence the ball: It's Aziraphale's confession of love without saying the words out loud, because it still doesn't feel entirely safe.) And he’s not going to Heaven to throw himself on some sacrificial alter to fix a mistake he thinks he made 6000 years ago by failing to keep an angel who barely acknowledged him from falling in with the rest of the Rebel Host. He’s just doing what he’s always done: trying his best to protect the innocent from Heaven’s caprice.

Only this time, he knows his own heart is innocent too.

#good omens #aziraphale #crowley #the metatron #good omens theory #good omens season 2 #good omens spoilers #angry angel #rebuttal #disaster puppy #anxious angel #no nightingales

[starseneyes]

Chenford REWIND- Lucy Chen / Tim Bradford - The Rookie - Season 5 - Ep 6 & 7

*phew* almost all caught up on this REWIND of Chenford! And with today's edition, we will be completely caught up to date of current airing (5x11 being the most recent to air).

I'll put together a Master Post later to make things easier to find. For now, it's time to talk about another favorite of the season.

SPOILER ALERT: This is not one of those reviews where people tip-toe around spoilers. I will spoil every last morsel in these episodes without restraint. Please know that going in! I do try to write these as though I were seeing them for the first time.

Alright, with all the red tape out of the way, let's dive into the fun!

The Reckoning

"Hello. Good morning!" "Chen. Sanford." "What's up with him?" "He's just grumpy with everything he's got going on." "Wait. What? What's going on? "Nothing." "What." "He's fine. I'm fine. We're just eager to protect and serve." "Aaron." "I have to go. I'm so sorry." "What?"

Cackling during this scene the first time I watched it.

Aaron's doe-eyed, assuming that Lucy would know everything going on in Tim's life already (because he's not Nolan-level oblivious) then realizing oops, he should've kept his mouth closed.

Side Note: "Nothing" is never a good cover... just sayin'.

I also find it fascinating that Chris is framed out of most of the scene. Yes, he's there in the establishing shot and brief interaction with Tim, but as soon as Tim departs, this is Aaron and Lucy's conversation.

Lucy's worried. She could tell something was up with Tim because he was about to walk by without even acknowledging them. When he did, he could barely look Lucy in the eye, and he stuck to last names without salutation.

At first, she thought it might be something trivial, but Aaron's words affirm something is definitely up with her husband.

"I think the radio belonged to the broody one." "The broody... Tim forgot his radio? Tim Bradford, 'Super Cop'? You know, this guy will not let me forget that I was once three and a half minutes late to Roll Call. Can you believe that?" "I guess." "This feels like Christmas. Thank you."

Oh, I know that glint in your eye, Lucy Chen. You're cooking up something. But, she pauses as she considers exactly what to do.

And this is the difference between a Tim/Lucy prank earlier in the show versus now. Now, Lucy wants to do something that will be fun... not just funny. Lucy decides to go the same route my husband did when he proposed—scavenger hunt.

"What the hell?" "What is it? ... Who sent that?" "Someone who's about to get in a lot of trouble." "You know you could just file a incident report and get a new radio." "And get written up? That's one day suspension without pay."

I love you, Tim Bradford (platonicly. I'm happily married and he's fictional... so...). He truly is the Super Cop who wants to do everything by the book.

"I think I know where this is."

And what I LOVE about this is that Lucy Chen has already been to these places, and timed it out to know how long it would take Tim to get from one to the next.

She knows him so well. ("too well", anybody?) Lucy knows that she needs to break through his walls by getting him active.

Paintball? He loves it. Shooting range? Totally something he did with his ex as a date. Tim isn't one to open up about feelings easily.

This is a way to prime him, and help him think about something other than whatever is bothering him.

"Man, this is one sketchy-ass looking coffee truck."

Side note that I love that someone had to look at that line in a script, then either find or design the perfect coffee truck to make Aaron say that. It gives me such special pleasure to think about.

"It's where I get my coffee every morning. No oatmilk mafia hipsters rewriting screenplays. A buck for coffee and you go to work." "You sound like the old dude from Up!"

My husband was over my shoulder when I first watched this on Hulu, and he was rolling at that. But, it's so true. Tim is a creature of habit. He likes what is comfortable because it's stable, and his life often lacks stability.

It started in childhood... not knowing if Dad was going to ignore him or lay into him at any given moment. He learned to constantly be on guard, to be slow to trust, and to find what comforts he could to get through until he could get out of the house.

So many of Tim's life choices are informed by the abuse he survived.

"Damnit. They're running us all over town." "Okay, so, like, what's the point? I mean, they haven't asked for money or anything. And if they really want to screw with the police, they could do a whole lot more with that radio." "I don't know. We gotta figure out what studio lot that is."

First off, my hat's off to Aaron, who wants to be a detective. He's diving into the why right off the bat. Tim, though... he's in the game.

Right where Lucy wants him.

"My favorite movie was shot right here on this lot."

Woah, woah, woah. Your favorite movie is Shane!? I mean, it tracks for Tim's character, absolutely. In high school, my US government teacher spent a whole semester having us watch US Westerns and writing about them. I aced that semester if you can imagine.

While I'm not a fan of Shane personally (I don't like most Westerns), I get why it appeal to Tim. And it's heartbreaking.

Shane is a Western where a man is hired to help a family of homesteaders, gets into many a gunfight, befriends the son of the homesteaders, and then when injured protecting them... he leaves. The boy stands at the door crying out for Shane to come back... and that's how it ends.

This is not a happy story. It's a story of a man who did the right thing. He took out the bad guys, then abandoned the people he'd connected with to protect them from retribution. And this is Tim's favorite movie.

"Wait, your favorite coffee place. Your favorite movie. Whoever's doing this knows you really well." "Chen."

Again, Aaron with the Detective cap on. And it takes only seconds for Tim to realize who would know all of these details about his life... Lucy.

When did they talk about his favorite movie? The coffee would be an easy one, but I bet there's some fanfic out there about how Lucy conned Tim into telling her his favorite movie, possibly by guessing terribly on purpose to draw him out.

Much as Tim tries to avoid talking about personal things... Lucy has always drawn him out. He has helped refine and sharpen her, but in the same manner, she has helped pull him out of his darkness. And she's doing it again with this distraction.

"Where's my radio?" "Did something happen to your radio? Oh, you know what, Halloween is tomorrow. Maybe a vengeful spirit took it."

This flirty banter is giving me major end-of-season-4 Chenford vibes. I don't know if Lucy even realizes she's doing it. But sitting together in that hospital room, they erased all the awkwardness—or so she thought.

Because Tim's had time to think about Lucy, now, in the absence of the all-consuming vortex that was Ashley. Without the distraction of his girlfriend, all he sees is Lucy.

"Why are you doing this?" "I don't know what you're talking about." "Is holding my radio payback for how tough I was on you as a Rookie?"

Tim's playing a game of 21 questions and Lucy hasn't answered a damn one. Well done, girl!

But I also like the quirk to Tim's lips at the end of that statement. He's having fun. Even arguing with Lucy (playfully), he is having so much damn fun.

"Were you? I hadn't noticed."

Oh, yeah. Definitely flirting.

"Okay." "But, again, I don't know what you're talking about. But I might be able to help you look for your radio if you tell me what's going on." "Nothing is going on with me." "Please. I rode with you long enough to know when you are being you, and when you're upset. I mean, are you okay?"

How do you tell the woman of your dreams that you're falling in love with them while they're dating another man? I don't know, and Tim certainly doesn't either.

Because this isn't just about Ashley. Yes, he is hurting because yet another person walked out on him. Hell, she practically trampled on his oxygen line on the way out the door.

Without Ashley to redirect his thoughts, he's having a harder time ignoring how much he wants to be with Lucy. And her being soft with him makes it even harder because he starts to question himself. "Is it possible she could feel something? Should I ask?"

His attitude totally shifts as he makes the decision to play it off.

"It's nothing. I'm fine."

Tim, someday, someday, I hope you realize that "nothing" is a terrible, terrible cover story.

"Then I don't know where your radio is."

She storms off, and we can hear she's really frustrated. Lucy hopes that this game is helping loosen him up because she wants to help him.

Last week, she didn't get to be there for him as much as she wanted. Now, she has a chance to help him, and she feels like it's failing.

Lucy is drawn to Tim as much as he is drawn to her. It's all a matter of getting on the same page. And right now she feels like they're flipping back and forth instead of landing on the same spot.

"Hey. Hi. What the hell is going on with Tim?" "Well, he lost his radio." "I will give you his radio if you tell me what's bothering him." "Honestly, I don't know. He won't tell me either." "What?"

Maybe Aaron should do all the lying for the team, because he's the only one who's any good at it. We know he knows what's up with Tim. But, he's being a good Gofer and keeping his trap shut.

But Aaron also knows that Tim and Lucy know more about one another than most cops he's met. Even if Aaron hasn't sniffed out the romance angle, he knows that there's something there. And he ain't getting in the middle of it.

"Hi. Good morning." "Good morning."

Everything is shifting! Did you clock that? Oh, I totally clocked that. Tim's graduated from monosyllabic greetings for Lucy to an actual phrase! Progress! But he's still not looking her in the eye.

"Still missing your radio?" "No, it's in the shop." "Where's your standard issue?" "This is it." "That hasn't been standard since the sixties... Wait, let me get a photo of you with it, first!"

Peep Aaron looking ANYWHERE other than Tim and Lucy? He knows better than to get in the middle of this.

Tim and Lucy have a tendency to take embarrassing photos of one another. It's a quirk they share... one of those places where two seemingly very different people overlap. And I so hope Lucy got her shot so we can see it make a comeback at some point.

Can you imagine their wedding slideshow? Half of it's just going to be shots of them pranking one another.

"Uh, here. I thought torturing you would be more fun, and getting your mind off of whatever has been bothering you."

First off, coworkers don't need to hold onto the object they're passing that long. Y'all are being obvious right outside the station. Second, she clues him in on why she was doing this... it wasn't revenge. It was concern.

Damnit, that's hot. You know Tim's thinking it. Lucy Chen did all this for him.

"I should know better than to get into your personal business."

This is another deflection. Back in 5x02's opening scene she talked about having a lot going on in her "personal life" and we know that involved Tim. But after 5x02's breakup scene, she's convinced that he isn't interested.

"Goodnight." "Night... Ashley and I, uh, broke up. Well, I guess, technically she broke up with me."

Did you see how Lucy's head whipped around? Because Tim Bradford just let her in. It's been a while since Tim has let her in on anything. He's been keeping her at a distance for a while—even last week when he was injured.

But here he is, letting her into his personal life. She had given up, and he just let her waltz right in. Lucy knows what a big deal for Tim this is, even if she doesn't understand what's going on in his head and heart. Could you two just TALK!?

"And just so you know, I did appreciate your whole radio gag, a little. Took my mind off things." "Well, good."

See that little size up and shimmy? Because Tim Bradford complimented Lucy Chen. And she has a thing with Praise. He basically told her that her whole plan worked, and that he understood and appreciated it.

And for some reason, that little affirmation cracks open something between them that they've both tried to bury since their "breakup".

Looking at the woman of his dreams, radio in one hand (a literal communication device), Tim considers another leap.

And, oh, you know he has to have it bad to try this, again, after how badly he fell the last time. But he feels that connection between them, again. And there's no Ashley, anymore, to distract him from it.

And look. At. Lucy. Her face reminds me so much of the end of season 4 when she and he stood in this parking lot looking at one another, her anxious of what he might say. Some part of her knows.

But before Tim can open his mouth, the door opens, and out parts Mr. Professional Chenford Blocker himself, Chris Sanford.

Lucy and Tim both look caught. Because even if they weren't playing tonsil hockey, they were in an emotionally-charged moment that shouldn't happen when she's dating someone else.

And Tim just got the second coldest shower of his life (nothing tops bleeding-out Chris).

"Do you wanna join us? We're gonna go get a bite to eat." "Oh, no, no. I'm good. I'm beat. You two have fun."

And he means that. He wants Lucy to be happy, even if it isn't with him. But that fake smile is so heartbreaking. Because, here he was, considering a huge leap... and now he's clamming back up because he thinks Lucy is truly happy with someone else.

You know who isn't happy about this interaction? Chris, that's who! Early on, he clocked something between Lucy and Tim, but she was able to shove it off.

Think about it. She never called or texted anyone when she decided to spent the evening at the hospital by Tim's side. But likely she told Chris later about it, not thinking anything of it.

Now, Chris comes out to see Tim and Lucy chatting, and she invites him on their date!? Chris might think things are good between him and Lucy, but a part of him definitely sees Tim as a threat. He no likely.

Good.

Lucy and Chris walk off, arms wrapped around one another, but the camera stays on Tim, offering us a shot of him from a distance, defeated, looking back at the opportunity missed with the woman he's falling for.

We feel how distanced he is, now, from Lucy. We feel his struggle with that distance.

And as we switch angles to see it from her side... Lucy is looking back at him.

Remember beginning of season 4 when Lucy and Tim stood together in his living room, his left arm stroking her right arm after their hug? Lucy felt the change in energy between them. She saw the look in Tim's eyes.

She loves that look. She's addicted to that look. It's been a long time since she's seen that look, but she saw it at the hospital, and she saw it again just now. She loves when he looks at her like that.

It's hard to say if she knows how he feels about her, but I think she is struggling with the same thing he did with Ashley—Do I risk it all for someone who I think is unavailable to me, or do I stick with what's easy, but not satisfying?

Even though she's still with Chris, Tim being available, more flirty, complimenting her, and showing the slightest bit of interest is sending her spinning.

She shoves it down... but it'll come out, someday. Like a spring wound too-tight eventually snaps.

Crossfire

"If your puppy vouches for her, it could go a long way." "I don't know. Having a kid act as a CI on his own sister? I mean, they might not even be in touch."

I need to point this out. Is it directly Chenford related? Yes. Go with me here.

If you've seen the episode, you know one of the key Chenford-related moments is coming up, but this conversation feeds right in.

Nyla and Angela want to get Lucy in as a UC. But Tim, yes Tim is the first one to reason why it's not the best idea. Why? Because he's concerned for the kid.

He's not thinking about Lucy's career, or even about the possible apprehending of a criminal. He's thinking about this kid. We need this context to see where Tim's head is at.

"How about we keep an eye on the kid, ourselves? Make sure he's safe."

Nyla and Angela are the ones pushing this. Lucy, too. Tim isn't doing any pushing. But he's actually the one hearing Aaron. Because Tim does have a soft spot for kids. He was one, once, and his childhood sucked.

Lucy at Gunpoint

Aaron glances to Tim, aware of how Tim's stopped freakin' breathing and is watching the situation unfold.

"We should pull Tabin out, now." "Nah, he's fine." "Sir, no it's not. You are endangering this career all because it's good for Lucy's career." "Excuse me?" "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything."

I saw the responses online, "Good! Someone called him out". And, sure, it's good Tim knows his Lucy-o-meter is showing because that's going to get him in trouble someday.

But Tim would never put a kid in danger for Lucy's career. Hell, he hates that Lucy puts herself in danger for Lucy's career.

But Aaron doesn't know Tim's history with an ex-wife who was UC. he doesn't know about Tim's abusive childhood and how he would never want to put a child in harm's way.

Tim is working the op the way it needs to be worked because he is a seasoned cop. In this moment, it's actually Aaron who is operating off of emotion. And Tim is smart enough to know it, so he drops it instead of starting an argument—the work comes first.

"I don't wanna blow my cover." "You got it."

Wow, how far we have come. Tim used to think Lucy didn't have what it took for UC. Now, he's letting her call the shots on her UC op. He respects the hell out of her, and that is earned, and that is built.

Lucy Makes Herself

Look, I don't know what the long-term plan here, was. Did Lucy want to keep using that cover to infiltrate the gang further? I don't know. But the second she saw Tim and Aaron in trouble, she leapt out to help.

Tim and Aaron can absolutely handle themselves. Lucy made an emotional decision. And it got her made.

Was it the right decision? Who knows. Aaron was the only one to get through to Tabin, and Lucy's presence didn't help anything. But she was worried about Tim and Aaron.

"Night."

Lucy doesn't know what went down between Aaron and Tim while she was undercover. But she knows what made her break it. And she's had time to think about their chat outside the other day—what was Tim going to say?

Because she knew he was going to say something. And lately he's looking at her with these soft eyes... What does it mean!?

"Hey, uh, I just wanted to say I'm sorry for what I said, you know, about Lucy. That was totally out of line." "It was."

Because Tim would never endanger a child just for Lucy's career. But, also, calling Tim out about Lucy was out of line—but that part wasn't wrong. And Tim knows it.

"It's all good. Look, sometimes tensions get high, but we get the job done. And you had my back the way you threw yourself in front of mom for me." "Oh, yeah, she was gonna lay you out." "Come on."

Aaron and Tim has become a really unexpected relationship for me on this show. Tim has softened enough that while he maintains authority over Aaron, he listens to him. Of course, this is Lucy's influence in his life. So it makes sense that the three of them are sort of becoming a new OT3 on the show.

In the past, it was Jackson, Lucy, and Nolan who formed the OT3. Common element? Lucy, of course. She brings people together in unexpected ways.

And while Aaron's comments were out of line, it's not wrong for someone to call Tim out about his intentions and choices. He's an authority figure in the station, and a supervisor. People need to know he's on the level at all times.

That's going to play into the rest of a season, I think. But, what do I know? I'm just a girl from the very-near future rewinding back to Chenford classics of ages past.

As ever, thank you for reading and joining me on this journey. We're all caught up! Can't wait to see what's next for Lucy and Tim (and Chenford)!

I'll put together a Master Post to-date later. And I can't WAIT to see what 5x12 has for us all! See you then!

#Chenford #Lucy Chen #Tim Bradford #Melissa O'Neil #Eric Winter #Lucy x Tim #Tim x Lucy #The Rookie

[electricbluebutterflies]

Jess/Leto + "No one's mad at you."

Also prompted by @ourconversationranshort. Choice-era, PG-ish, also on ao3.

She is cautious, in the months after, as the realities of what she has done sink in.

Jessica is learning so much about herself now, so many traits she did not know she possessed until she needed them. How protective she is capable of being, strongest above all. How deeply she loves her partner and their son. How deeply she fears the anonymity her background ought to give her.

Is it wrong if she wants more? Is it wrong if among the many reasons for her life-changing defiance, reasons numerous like constellations in the sky above, she finds an ambitious streak she is not supposed to possess?

She knows how it looks in the aftermath, how damningly clear it is that her partner did not think through the possible consequences. He relies so heavily on how easy he is to like, and that was what corrupted her in the quiet of night a year ago, that was how soft words made her open up her body. He assumes this trait will once more save them, assumes he has built up just enough of a good reputation that an unconventional choice will not be ruination, assumes so wrongly that he is enough to protect her and-

Jessica has seen the world for what it is and still she puts so much faith in her partner, but he is merely a good man and no amount of power can keep their little family safe forever. And more relevant at the moment, no amount of love shown too publicly can make her likable.

It is this more petty fear that weighs heavier upon her as she slowly returns to public life, this painful understanding of why exactly her recent actions have turned into local scandal. She has done so little to endear herself to those around her – respectful layers of ice had seemed like a good survival tactic at first, and she has created herself around that core, quiet and distant and not quite harmless. She never expected how prominent social routines would become in her life, or that she would unofficially become ranking woman of an entire planet, or-

She hears the whispers – there are always whispers, rarely worse than that, even now her partner’s earned goodwill lessens blows it cannot stop – and she knows the damage control she must do to make everything alright. And so help her, she tries. She buries her tiredness where no one can see it, fakes emotions she’s pretty sure she’s never actually felt in her little life, and it’s still not enough, nothing she does is enough, nothing-

She’s probably overreacting – that too is a tendency she did not expect to develop until it was too late – and she tries to distract herself every way she can, tries to drown in her less public tasks, and she fails.

Her breaking point comes four months into this era of her life, after her emotions have evened out, after life has more or less gone back to a version of normal adapted into their new circumstances. Jessica does not see herself as maternal, and she is unsure if she will ever be able to look at her son without seeing the chaos his existence has caused. Something so small, unable to speak, barely able to make eye contact, should not be so damning. Something so small…

She hears the door open behind her and feels no need to turn. Her partner’s presence is always a comfort, and his active involvement in this phase of their life affirms that on some level her choice was right and good. He makes time for them, not as much as she wishes he would but more than she expects or would ever ask for, makes space as he did when she first entered his life and this is how that man loves, she has learned – not with pretty words but with actions that cannot be misinterpreted. More consistent presence in their spaces, and the polite excuses that get him out of other obligations, mean more to her than anything said in the quiet of night ever could.

“Did I miss anything?” he asks, close enough to touch but not yet.

“I’m not sure this was a good idea,” Jessica murmurs, turning away from where their son sleeps to face her partner. “Too late now, but…”

“Love-“

“Tell me you have been as oblivious as ever,” she hisses, her internal fire lighting fast and strong. “Tell me you are unaware how I am seen now that we have-“

“It will be alright.”

She hates him sometimes, this good and beautiful man whose understanding of the world could never cover what she knows. The innocence he still carries, still does not even recognize as such, will damn him someday and the worst part is that she will do everything she can to maintain it. There is something like sunlight in his perspective, and she can’t-

“You don’t know that. You don’t hear them. You don’t even notice the scandal and fury I’ve caused.”

He takes her hands and traces patterns to calm her and she hates how well it works, hates how easy it is to synchronize her own unstable heartbeat to his more steady one. “No one’s mad at you,” he murmurs, and there is such faith in his voice, as if the strength of his convictions could reshape the entire known world and maybe it could, maybe they’re that good, maybe-

“I have defied more protocols than I can count,” she reminds him. “You must at least see that.”

“You did nothing wrong,” and again the comforting stubbornness of it all, again the unspoken promise that he has chosen her – he has chosen their family – above all else. “I asked you for this. I will take blame.”

“You really think it’s that simple,” she breathes, not quite a question, and yet-

“Nothing good ever is. But I… do you remember how we talked, in the months before?”

“I do. You see power in my every weakness and I can’t-“

“You balance me,” he murmurs, shifting position to wrap his arms around her. “You and your constant worry and your fierceness and your-“

“You are too kind,” she replies like a reflex.

“I don’t need to know why you listened so completely. You always have your own reasons for what you do. But you have blossomed into more than I ever expected and I-“

His voice cuts off so suddenly and she hears what is not said, the declarations they will not make because even now there are ways to compromise each other. They are in love in a thousand other words but never the direct one, they are each other’s hearts but their tethers are so fragile-

No. Not anymore. There is nothing fragile about what they have done, about the child that is already such a perfect combination of the both of them. It would be a great challenge to separate them now.

And perhaps that’s why she did what she did, Jessica thinks as she takes a heartbeat of a kiss, as she promises herself that she will behave better and her son will never see the petty sparring that practically created him. Because she has loved and been loved in return and she would like to spend the rest of her life in that unexpectedly pleasant state. Because this is what she has made of circumstances she did not choose. Because-

“You have given me that space,” she breathes against her partner’s skin, and even as she is unsure of anything else in the world she is sure of the safety she finds in his heart. “You have been… much more than I once expected. There is a deep part of me that would burn the world to see light in your eyes and I don’t know-“

“That would be too much to ask, love.”

“Are you sure you didn’t?”

He tilts his head and kisses her forehead, and she may never know, and that may be enough.

#ebf writes fic #leto x jessica #queue

[hawkinsharlot]

Thank you for your answer! 😊 Oh and since I haven't told you that in the last ask, I will do that now real quick : I love your Argyle writings and rambling, especially your portrayal and passion for him! That's so sweet 😍

Okay, here it comes :

Can I have a Stranger Things match up please? 💕

I've got really pale skin (which I love), white blonde shoulder-length hair with the tips dyed dark purple on one side and dark green on the other, a few ear piercings, I'm somewhat curvy (which I'm not insecure about), around 5'5 high and I'm always wearing only black clothing with a gothic/punk/metal/alternative style.

My own love language is gift giving and words of affirmation and from others it's physical touch and quality time. I'm female, interested in men, but I'm also open for women, so it's kind of both.

Meeting new people, being in crowded places and in the center of attention make me really anxious and uncomfortable. Although it's easier if I can relay and concentrate on someone really close to me. That's one of the reasons why I prefer staying inside and leaving the house only when absolutely necessary.

I have deep emotions, but they tend to overwhelm me and I struggle with communicating and procressing them alone, which leads me to relying on others (and annoying them with it) but also understanding others and the world around me on a deeper level. I believe that's also why I'm so accepting, supporting and open-minded.

I love to help others, I tend to always put their well-being before my own and try anything possible to make it easier for them and take some weight off their shoulders, to lighten up someone's mind and make their worries less overwhelming. To put it simply, I hate to see others suffering and will do anything to help them.

I'm the happiest when the people I love are happy, when someone truly listens to me, my thoughts and feelings.

I hate the summer, but love autumn and it's aesthetic, flavours, scents and weather!

I'm a very loving, warm and passionate person. I care about the people who're close to me and I will go to great length to help them. Furthermore, I'm ultimately loyal and would never betray or let people I love down!

I hate when people believe they can define or generalize what's normal or beautiful, boring or annoying, typical or effective. All these are personal views and usually I find beauty where others don't, enjoy unusualness and uniqueness and despise mainstream and stereotypical things. Being like everyone else or fitting into some kind of box annoys me so much! That sometimes leads me to avoid people who're considered normal or fit easily in.

The nightsky inspires and fascinates me, just as much as rain calms me down and fills me with serenity, passion and happiness. My biggest passion is music and I could never live a day without it, it's like the air to breathe. I especially love (symphonic-,heavy-) metal!

I'm extremely shy, insecure and self-doubting, always believe that I'm annoying those around me. That's why I tend to distance myself and don't speak/act at all, in fear of embrassing myself even more. It helps if there's someone who helps, grounds and understands me in these times! With the right person, I can actually be quite sarcastic.

I firmly believe in the power of honesty and wish to be respected and accepted as much as I do show others.

My senses are pretty strong and my surroundings, especially combinated with my high social anxiety, sometimes lead me to anxiety and panic attacks, which I obliviously hate and am ashamed of. I struggle to get out of them on my own, but to someone really close to me it's actually not so hard.

I love watching movies and TV shows. To be honest, I prefer living in fictional worlds and daydreams over the real world. I'm especially enthusiastic about horror and fantasy.

I'm living vegan and I'm really passionate about it. I wish to never ever harm an animal and to treat them with all the love my heart is capable of! If I could, I would help and adopt every single animal and care for them lovingly.

I'm quite clingy and like to be surrounded by everything that's even remotely that of someone who's close to me. If I could, I would spend every minute with them and feel as (physicially and emotionally) close to them as possible.

I'm longing for someone to fall in love with me, accepting and supporting me just as I'm. I'm not easy to get along with and I'm used to feel like a outcast and weirdo, I believe that putting up with me is quite a burden, which I also don't wish to put upon someone. I don't need a lot of people around me, just one fully by my side is more than enough!

Thank you so much! 💕

sorry this took so long, my dude, i've been busy as hell lately :(

I ship you with... Steve Harrington!

I ship you with Steve Harrington! The biggest plot points in your relationship would be your shared desire for a deep connection with someone and both of you being hopeless romantics. Steve doesn't want just a girlfriend, but he wants someone who would he can confide in and who can be his other half. He's a good person to rely on too, he'd take the time with you to understand your complex emotions and thought and make sure you feel heard and seen at all times when it comes to that. He'd admire how passionate you get about the things you enjoy and the things you stand for. Even if you can't speak your mind loudly at times, Steve will always make sure you're taken care of <3

What he likes about you...

physically speaking, he'd love everything about you even if you have a ton of doubt about yourself. he'd love your curves and he'd especially love how much shorter you are than him. perfect height for forehead kisses! he also loves your style. he was a bit intimidated a first, but it evaporated as soon as he started talking to you

he'd love how you sit and you take your time with things and how passionate you are about your interest and your beliefs. honestly, he'd probably try and go vegan with you but he's not too ready to give up meat just yet.

he loves how you opened up to him once you both started becoming friends and talking more. at first, he was intimidated, funnily enough, by your clothes and demeanor, but was pleasantly surprised once he started to get to know you. it wasn't long before he fell, and steve harrington falls hard. he felt so fucking lucky once he got to know you, he couldn't imagine it any other way

Dating him would include...

get ready to never have another moment of alone time ever again. he's literally the clingiest person alive, but honestly it goes great with you! he's very physically clingy, that's for sure. you're never gonna go anywhere without him having an arm around you and showing you off to everyone. even when you're alone with him, he'd be holding your hands or cuddled up against you. and man, there'd be a shit ton of kisses. all the time, everywhere <3

him comforting you a lot. once you both start dating, he notices a lot of unease on your part, which is crazy to him. you're the most perfect girl in the world, how could you be nervous about dating him? once he figure it out though, it's non stop comfort from there on out. lot's a nights would be spent of him cuddled up next to you and making sure you feel nice and loved !!

attention. just in general, you're gonna be getting a lot of attention from him, and a ton from his friends as well. dustin would definitely like you, and just like that, you became dustin's other other mom along side steve. he'd introduce you to all the people he hangs out with on the daily or often, including robin! sooner or later, the all of you would become a little trio. if you didn't have friends before, you definitely do now :)

#steve harrington #steven harrington x reader #stranger things #st ship request

[druidx]

Storm Force

Universe: The MOW Files (Original series) CW: Vomiting, medical emergency, alcohol, fictitious religion. Words: 2,200 Date of Creation: 2005-09-10 Context: Written for a creative writing correspondence course. Please note the date of creation; this work has not been edited from the original, and is therefore not indicative of my current skill-level.

Asuka vomited. Her stomach heaved, projecting bile and last night’s meal through her oesophagus and out of her mouth into the toilet bowl. She sank back against the head wall, eyes streaming, gasping for breath. It was insane to think that mere moments before she’d been cosily asleep...

She’d been woken up in transit from her bunk to the floor. Alarms screeched and red lights flashed on and off. Cursing, she had tried to stand, but the floor had plummeted away from her foot. Asuka recalled how her head had swum. She’d tried again, but this time the floor had come up to meet her, but swung sickeningly away at the last. Nausea had gripped her. She’d clamped a hand over her mouth and made it to the heads just in time.

Now she sat, the deck heaving below her, as her thoughts ran: What in the hell is going on? Space Ships aren’t supposed to... to do whatever this is doing!

"Asuka!" Her cabin door crashed open. She looked over, then wished she hadn’t. A large man dressed in only shorts seemed to be bobbing up and down towards her. "Gurn, don’t do that, you’ll make me -" she vomited again. Gurn patiently held her hair until she was done. "Asuka, this is not the time to get sick. I need your help," he told her. She nodded miserably, eyes tight shut. "What’s going on?" she asked, her voice raspy from the acid assault on it. "A solar storm. We -" "Ah! You poor child." A new voice entered the room. "Asuka, I’m sorry, I don’t have time-" "I know," she told him. "Go." She felt Gurn touch her shoulder in affirmation. "Padre, would you?" Padre? "Yes, of course." That was the new voice again. She heard running water and a glass was pressed into her hands. Padre... Padre Williams. Oh yes, this is all his fault....

We, Gurn and I, we’re at the Atlantis space port on Earth, an archipelago of man-made islands in the middle of the North Pacific. We’ve just finished a job, and we’re hanging around with the other hauliers having a breather, when this man, this Padre of Gaia, turns up. I see him going around, asking something, and being turned down by everyone. I don’t really pay much attention. Until he stands in the middle of us, and begs: "Please, one of you must be brave enough -" "Or stupid enough!" yells an anonymous voice. "- to help me get this aid to the Venusians. They are in such dire need!" "No offence to you or your cloth Padre, but you’re insane." I’m surprised to see it’s Talon Dangay speaking, one half of the famous ‘Dangerous’ Dangay twins. "You’ll never get anyone t’risk life and ship out there." For a moment I’m confused about what he’s meaning, but then I remember the reports from the PlaNet yesterday: ‘Thousands feared dead in the worst storms to hit Venus yet!’; ‘The poorest Freelancers beg for aid!’; ‘MOW refusing to get involved!’; ‘’Ship owners warned away from the area, due to solar winds gusting to over 1000 kilometres per second!’.

I come back from the thought to hear the Padre say: "But, we can pay!" "Padre, even MOW don’t have enough cash to send us out there." This is from ‘Burly’ Mike Saffield, as famous as the Dangay twins. I look around. Most of the hauliers are nodding in agreement with Burly, all are avoiding the Padre’s eye. The poor Padre himself looks distraught, as if he can’t believe these men could be so uncharitable. I glance at my partner in crime. He is frowning. I know what he’s thinking. "It’s going to be highly dangerous." I tell him in a low voice. "The PlaNet reports that the weather conditions are still extremely unstable." "Those people need help." He muses, also sotto vocé. I shrug. "You’re the pilot." He gives me a look. I fix him with one of my own. "This could be a good opportunity for us." He raises a questioning eyebrow. "The three most fearless men in the system won’t touch it, and Padre here is getting desperate. It’s about time we got a reputation." I look deep into his eyes. They are smiling. "All yours Princess," he tells me. I grin back.

As I step into the circle around the Padre, I notice some of the others have begun to drift away. The Padre sounds close to tears: "Will no one help me?" I clear my throat. "Yes Padre." My resonant voice is all that’s needed to make people pay attention again. "The crew of the Narin, Gurn Tepper and myself, Asuka Rackell, will take on your contract." Silence meets my proclamation; I can feel at least 20 pairs of eyes on me. Somewhere, someone starts to laugh. As it goes from a small chuckle to an open-throated guffaw, I can see who it is: Burly. "Something funny Saffield?" Cool, and calm, emphasis on the ‘funny’. His laughter dies to a gurgle as he looks at me and tells me quite emphatically: "Rackell, you and your buddy are nuts."

As she sipped at the water, the only thought in Asuka’s head was, Yeah, we sure are. "Miss Rackell?" The Padre’s words brought her back to the present. "So, you’ve a touch of sea sickness then?" She opened an eye at him. "Padre, we’re in space," she rasped. "True, but ‘tis the rocking of the boat making you ill, for sure." "Bollocks," she told him, before the deck lurched to one side and she swallowed bile again. "D’you not have any travel pills?" The Padre asked when she’d recovered. "Top drawer, bedside locker. They ain’t travel pills, but they should do." She shut her eye again, rather than watch him sway, and shivered. Oh Gaia! She moaned to herself. At least when I have a hangover I can say, ‘I sure had a good time last night’… "It’s okay, you can open your eyes again now." The Padre was back, and pressing two stomach settlers into her hand. She swallowed them quickly, gulping down the water. "Thank you Padre."

--

Gurn was studying the controls when Asuka walked in, ashen faced and shivering. A thousand derisory remarks crossed through his brain: Nice of you to turn up; Wonderful situation you’ve gotten us into; Did I mention we’re all going to die? Instead he merely asked, in his coldest voice: "Where’s the Padre?" "I asked him to check the cargo." Asuka staggered over to where he stood, trying to make sense of the readings. They stood in silence, before: "You’re angry at me," she said quietly. "Why, specifically, this time?" Oh, I’m not angry. How could I be? You only convinced me to go on a suicide mission. You only pandered to my conscience. You’ve only made dead fools of us, stupid girl! "I’m not. We have problems though." He gesticulated to a flashing console. "We got caught in a solar wind, but our alarms didn’t go off." "Go on." "Debris, mainly large flat plates of metal, also got caught up in the wind. They’ve damaged the thrusters." "Well, that’s not too bad. We can just repair or replace them, can’t we?" "We could… Normally." "Normally?" Asuka’s voice was full of dread. "The part that needs replacing is on the outside. Have you seen the levels of radiation out there?" He flicked a hand at a bar chart, and Asuka looked. The bar was into the upper yellow. "I don’t know if I’ll be able to fix it. And there is another thing," his voice was accusatory, "I think some of the debris scratched the anti-radiation paint on the outer hull. The longer we stay here, the more at risk we are from getting poisoned." Asuka stared at the bar as it fluctuated occasionally. The hum of the engine seemed to fill her world, only punctuated with the occasional mechanical blip, as Gurn’s words sank in. "Oh," she said finally. "Yeah. ‘Oh’," he repeated sarcastically. Asuka turned slowly towards him, her eyes glazed over and staring into the middle distance. "What, then, are we waiting for, exactly?"

--

A shot of whisky and three coffee chasers later Asuka was feeling back to her normal self, and consequently was arguing with a barely tolerant Gurn. "Gurn, you don’t have to do this," she told him as he pulled on an artificial environment suit. "I know how to fix the thruster just as well as you do. You showed me, remember, back on Io." "I remember Asuka. But that was on land, not zero gravity. It’s very different. Besides, since you’re better, I need you in command." "The Padre can do it. You can't go out there alone!" "I will be fine. You are staying inside." "But-" "Get to the bridge." "But-" "Asuka!" "FINE!" Asuka stomped halfway up the stairs, before she checked herself. She turned back and yelled back down the stairs. "Just don't do something stupid, like getting yourself killed!"

Gurn watched her as she stamped up the stairs, before turning back to his preparations. "An interesting way of showing affection, t’be sure," the Padre observed. "I'd hardly call it affection Padre," Gurn replied, strapping a tool kit to his AE suit. "Hand me that box please." "So why’s she got you all a-fluster?" Padre Williams asked, handing Gurn the requested box. "I'm not angry." "Denial is not so healthy." Gurn stopped, and looked at the Padre. "Am I really that transparent?" The Padre smiled. "I've had a lot of practice in reading people. Part o’the job." Gurn nodded, pulled on his helmet and moved to the air lock. "Ready?" Gurn nodded again, and the Padre opened the door. As he waited for the de-pressurisation the comm crackled. "Hey, Gurn?" Came Asuka’s voice. "What?" "Whatever I did, I’m sorry. You are a-go ."

--

From the bridge, Asuka and the Padre watched with some trepidation as a white blob moved around a vector graphic of the Narin. Though his AE suit was the best money could buy, it was still not designed to protect from radiation this high. Asuka knew if Gurn took a direct hit of gamma rays, he was cancerous toast.

She was still deep in thought, when the Padre reached past her and pointed to the graphic. "What's that?" he asked. Asuka looked. "Holy Gaia…" She hit the comm button. "Gurn, do you copy?" She looked at how far the white blob had got. He was at the back of the ship, and had evidently started repairs. "What is it?" came the crackly response. "Gurn, there is a wind heading for us, possibly bringing debris-" As she spoke, a chunk of metal hit the ship, making it rock and sending them flying. Asuka clambered to her feet. "Gurn. Gurn!" she screamed into the comm. Static. "Gurn!" "Quit yellin'. I'm here." Asuka sank to her knees. "Oh thank Gaia. Gurn, I though -" "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Shadup and let me get back to work." "Yes Gurn," Asuka replied meekly, but smiled.

--

Half an hour later Gurn radioed in to say he was on his way back. "How are you doing?" Padre Williams asked. "Is Asuka there?" Came the crackled reply. "No, she isn’t." "Good. I’m not so hot, Padre. I think. I think I’ve been out here too long. I think I might be sick." "Gaia preserve… I’ll get her-" "No, I can make it back. Forgive me Padre, for I have sinned…" There was hoarse laughter. "Mr Tepper, I have no intention of taking your last confession. You can tell her yourself." "Padre!" But the priest was already on his way to get Asuka suited up.

--

Asuka stepped out of the air lock into the cold reaches of space, and walked towards an ailing Gurn. "C’mon," she told him. "I’m fine Asuka." "Liar." She lifted his arm and put it over her shoulder, reached around his waist and nudged him forward. "Why are you doing this?" he asked her. "We’re partners Gurn. For whatever reason we’re not seeing eye to eye right now, but I want us to stay partners. That means you don’t get to die." She propelled them both forward again. "Asuka… I didn’t think we would make it. I was angry at you for bringing us out here-" "Now tell me something I don’t know." "I’m… I’m sorry." Asuka smiled at him. "Good," she told him as the the air lock opened and they re-pressurised. Padre Williams helped her bring Gurn into the hold, de-suit him and get him into bed. "Now you’d damn better get well. Padre and I won’t be able to shift all those aid packages by ourselves once we reach Venus." She squeezed Gurn’s shoulder before leaving the Padre to minister to him. "Padre, you were right," he said. "She does have an odd way of showing affection."

#cw vomiting #cw medical emergency #cw alcohol #the mow files #oc asuka rackell #oc gurn tepper #wandering words #for posterity #past me had an obsession with jumping to first person in order to do a flashback #past me also had an obsession with italics. omg wtf was I thinking? #also these two were like - permanently angry at each other when the 'camera' was on them. I swear they get along outside of my stories #or they wouldn't still be working together!

[ahundredtimesover]

Inevitable (05) | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader (ft. ot6)

Genre/Tags: exes au, parents au, baseball player!JK; angst, fluff, smut (18+)

Series Warnings: foul language, alcohol consumption, minor character death, explicit sexual content in future chapters (oral, unprotected/protected sex but be safe please!)

Chapter Word count: 7.5k

Summary: You convinced Jungkook to break up years ago so he could pursue his lifelong baseball dream. Now he’s back home, staring at you, and the little boy next to you who looks unmistakably like him.

Series Masterlist || Previous || Next

##

You’re met with silence on the other end of the phone as a response that you start to consider Jungkook having fainted or something. But you hear a long drawn out breath and sniffles instead, and you will yourself not to cry again. 

It’s been an emotional night, one you’ve been waiting for, and you wanted nothing more than to deliver the good news as soon as possible.

“That’s… that’s great, ___. Wow, uhm, he really said that? That he wishes I was his Papa? Like, it came from him? He drew me with you and him?” Jungkook asks, voice shaky. 

“And Mr. Choochoo,” you add.

“And Mr. Choochoo, of course,” he laughs.

“But yes, that’s what he said. He was shy about it, too but god, Jungkook, he looked so soft,” you huff, a smile on your face now as you recall how Jungwon looked earlier. 

“He saw me shocked, though, so he just smiled, said it was okay because he knows whoever his Papa is will find him soon,” you narrate, recalling how that caused you to ready Jungwon for bed immediately so that he doesn’t see you cry, which you did, silently, as you watched him fall asleep. 

“God, he’s so precious,” Jungkook cry-laughs. 

You bask in the sound of his voice, so tender and full of yearning. And you wish so badly you can see him right now, knowing how important this moment is for him. 

“I really wish I could take the train back home tonight,” he says, frustration in his voice. 

“You have a game in the morning, Jungkook. It’s okay. Just use it as inspiration. We’ll be here when you get back and we can tell him,” you affirm. 

The phone call goes on for another hour as you discuss how you’ll both tell Jungwon tomorrow. You go through different scripts, different scenarios, and possible reactions to make sure you’re ready. 

Even with Jungwon’s openness, he’s still just a kid; you can’t truly be certain how he’ll react and if he’ll understand. But you try to focus on the best case scenario and that’s him, taking it all in and accepting Jungkook, loving him the way his father loves him.

You fall asleep with Jungwon curled next to you, enveloped in your arms, in your love, the one you’ve given unconditionally the last five years as you nursed a broken heart and quelled the longing you’ve had for his father. 

You knew what you were doing that night when you walked out of Jungkook’s life. It wasn’t a goodbye, although you had to make it seem like it was; you felt that it was the only way he’d let you go. It wasn’t the same for you, though, because you knew that the moment you’d birth your child, you’d be seeing Jungkook every single day - a reminder of what your love can create, and what it can endure. And what you’ll continue to endure for the sake of your child.

It’s a big step, letting Jungwon know. The priority after would be making up for the lost time, the time that you denied them. You can’t say that you regret the decision you made all those years ago but you also can’t say that you’ll make it every single time; you’ll stand by it always, though. 

All that time, it at least comforted you that Jungkook was living out his dream, the one that mattered to him more than anything else, because his father mattered to him more than anyone else. He shined so bright in Jungkook’s eyes, and even with the short life that he lived, Jungkook’s father lived it passionately, courageously, fiercely, and with no regrets. 

It’s why Jungkook loved him with his whole heart. And it’s what you’ve always wanted your child to feel towards the man who deserves the world. You want Jungwon to always look up to his father with wide eyes and a beaming heart at the passionate, courageous, and loving man that he is, at the man with no regrets. 

If things get hard and you can trace it to the decision you made, you can shoulder that regret, you can live with it. As long as Jungkook doesn’t have to. You love him that much. You know now more than ever that you’ll love him always. 

**

It takes a while for Jungkook to step in your doorway as he takes deep breaths. You look at each other longer this time, as you share your first parent moment together - telling your son the truth. 

“He’s waiting for you,” you say to him. 

Jungkook nods and follows you to your living room where a Bears-jersey clad Jungwon is playing with a piano that his uncle Yoongi - whom he’s never actually met - gave him.

“Hey buddy, you watched my game?” Jungkook asks as he kneels in front of the little one, who timidly nods and proceeds to nibble on his lips.

He’s been quiet the whole day. Your son has this natural ability to feel with others, and you think he saw the melancholic look on your face the night before and probably mistook it for sadness. 

“You think I played well?” 

Jungwon nods again, avoiding the older man’s eyes.

Jungkook motions him to sit on the couch and you join Jungkook on the floor, eyes level with the little one.

“So, Mama told me you colored Mr. Choochoo yesterday at school. I’ve learned to really like Mr. Choochoo,” Jungkook says, picking up the elephant stuffed toy on the table. “Is it okay if I see it?”

Jungwon looks at his hands gripping each other on his lap, then shakes his head no.

You discussed this with Jungkook, how Jungwon would probably feel shy and nervous, maybe even guilty for wishing such a thing.

“Hmm, is it okay if you tell me how you colored Mr. Choochoo? And if you drew anything else? Mama told me it was really pretty.” 

The little one remains silent, eyes still not meeting yours nor Jungkook’s. 

“Hey sweetcheeks,” you try, gently lifting his chin up to look at you. “You might have thought Mama was sad last night, huh? You think I got upset after you showed me the drawing?”

He slightly nods. 

“I wasn’t upset, okay?” You reply softly. “I was actually very happy. I should have told you that I wasn’t sad at all. I should tell you next time what I really feel, I know that now.”

Jungwon finally looks at you and holds your gaze.

“Cookie is asking to see your drawing because I told him what you said,” and you hold his hands, as his eyes widen, to try and calm him down. “But he’s not sad about it, you see? Cookie was really happy too. And he hopes you can tell him what you told me.”

You and Jungkook let him have his time, let him process things in a way a soon-to-be 5 year old can. Even with this, you still want it to be on his terms, even if you may have led him there somehow.

Jungwon turns to his hands on his lap again, as if contemplating his next words.

“I said I wish Cookie was my Papa,” he whispers after some time; it’s so faint you could easily miss it. 

Next to you, Jungkook holds his breath.

“I really wish that too, buddy,” he finally says, lowering his head to meet Jungwon’s face. “But you know what? We don’t have to keep wishing anymore. Because you see…” He clears his throat and swallows hard, prompting Jungwon to look up at him.

“Buddy, I am your Papa, okay? I…” he continues, struggling with his words. “I… You… You don’t have to be scared about it because I’m here, Papa is here. And Papa loves you very much. The way Mama loves you.”

Jungwon looks at you, as if to get your confirmation. You nod at him, affirming him that it’s okay. It’s a very drawn out conversation. It’s torturous but you also know it’s necessary. 

“You’re my Papa?” 

“Yes, buddy, I am,” Jungkook smiles, the same time the tears stream down his face. “I am,” he whispers repeatedly, so softly, as if begging the little one to believe him.

Jungwon reaches out his tiny hand and wipes the tears off Jungkook’s cheek, a gentle smile slowly forming on the little one’s lips as his eyes get wider. Then he leans forward and wraps his little arms around his father’s neck. 

Jungkook is so shocked that it takes him a while to register what’s happening, and he hugs the boy back before it’s too late. Jungwon’s hugged him before but not like this, and this is definitely worth the wait.

“I have a Papa now,” he says, something you pick up, too in the silence that’s enveloping the three of you. At this, Jungkook hugs tightly and shuts his eyes to let more tears fall. 

He tries to steady his breath, careful not to be too hysterical because he wants to bask in this, he wants to savor this - savor his son call him Papa, savor his tiny body cling onto him, savor this feeling of holding the one person he never thought he could love with his whole heart because he didn’t think he’d even be able to create someone as precious as him. 

“Yes, Jungwon. You have me now, and I have you now, okay? And I love you so, so much,” Jungkook says, eyes still shut at the overwhelming feeling of joy and adoration. 

For years he didn’t even know that Jungwon existed. At the first sight of him next to you, Jungkook had this strange feeling of familiarity over someone he’s never met, but those eyes that shone as bright and as wide as his told him something, showed him something that was missing. 

The past months of getting to know his son just proved the connection that binds them together, the love that’s meant to exist not just by nature but by will. Jungkook has loved his son since he knew that Jungwon was his and it only made the desire for the truth stronger. This moment will stay with Jungkook for the rest of his life.

And you’re there to witness it all. 

By now, you’re standing by the couch, letting the two have their moment. You’ve let but one tear fall because you know that Jungwon’s attention will be brought to you once he sees you crying but you want it all on his father. You want them to have their time together, to let that undeniable connection grow and deepen even more.

Jungkook finally pulls away and looks at his son, who has glassy eyes and a shy smile like him. 

Jungwon jumps off the couch and scurries to the room, leaving a surprised Jungkook. But you know what your son is up to. Not long after, he runs out and hands Jungkook the artwork of his family - a very large Mr. Choochoo with him, you, and Jungkook.

“That’s you!” Jungwon declares, joyful disposition now back. 

“We’re matching, huh, buddy? You like it when we look like that?” Jungkook asks, sniffing his cries away.

“Yes! I want to look like you,” Jungwon says softly.

“You already look like me,” the older man giggles.

“I want like this,” the younger one states, pointing to the whole ensemble. 

They go back-and-forth and you laugh at them, heart warming at the thought that this will be a more common sight in your household now, as you know that Jungkook will want more of this to make sure that his son won’t feel neglected by him. 

Any other talk about schedules and what this new development would mean to both of you are conversations for another day, you decide. And you let this be for now.

**

The scent of beef stew wafts through your whole apartment and you pat yourself on the back for being able to make it as appetizing as this. You knew this had to be dinner tonight, whether things went well or not. 

The rice is cooking, the muffins look good in the oven, and the sound of father and son laughing is competing with the thrumming of your heart. 

It’s just been a few hours since you and Jungkook revealed the truth, with Jungwon’s reaction so much better than you expected. It might have caused Jungkook a bit of a heart attack but he’ll take anything as long as the little one accepts him. 

Since then, the pair has gone on to play a bit of music - with the older man on xylophone duty, and have storytelling, with Jungwon insisting that Jungkook will be the one to read him Lion King from now on because you definitely can’t make your voice as low as Mufasa’s. 

You got through two photo albums, too, with Jungkook insisting so he could at least feel like he hasn’t missed much. You were telling stories to the men, answering questions from them both. 

There was that first haircut, the first holiday, the first snow. There was that first stroll down the park, the first swing, the first trip to the beach. There were his first friends, his first day at daycare, then his first day at preschool. 

In most photos, there were your parents, your brother, your best friend - the constants in your life who have become constants in Jungwon’s, as well, who protected and loved him with their whole hearts, too. And Jungwon has loved them just the same. 

You knew there was always something missing, and for some reason, you believe that Jungwon knew that, too. 

He never asked to be spoiled by his uncles, never begged for their attention, never asked for more. Even if they were his usual babysitters on nights when you had to pull in more work hours, there was a connection but never the kind of attachment you’d expect from a little kid who probably wonders why he doesn’t have a father that he sees everyday. He clung to his uncles for love and support for as long as they were around.

But he would ask about Jungkook in his little ways, ever since he knew him as the man who fixed his toy airplane, who twirled him around and tossed him up and hugged him with every fall back to strong arms. 

He was never rowdy around Jungkook the way he’d be with Taehyung - who sometimes was more of the child than your son - or not as attentive the way he’d be with Namjoon, although even you’d be intimidated with your brother’s professor-tone of voice and disposition. 

With Jungkook, Jungwon was himself. Maybe it’s because they’re alike in many ways; maybe it’s because he sees someone who resembles him, laughs like him, enjoys the same things as him. Regardless, it’s like with Jungkook, Jungwon felt understood, seen. 

Each man’s love had been deliberate but because Jungkook had loved his son unconditionally since he knew, somehow you can’t help but think that Jungwon always felt that, too.

You think about all this as you watch both of them make figures out of clay, with Jungkook helping and molding whatever shape Jungwon asks him. They look so good together, so free, so full of love. 

Your lips begin to quiver as the emotions from last night and earlier today start to consume you, given that you’ve been holding them back for fear of upsetting Jungwon and taking away the moment of father and son.

Jungwon tells you everyday that he loves you, he’s a sweet kid like that. But you know that he’s also capable of loving another the same way, and that person is sitting next to him. He looks so happy, so content, so safe, like how he’s always been with you.

And Jungkook radiates with so much joy, too, with so much love and affection. He looks just as happy, as content, as safe. 

As Jungwon lifts up his finished product - a brown figure in white - and exclaims “Papa, I made you,” you lose it. 

You cover your mouth before anything comes out to muffle the sound but your wails spill right through, strangled cries and gasps for air filling the apartment now. 

Your one hand holds onto the end of the counter as the other one covers your mouth, an insufficient effort to not get the attention of either man just a few feet away. It’s uncontrollable now and you feel your face is soaking wet, eyes stinging from how tightly you’re trying to shut them. 

You’re still trying to hold it in until strong arms engulf you, and your face lands on a sturdy chest, the heart underneath it beating almost as fast as yours. 

“It’s okay, ___. Cry it out. It’s okay,” Jungkook says, his arms gripping you tighter, hands sliding up and down on your back. 

Your hand moves from your mouth to his chest, joining the other one, as they grip on his shirt and you cry, probably the hardest you have in a while.

“I’m so sorry, Jungkook. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to take this all away from you, I’m sorry. Please forgive me,” you sob. 

“I kept him away from you for so long and I denied you all this,” you continue in between cries. “I denied you both this happiness, this love. Jungkook, I’m sorry.”

Your words are muffled as you shout it all on his chest, his shirt undoubtedly soaked by now. 

But he hears you, he hears everything, feels the beat of your heart and the desperation in your voice and the guilt in your words as you grip on his collar for dear life, as if doing so can heal the wounds that have marked you just the same. 

“It’s okay, ___. I forgive you. It’s okay,” he affirms.

He wonders if you had someone to hold you like this during the times you cried, or if you ever allowed yourself to be like this in front of others. 

Jungkook wishes that he could have, that he was there for you; maybe you wouldn’t be crying so hard if he was. You wouldn’t have had to carry all this burden by yourself if that was the case. 

He remains like this, letting his heat give you the warmth you need, with hope that it could be enough to ease all the pain and worry from before, during the times you were alone, or felt alone.

He continues massaging your back, his lips leaving pecks on the top of your head as if you can feel them, but he does it anyway. He does what he used to do to comfort you, hoping it would work because he never had to do this while you were sobbing, because you never really did that with him. He knew what to do when you were stressed or frustrated or flustered, exactly like this. 

He doesn’t know what to do when you cry.

Your breath starts to steady, your tears not waterfalling as they were just earlier, and you slowly pull yourself away. Jungkook lingers though, his hands still on your arms, caressing them. 

You’re startled as you see wide eyes staring up at you, a frown now spreading across Jungwon’s face. This is why you didn’t wanna cry, not right now at least. 

“Mama?” He calls out.

You carry him because it’s been a mother-and-son thing to comfort each other when one is sad, as such emotion is something you’ve learned to easily share with each other. 

“Hey, sweetcheeks,” you say, as you try to wipe off your tears from your face even if new ones fall right after. 

He runs his little hands through your tear-stained face, as if they can do more than your big ones but you giggle at the act anyway. 

“It’s okay, Mama. I love you, Mama.” 

You hug him this time, and you hug him tightly. 

Jungkook weakens at the sight, as if he could cry again at this moment. You sounded so hurt crying on his chest earlier and now you look so vulnerable, so scared, things he’d rarely seen you be. But you look so soft, so tender, as you envelope your son in an embrace. 

He wants to do that with you too, with both of you. He wants to remove the damp hair that’s stuck on your forehead away, tuck it behind your ear and wipe the tears that continue to fall. But he holds himself back, afraid to undo the progress between the both of you. 

Jungwon pulls away and starts to kiss your cheek, the way he always would. You love this part because you’re reminded of just how much of an affectionate and loving little boy he is, and you can’t help but feel comforted and safe. 

“Mama stops crying when I kiss her,” Jungwon turns to Jungkook and reaches out his hand, which the older man takes and he’s pulled closer to you both. 

“Papa, you should kiss her, too so she stops crying,” he says, pulling Jungkook nearer.

You laugh at this to mask the nervousness you’re feeling, thankful that your warm cheeks can hide how flushed you now are because of your son’s proposition. 

Not wanting to disappoint his son - and more, definitely more - Jungkook removes the damp hair from your face, tucks it behind your ear then kisses your forehead. 

It’s not much but he lets it linger. He wants to let you know through this the words he’s not ready to say, to give you the comfort he wishes he got to give before. 

You close your eyes and just this once, you let yourself feel it, feel his lips on your skin again, feel the words he doesn’t say. 

Jungkook looks at you with so much affection, and then he giggles, then you giggle, and Jungwon wraps his arms around your neck and whines that he’s hungry. 

It’s so intimate, so real. And you can’t help but feel something for the first time in a long time. 

You feel complete.

**

“Mama, look! Is it nice?” Jungwon asks, as he turns to you sporting an Ironman helmet. 

This is the third one he’s tried and you just know he has his tiny smile on behind it. His voice is muffled but you make out the words.

“Yes, bug. But it looks big, maybe look for another one?” You respond.

“He’ll grow into it, it’s the only kids’ size they have,” Jungkook counters, as he helps Jungwon remove the thing on his head and the little one scurries to the next shelf. “It’s the one with the most features and sound effects.”

“What does he need more features for? The lights are fine,” you argue.

“For combat, ___. We need features for combat,” Jungkook deadpans.

You roll your eyes because he’s taking this whole shopping thing too seriously. 

After the other week’s momentous occasion, which called for a celebratory lunch with all your friends - including Yoongi and Hoseok who finally got to meet the little one, albeit briefly since they’re new faces - it has been a smooth transition for Jungkook and Jungwon, who all of a sudden have a handshake and secret language of their own. It’s adorable though, the way they whisper and laugh like they’re in their own little world. 

You’re currently in a store that houses the best collection of Ironman merchandise - according to Jungkook, who’s apparently done his research - and Jungwon came in looking like he’d entered some wardrobe to Narnia but his face had been the cutest it’s ever been and you take it. 

You’ve never been here before because of the intimidating size of the place and you always wanted to limit the toys you’d get for Jungwon; he has enough people spoiling him with those, except maybe your brother who’s taken to giving the little one books and plants instead, because, well, it’s Namjoon. You’re thankful for those, though.

“Do you think the material of this beach towel is as water absorbent as it says it is? Or should I just get this other one instead? But the print isn’t as nice,” Jungkook asks, and you scowl at him because “really, an Ironman beach towel?” 

“That’s not necessary, Jungkook, and you said you wouldn’t spoil him.”

“I said I wouldn’t spoil him right away, and it’s been two weeks so I think it’s okay. Plus, look at him. He looks so excited and in awe with everything that’s in here.”

“Which is why I never brought him here but someone was being a baby about it,” you glare at him, recalling how earlier in the day, Jungkook was pouting at you and repeating ‘please’ like a mantra for you to agree with coming here so he could buy Jungwon more Ironman toys. 

“I couldn’t resist that face,” he shares.

“Exactly. That’s why I don’t give him an opening,” you say. “But really though, watch him explore and inspect but he’ll only get 3 items max.”

“But he said he liked the car, and the remote-controlled figure, and the one with the combat pack, and the motion-activated repulsors, and the arc reactor…”

You stand with your arms crossed, a knowing look on your face. “Did he say that or you asked?”

“Well, he agreed…”

And it’s taking so much of you not to pinch the cheeks of this grown man who’s been caught in a little lie. Jungkook looks so adorable, the look on his face is exactly how you remember it to be whenever he’d been in a toy store or a baseball store.

“Of course he would. Because you probably looked so excited,” you laugh. “I told you how he is, he doesn’t like turning people down. Plus, he probably wanted to impress you, too, by liking everything you like.”

Jungkook nods in agreement, knowing how his son is. Even with his shy nature, he’s probably the type to quietly sit next to a kid who doesn’t have friends or share his snacks with someone who doesn’t have much. 

Jungkook smiles at this, a bit of worry that the little one may be taken advantage of but perhaps teaching him to stand up for himself is a better problem to have. 

You both watch Jungwon pick up a few things, inspect them, then return them on the shelf.

“You know he’d be wanting that growing up, right? Getting his old man’s approval, bonding with you like that?” You ask Jungkook as you both walk towards where Jungwon is. 

You don’t have to say anything more and what that would imply because Jungkook knows. He’d thought about this a lot, how as much as he wants Jungwon to like the same things he does, he wouldn’t want to impose, wouldn’t want the kid to grow up thinking he has to constantly get approval from his old man. 

Jungkook knows what that’s like, and much as he loves his own father, he knows that it was deliberate, too, making him fall in love with baseball. 

“Okay, buddy,” Jungkook asks as he kneels down next to Jungwon. “So, you still have some toys at home so why don’t we pick just a few things, alright? Maybe around 4?”

You giggle next to them because Jungkook would always push it.

Jungwon nods and looks at the shopping cart shyly. 

“I like everything in this whole store so go get what you want, okay?” Jungkook claims after you nudge him. 

The little one smiles and runs to another aisle, with you and Jungkook on his tail. Jungwon ends up choosing a plush toy, a simpler pair of repulsor gloves, an electronic watch, and the helmet that Jungkook said had more features, which is the only one that was retained from the initial choices. 

“Yes, okay. I’ll do better next time,” Jungkook laughs, and his heart melts at your cocked eyebrow and triumphant smile.

You all walk towards the counter, a skipping Jungwon in front of you, then you hear a loud gasp that causes even the little one to stop and turn towards his father.

Jungkook stops in front of the clothing section, mouth agape at a shirt that has an arc reactor on the chest, definitely a better option than the toy from earlier. His eyes are wide and you know he’s begging in his head for Jungwon to notice this.

But he doesn’t. The little one looks up and eyes a maroon shirt with a simple Ironman graphic on it instead. It's a kids’ size right next to an adult one, and Jungkook’s face falls a little before he smiles. 

“You like that, sweetcheeks?” You ask him, and Jungwon replies with a nod. 

“Okay, let’s get it then,” you smile.

“Can you and Papa get too?” He asks.

You laugh at this. “He’s really your kid,” you whisper to Jungkook, whose smile is so soft at the thought of his son wanting matching shirts. 

“Of course, buddy,” he says, looking for sizes for all three of you.

You resume your walk to the counter, with Jungkook mumbling that he also liked the “I love you 3000” shirt and was hoping that Jungwon would choose it.

“He won’t get it,” you respond. 

“What? Don’t tell me you’ve never watched Endgame!” Jungkook asks in shock.

“I have, he hasn’t.”

“But that’s the best movie ever!” Jungkook exclaims. 

“You’ve seen him cry over Toy Story, Jungkook. How do you think he’ll be when he finds out what happens to his superhero? He’s not ready for that. I’m not ready for that! For all I know, you cried so how do you think he’s gonna react?”

“___, I cried in all Ironman movies, okay? Also, I sobbed in Endgame. Like, at the end and then pretty much the entire movie when I watched it again right after. By myself.”

You snort at this and shake your head at him, but you’re also not surprised. Jungkook’s the softest dork you know who’s definitely not afraid of showing emotions like that. It’s why you two worked so well together, and why you think co-parenting Jungwon wouldn’t be that hard, too. 

In fact, you know it’s going to be a lot of fun, if the past weeks are anything to go by, especially today. Jungkook has such a bright energy, a contrast to how he is on the field. 

Out there, he’s serious, intimidating, and pretty cocky, but that last bit you secretly love for how much of a turn on it is, not just because he has the skills to back it up but because he has this look where he knows he’s good and he’ll make sure the other person will know it, too. You’re not quite sure how Jungwon will take after his father in that way, but you also don’t mind. 

Part of the parenting discussion that you and Jungkook have been having include making sure that Jungwon finds his own self, identifies his own passions, and carves his own path. As parents, you’ll give him as many opportunities and experiences as possible, making sure that he feels loved and appreciated whatever he decides to be. 

You allow yourself this short moment to imagine what it would be like to do more than just co-parent, as Jungwon pulls your hand for him to hold as his other one holds Jungkook’s hand, too, as you walk out the store. 

He sways both his arms and there’s this new kind of glow to his face, a new kind of joy, something that’s more apparent when the three of you are together. You want to see this look on Jungwon everyday if possible, but that might be too much to ask. 

The little one tugs your arm and points to the cotton candy stand and you motion for him to tell his father, as you know that it will still take getting used to for Jungwon to ask Jungkook for things.

“It’s okay,” you whisper. “Papa likes those, too.”

Jungwon takes your word for it and tugs Jungkook’s hand this time and points to the stand, causing the older man’s face to light up. 

You’re carrying the little one as he watches in awe at the way the puffy cloud is shaped into an adorable-looking pig. After a few minutes of admiring it, Jungkook takes a piece and feeds Jungwon, whose eyes close in delight at the taste. His arms are hanging from your neck as he leans closer to Jungkook who alternates feeding himself and his son.

“Not too much, bug,” you say softly. 

He nods and tells you to taste it and you shake your head because sweets aren't really your thing, but you eventually give in to Jungwon's sad face. 

“Papa, feed Mama, too!”

Jungkook notices your scandalized face, although it is just cotton candy, but he’s amused, and a little giddy, too. He knows this isn’t something worthy of rejecting your little boy over so he smiles at you before he feeds you with a small piece of the cloud-like treat.

You make a face and Jungwon laughs at you and you gush at how this whole thing is making him happy. He deserves all this and more.

That night, you and Jungkook tuck him in bed as the little one’s eyes’ droop at the sound of his father’s soft humming of a lullaby, a contented smile gracing his face. 

Jungkook kisses the little one’s forehead and caresses his cheek. “I love you so much, buddy,” he says, and just like Jungwon earlier today, there’s a glow, a new kind of joy on Jungkook’s face. It fits him well, and he looks even more beautiful like this. 

He lingers next to Jungwon and the way he looks just makes you happy, hopeful. You’re collecting moments. You think for now, this is all you can do.

**

It’s been a bad day.

No, scratch that. It’s been a terrible day.

You’d just spent the whole morning arguing with building owners and your head is about to explode. What’s worse is you couldn’t even show exactly how angry you were because Jungwon is with you, and he can’t see his Mama fight people. You also can’t express just how frustrated you are because again, Jungwon is with you and he can’t hear his Mama curse and scream at the world.

Perhaps things have been too good lately. The past couple of weeks have been filled with more outdoor dates, movies and activities at your apartment, baseball games, bonding with the rest of the guys with Jungwon taking a liking to them, especially Hoseok who risks breaking his bones just to hear the little one laugh, and video calls when Jungkook has away games. 

You’re less stressed at work because you can actually focus, since there’s a Jungkook to pick Jungwon up from daycare or look after him when you need to pull an all-nighter.

Perhaps this is the universe’s way of balancing things out because this isn’t the situation you were really hoping for.

Jin opens the door to his loft, the venue of today’s gathering because you’re doing taste tests for his new restaurant. It’s something you’re happy about because at least, you have your friends’ voices of reason for times like this. 

Jungkook notices your agitated face and approaches you. You immediately give Jungwon to him, who smoothly moves from your arms to his father’s, and you stay by the window to try to get yourself together.

Your friends know to leave you be when you’re in distress and Jungkook keeps an eye on you. It’s when you grip your necklace - the moon and stars one that he gave you when you were together - and take deep breaths that he leaves Jungwon with his uncles, and walks over to you. Those had always been your tell.

Calming you down used to be his expertise. He’s not sure about now but you’ve been on such good terms that he thinks it’s worth a try.

“Hey, what’s going on?” He asks, voice laced with worry.

“I…” You start, checking on Jungwon first before you say anything.

“He’s okay, Hoseok and Jimin are playing with him,” Jungkook says.

You move towards where the rest of the guys are and release a long breath.

“So, apparently the apartment we’re supposed to move into in two weeks has mold and the idiot of a building owner insists that it’s okay like that shit’s fine and like I don’t have a kid.” You huff.

“And he won’t give us the corner unit because it’s reserved for when he needs a place for his mistress and he offered the one in the 7th floor! I have a child! And there’s no elevator there!” You exclaim

“And your current apartment?” Yoongi finally asks after a while, everyone else just watching you unload. 

“My lease ends this month and that other idiot of a building owner won’t let me extend it until I find a new place because he says someone’s moving in. I’m friends with his daughter. She said no one’s moving in. He’s just lying because he hates me,” you pant.

“Why does he hate you?” Jungkook asks, tone bitter.

“He’s a grumpy man who, in the very rare times that Jungwon threw tantrums, decided he dislikes little kids.”

“His own probably hates him, since his daughter is ratting him out,” Yoongi says.

“Well, I may have also paid my rent late but like, just thrice in the past year and he just doesn’t have any form of compassion for this hardworking mother who has the sweetest child in the world,” you pout, and Jungkook giggles to himself because you’d never been this dramatic, although the situation does call for a bit of that.

“I’m sure you’ll find another place,” Yoongi offers, like it’s that simple.

“That apartment was in the best location. I was lucky to have even found one there that I could afford, so it’ll take time,” you explain, shoulders sagging now, as if in defeat. “It’s close to the kindergarten that Jungwon is enrolled in for next month and the primary school we plan to enroll him in next year.”

We. Jungkook smiles at this. You’ve been saying that a lot lately. 

“And it’s in a nice district, too, and it’s safe and it has parks nearby. Ugh, stupid assholes had to ruin it for us. And it’s Jungwon’s birthday soon and I was really hoping to be settled by then,” you continue, eyebrows scrunched in frustration.

It’s silent for a while with everyone just staring at you, as if the answer is literally in front of you. 

“So in short, you’ll be homeless in 2 weeks and you need a place to stay,” Yoongi clarifies.

“Yes… well that’s oversimplified but—“

“You do know that you have a whole ass baby daddy here who’s very capable and hoping to—“ Jin grunts, interrupted by a painful elbow to his gut, with Jungkook glaring at him. 

He faces you and smiles, a complete 180 from how he was just with Jin.

“What he actually means is that my apartment is near Jungwon’s school. I have spare bedrooms you can use. It has amenities and parks nearby, and it’s safe,” he says calmly.

Jungkook’s actually nervous about how you’ll take the suggestion. When Jin mentioned having you and Jungwon move in, Jungkook hasn’t stopped thinking about it ever since. He’s glad for the opening, as he wouldn’t know how to bring it up without scaring you away.

“You’re asking me, I mean us, to move in with you? I mean, for now?” You ask nervously. 

“Sure, why not? I mean, if it’s okay with you. It’s practical, you won’t have to worry about anything, and… it’d be nice to come home to, you know…” He clears his throat. “It’d be nice to get to see Jungwon everyday.”

You don’t miss your friends’ looks of agreement; even Namjoon has a soft smile on. 

You still, suddenly nervous at the thought of living with Jungkook, even if you convince yourself that should you agree, it’s just temporary because you still intend to find a place on your own. Your co-parenting discussions with him were always based on the premise of living separately so you don’t think you should stray from that initial plan. 

The guys notice your nervousness and decide to move to the other side of the room to give you and Jungkook some privacy.

You take this time to think about it. While you fear for your heart that would probably flutter and sigh at the thought of seeing your ex-boyfriend everyday, you also know you don’t have that many options.

“I’m not agreeing right now but are you sure you’re okay with that?” You ask Jungkook as he stands in front of you, your eyes anxious to meet his. 

You know it’s a silly question but you need to hear it again, you need to know that it’s something he wants, too. It seems like a practical step but it’s still a big one. More than that, though, you know it would be good for father and son to spend everyday together, and you don’t want to get in between that.

Jungkook senses this and this version of you is someone he knows how to deal with.

“Yes, I am sure. I would very much like for you and Jungwon to stay with me. I think it’ll be easier for all of us. While you, uh, look for—“

“Another place to stay, yes,” you finish. You look at him nervously. 

There’s more you want to say, like things are getting hard and you need more than just to help with Jungwon, you need him. You want to say, too, that the past weeks have been great but it’s also been difficult trying to control your feelings for him, ones you’re sure that never really went away. You want to tell him that you miss his hugs, his kisses, his warmth; you miss his love. 

“Yeah, of course,” he responds, looking away briefly. 

He hears your bated breaths, though, feels your anxiety from where he stands, and he wants nothing more than to ease your worries.

He turns his gaze on you and engulfs your hands in his, his warm touch sending shivers through you. It’s so familiar and something you’ve been yearning for. You return his look and will your heart to still. 

“You’re not alone in worrying about this, okay?” He says, grounding you. “There are options and we’ll figure this out together, and I don’t wanna pressure you but this is kind of a time-sensitive thing,” he smiles. 

“So I’ll be forward and tell you now that I prefer that you and Jungwon stay with me. For how long, I don’t care, we’ll figure that out, too. I just…” He continues. “I'd rather have you there with me. I want you both there with me. It’s much safer and practical.”

There’s no point in delaying it. Whatever the consequences of this arrangement would be, you and Jungkook will figure that out, too. At least you’ll do it together. So you nod your agreement. 

He smiles and pulls you in for a hug, something you both now do when you say your goodbyes, due in part to the not-so-subtle prodding of your son. You know it’s also because Jungkook can tell that you’re stressed over this and just like before, he’s trying to tell you that it’s going to be okay, that you’re not alone in this anymore. 

You bask in Jungkook’s warmth, your arms wrapping tightly around his waist, not minding the snickers and knowing looks of your friends. 

It’s not long before you hear tiny footsteps approaching you and a tug on your shirt. You and Jungkook pull away from the hug and find a wide-eyed Jungwon looking up at you, a soft smile gracing his face. 

“I want a hug, too!” He states, arms raised.

Jungkook laughs and carries the little one in his left arm, with his right one pulling you closer, then settling it lightly on your waist. 

“You jealous, buddy?” Jungkook chuckles, earning a playful glare from you.

“I like it when Mama and Papa hug me,” Jungwon explains. 

“I know, sweetcheeks,” you say, taking a deep breath, knowing there’s no taking this back after. You take the risk, as you look at how Jungkook is looking tenderly at you and it’s giving you hope.

“Will you like it if Mama and Papa hug you everyday?” You ask. “Would you like it, too, if you see Papa everyday?”

The little one nods vigorously, and you and Jungkook laugh at this. 

“Okay, then you will.” You kiss his cheek and look at Jungkook, as if in agreement. “Let’s see Papa everyday, okay bug?”

Jungwon squeals and proceeds to kiss you and Jungkook on the cheeks, another moment that you know you’ll be getting a lot more of moving forward. 

“We’re doing this, huh?” Jungkook asks, as he puts the little one down who’s insisting that his uncles are waiting for him. 

“We are. Together, right?” You respond.

“Together.”

##

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#jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfiction #parents au #exes au #baseball player jk #inevitable #series

[sunasjellyfruit]

Haikyuu boys love language

Nekoma edition.

Karasuno, Aoba Johsai.

Characters: Lev, Fukunaga, Yamamoto, Kenma, Yaku, Kai and Kuroo.

English is not my first language so feel free to correct me.

Lev Haiba.

He's so cute, i can't think of him as someone whose love language isn't words of affirmation. But he's also a bit clumsy and blunt, so one day he can be like "oh no baby, that shirt is horrible, please take it off" trying to be nice and helpful (without thinking that his words might have hurted you) and the next moment after looking at your eyes he would say "well you know what? You always look pretty so don't worry" and then he would kiss your forehead. And he always compliments your style or how you look early in the mornings, so at least you recieve a positive message every day. Oh and Lev is so energetic and cheerful that if you ever feel sad he would try to share his happiness with you by telling you how special you are and how important your actions are.

Shohei Fukunaga.

He's seem to be quiet and supportive with his teammates, and I don't know why but gift giving suits him. And I haven't chosen this because I think that he would spend all his money on you, but because i think that he loves little details. It can be a flower he saw on his way to school that reminded him of you and he took it to give it to you later, or a beautiful ring that his little sister taught him to make with a white stone and some golden wire. And he loves to bake simple recipes like special coffees or cookies and then he would bring them to your next date as a surprise.

Taketora Yamamoto.

He's very similar to Tanaka so words of affirmation would have been the safe option, but once he gets an s/o im sure that he can't keep his hands to himself, he has to touch you (basically physical touch hehe). The moment you two are together, he would first hug you, your arms are so comforting and you are so warm, he loves it so much. Then he would kiss you softly while he mutters a quiet "hello beautiful, how are you today?" (i love him so much omg im so sad rn). And it has become an habit that when you two are sitting together you will rest you head in his shoulder while he has an arm around yours, or gently holding your waist just to squeeze it from time to time to make sure that you're not falling asleep.

Kenma Kozume.

He's my favourite character, im gonna take this to a personal level. We all know that he's reserved and he might be seen as someone cold, while in reality he really cares about others. This is what makes me think that his love language can be either acts of service or quality time. He's not the biggest fan of cuddling or going to fancy dates, but if you two end up in his room, under a blanket and playing videogames then he's definitely having the time of his life. And if you're ever having problems with whatever, he'll be there for you without even thinking about it. You can pass a certain leven in a videogame? He's there to teach you how. You need help with some homework? He's not gonna give you his homework for you to copy it but he will help you and explain it to you so you understand the subject. And if you're ever bored you can call him with the excuse that you don't have anything to do and he will start a list of "things that y/n can do instead of calling me" (don't worry, the first one is visiting him with a videogame for you two to play)

Morisuke Yaku.

Quality time. And he does love dates. It's actually his favourite activity to do with you, take you out wherever you want. If a new film has just been released, then you two are buying two tickets to be the first watching it. And if a new café has been opened then he's taking you there to see how the place is, if the cakes are tasty and all those things. And the best dates are when you try hobbies that the other enjoys. For exaple if you like drawing or painting, Yaku will prepare a date in the park with some food, the perfect ambience for you two to spend the afternoon painting and sharing what you're doing (even if it ends up being a disaster, he loves everything you do). And if you ask him to teach you some volleyball, you have his entire heart, as he would take the opportunity to play (or teach) you while at the same time practice with his teammates. Don't worry, he has told Kuro and Kai to not be very hard with you.

Nobuyuki Kai.

He's calm and polite, and in my opinion words of affirmation suits him pretty well. As the vice-capitan, he's used to encourage the others to give their best and to cheer them, so when he's with you he can't help but to act similar. But he genuinely likes to praise you, because he adores how your face turns red and how you smile as if it was the first time that he mumbles a "I can't believe how beautiful you are". And there's no other person who listens to you as attentively as Kai does, especially if you're talking about something that he thinks is important (which is basically everything that you say). If you're ever stressed about school he's gonna be there for you, checking if you're all right, asking you if you need anything and reminding you that he's there for you.

Tetsurō Kuroo.

As he's the capitan and a third year student i think that he doesn't have much time, but he still loves to spend time close with his s/o. That's why i would say that physical touch and quality time are his love language. He loves having you near, being able to pull you close and hug you when he's stressed, or hold your hand when he feels like he needs some support. I also find him as someone who can be a bit jealous, but because he doesn't trust other people, so having an arm around your waist is also common for him. But behind doors he's a big soft boy who only wants to give you lots of kisses and affection. And when you two finally have some time for yourselves, and when you finally can have a proper date he's taking you to the most amazing places, even if that means going out of the town. But if you two are too busy with studies, the team, school in general or just your personal problems then Kuroo is more than happy to just have a small date in your house where he can help you to memorize various study topics if it means that he can have you sitting on his lap and with his hands on your thighs, or resting his chin on your shoulders just to slowly kiss your cheek if you answer correctly.

#haikyuu!! #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu oneshot #hq #hq headcanons #haikyuu #anime #haikyuu nekoma #haikyuu kuroo headcanons #haikyuu kuroo #haikyuu kenma headcanons #haikyuu kenma #haikyuu lev haiba #haikyuu yamamoto #haikyuu kai #haikyuu yaku #kenma kozume #hq x you #haikyuu love language

[winchestershiresauce]

Don’t Leave My Mind

Summary: Daryl hadn’t visited you in Hilltop for a while, but the sex was worth the wait.

Daryl x F!Reader

2158 words

Warnings: NSFW, smut, oral sex (female receiving), swearing

If you interact with this in any way, including reading, you are agreeing that you are over the age of 18.

--

When you and Daryl got together, you'd learned rather quickly that he wasn't a big fan of public displays of affection. Luckily, it also didn't take long for you to realize that he more than made up for that behind closed doors. 

You were reminded of this one afternoon when he'd made his way to Hilltop after not having stopped by in a couple weeks. You knew he was out doing his thing, living in the woods and looking for any sign of Rick, but you had to admit you'd missed him. When he snuck up on you as you did your gardening in one of the community plots, you were ecstatic and relieved to see him, but it was quickly replaced with worry when he'd grabbed your hand, stated, "Need to talk to you," and dragged you into the trailer you called home. 

The moment the door slammed behind him, you turned to face him and ask what was going on. You were sure something had gone horribly wrong, or was about to go horribly wrong, until he clasped his hand behind your head and pulled your mouth hungrily to his. You let out a muffled sound of surprise against his lips, and he pulled away. Using both hands to push your hair back and frame your face, he held you in place. You searched his eyes for signs of worry or distress, but were surprised not to find any. 

"Daryl, what's the matter?" You gently held his wrists as you looked up into the face of the man you loved. 

"Nuthin'. Missed you," he mumbled as he placed a kiss to your forehead. 

"I missed you too. I always do, but you said you needed to talk to me. What's wrong?" 

"What's wrong is I ain't tasted you in weeks, woman," he growled, diving in to nip at your neck. He shifted so one of his hands dropped to your lower back and he pressed your body into his. You couldn't help the groan that escaped as you felt his hard length press against your center and before you knew it, you were suffocating him with hungry, sloppy kisses.

As you grabbed his face in your hands so that you could push your mouth feverishly against his, he held your body flush against his. Without stopping for breath or to see where you were stepping, Daryl walked you backwards until the backs of your legs hit the bed. Before you'd even realized he'd pulled away, he had your shirt off and his mouth was back on yours again. His tongue slid over yours, mapping the inside of your mouth like it was new to him. He pulled the left cup of your bra down to expose your breast, and you cried out as he wrapped his lips around the pert nipple. 

"Fuck, Daryl," you whined as you clawed at the hem of his shirt, desperate to pull it off of him and feel his bare skin against yours. He groaned at your words and moved his mouth off your nipple to switch his ministrations to the other, immediately grabbing and kneading the breast he'd just left alone. When you finally managed to get a hold of the hem of his shirt and pull it off, the momentary separation only spurred him on further. 

He pushed you back onto the bed, moving to kneel on the floor next to it. You sat up on your elbows to watch as he unceremoniously worked to unbutton, and help you shed, your jeans. He pulled them down your legs and sat back on his heels to admire the view of you splayed out before him, your panty-clad pussy right at his eye level. As he ran his rough, calloused fingertips up your soft thighs, you saw the way he looked at you as if he was still surprised that you were real. No matter how long the two of you were together, he never could believe that someone as soft and kind and sensual as you were could see value in someone like him. But he saw the way you looked at him, too. People could say anything without meaning it but no one could fake the way your eyes sparkled when he made you laugh, or the way you bit your lip when you didn't think he could see you staring at him as he worked with his hands. He knew because he looked at you the same way, whether you were working to keep up morale with those around you or laying, mostly naked, on the bed in front of him. 

Seeing him lost in thought as he dragged his hands up and down your thighs and stared somehow simultaneously at you and through you, you reached out for him. You put one hand on either cheek and leaned forward to kiss him. It lacked some of the desperate hunger your kisses contained earlier, but adoration was simply laced in with the lust. He got up just enough to lean over you, kissing you as he laid you back down on the bed. The kisses he placed down your body, starting with your neck and collarbone and moving down to the only article of clothing you still wore, were both soft and steeped with need. He moved so excruciatingly slowly down your torso that by the time his kisses peppered the waistband of your panties, you were holding your breath with anticipation. 

You could feel that you were wetter than you'd been in quite a long time as he continued to leave unhurried open-mouthed kisses across the front of your simple white cotton panties. The warmth of his mouth on your clothed mound was almost more than you could handle. With the way your now-damp panties did little to shield your pussy from his hot breath as he hovered over where you needed him most, you were sure you were going to lose your mind. It took everything in you, but you could tell that Daryl needed this slow, intentional dance to reconnect with you, so you refrained from pressing his face into your core where you wanted him. 

Luckily, allowing Daryl the time and space to reconnect with your body was more than good for both of you. You really couldn't see a downside to the way he slowly teased his tongue over your inner thighs until it met the elastic that held your panties in place. He traced the outline with his tongue, torturing you with the anticipation of having his mouth just a few inches away from the wet hot need that awaited him. When the rough stubble on his chin tickled the sensitive spot on your inner thigh, your body involuntarily tensed as you waited for him to touch you the way that you needed. You couldn't help the full body shudder when he finally pulled the crotch of your panties aside and dipped his tongue into the wet space between your lips. 

"Oh, God." You hadn't even noticed right away that it was your voice moaning those words, you were so entranced by the delicate and tantalizing movements of Daryl's tongue along your slit. He flattened his tongue and dragged it over your hole and up before he made it into a point and flicked it over your clit. If there was one thing you knew for sure, it was that the man loved to eat pussy. In fact, you weren't sure who loved it more when he ate your pussy: you or him. 

He put all he had into the task at hand, licking all around your entrance, labia, and clit before flicking over the bundle of nerves with the tip of his tongue, and slipping two of his fingers inside to caress your g-spot. You writhed with pleasure as he placed sloppy, wet, open-mouthed kisses over your aching clit. It felt like he was trying to lap up all your wetness before you could make more, and he paid so much attention to his work that you knew there could be nothing else on his mind. Not that there could be anything else on yours either, with the way you panted and whined at the way he fucked you magnificently with his fingers and gave you a thorough tonguing. 

When he slid a third finger into you, stretching you out deliciously before slamming unrelentingly into the sensitive nerves on the top wall of your cunt, it knocked the breath out of you. Your vision darkened for a moment and you saw stars, your whole body tensing stiffer than you thought possible in preparation for the onslaught of your pending orgasm. "Fuck," you panted over and over like it was a mantra. 

"Mmm, cum fer me, Y/N," Daryl growled against you, so close and so deep that you felt the vibrations shoot through your nerves like electricity through a live wire. That was all it took, knowing he wanted to feel you cum just as desperately as you wanted to cum was enough to set off your orgasm as if it were the earthquake that triggered the tsunami. 

Your walls fluttered and clenched around his fingers as he worked you through your climax with fervor. You screamed, entirely unable to care about who might hear, which drew a deep moan from Daryl. Precum leaked out of his tip and he worried for a moment that he might cum in his pants like a teenager. 

"Oh, fuck," you gasped as your body began to relax and your breathing attempted to return to normal. Daryl climbed up on the bed and hovered over you, letting out a deep grunt. His cock was aching to be inside you but he wanted to let his desperation die down just enough that he wouldn't cum the second he slid through your slick wetness. 

You ran your hands up his sides as you simultaneously came down from your high and got riled up again. He dropped his mouth to your throat, kissing with less fervor but more intention than before. 

"You gonna fuck me, Daryl?" you asked as you moved to undo his pants and reach your hand inside. He hissed as your thumb brushed over the swollen head of his cock, and you smirked, taking that reaction as an affirmative. 

He groaned into the crook of your neck as you wrapped your hand around his shaft. You grinned and placed a kiss to the side of his head, loving the effect this all was having on him. You pulled your hand away for just a moment to push his jeans down his hips and over his ass, allowing you to pull his stiff cock out of its confines. 

"Ugh, wanna be inside ya," he grumbled as he pulled away to stand up. He slid his jeans the rest of the way off so that you were both naked, and he climbed on top of you again. 

"Wanna feel you inside me," you mewled. As he pressed a firm but loving kiss to your lips, he guided his cock to your slick and waiting entrance. He hummed in delight as he sunk into you. He moved slowly to let you adjust to him, but you needed him. You wrapped your legs around his hips and jerked your pelvis up toward his, thrusting him in to the hilt. 

"Fuck me," you pleaded. Feeling you wrapped tight around his aching cock fanned the flames of his desire and he smashed his lips into yours. You kissed him back hard as you rocked your hips up to build friction between you. He growled into the kiss when you clenched your walls around his cock, bucking his hips forward and thrusting into you. This started a relentless pace as your body felt folded so that you could kiss his sweet mouth as he fucked you senseless. You hooked your ankles together and moved your legs further up his back to tilt your hips up and give him a better angle, and you keened in ecstasy as the tip of Daryl's cock slammed into your sweet spot. 

"Gonna cum again," you cried as you felt yourself begin to flutter around him. 

He gave a chesty growl as he fucked you with purpose. You took a deep sharp breath in as your second orgasm hit you like a brick wall. His thrusts became short and rough as you spasmed and came around his cock, and soon he was following you over the edge. He slammed into you deep and hard then stilled, and you felt him pulse as he came inside of you. 

"I love you, Daryl," you panted as he collapsed on top of you, his softening cock still inside. 

"Love you," he grumbled into your chest and you couldn't help but grin. You were definitely glad he'd come home to you, even if you knew the woods would call him back. 

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #the walking dead #twd fanfiction #twd fanfics #daryl dixon smut #twd smut #daryl x reader

[hollandsmushroom]

I have a request could you do a soft smut with Arvin at the drive in and he can’t keep quiet and sort of nervous but it’s also very affectionate the whole time through?

Read more here and request something here

Warnings: Smut 18+ plsss

OH MY GOD SENSITIVE ARVIN

"ARV!" you cried out when you saw him leaning against the hood of his beat up old car. Your feet carried you quickly to him as he pushed himself off of the rusted metal, opening his arms and letting you run into his hold. His denim jacket was rough against your bare arms but you didn’t mind, just happy to be with him, to be touching him. In the beginning of your relationship he had been more wary of physical contact, scared of being touched, of being loved but you had slowly torn those walls down, but he was still more apprehensive when it comes to initiating the contact, usually letting you do the instigating.

You brushed your lips against his, your eyes closing as your heart fluttered at the touch, his lips chapped yet soft, stained with nicotine and tainted with sweat after his long day, yet here he was to pick you up from school. The kiss was short, too short but you did have places to be, it was Friday night and you and Arvin had planned this day to be for you two, go to a drive in and watch the new movie that it was hosting.

“Ready, Doll?” Arvin drawled, reaching up and brushing his short nails against your scalp making you sigh.

“Mhmmm” you hummed, nodding and throwing your bag in the back seat of the car as Arvin opened the passenger door for you, pecking your cheek as you ducked down to enter the vehicle.

The ride was quiet, filled with the low static of the radio but it was a comfortable silence, Arvins hand was placed on your thigh, drawing gentle circles mindlessly on the inner and most sensitive skin, it felt so tender, so beautiful. The drive in was packed when you got there but there was room for you and Arvin to park in, the engine stilling and the vibrations ceasing to emit through the seat. There was a moment of stillness before the movie started, one that you used to slide over, your body nuzzling into Arvins as he stiffened, your sudden touch surprising him.

“You okay, Arv?” You lifted your head from where you had set in on his shoulder, trying to catch his soft brown eyes that you always wanted to lose yourself in.

“Hmm, yeah, darlin’ I-I uh just-” he stopped, finally meeting your gaze, seeing your expectant eyes staring back at him.

“You what, Arv?” reaching up and brushing a loose strand of brown hair that had fallen from the rest, your tender touch making him lose his will to look you in the eye.

“I wanna touch you?” you and Arvin had been intimate before, but it was an infrequent occurrence, not that you minded, it was more of a barrier that Arvin had held for himself, feeling as though if he put himself out there that you would reject him, that deep set insecurity.

“You can touch me, lover” you mumbled, delving your fingers through Arvin’s hair, tugging him a little closer to you, pressing your forehead against his. His hands moved from his lap, placing themselves tentatively on your hips and brushing underneath the hem of your shirt. Leaning in a little closer so your lips were barely separated, brushing against yours.

“I’m worried that once I start ‘m never gonna stop, darlin” Arvin mumbled yet letting his hands push up farther under your shirt.

“I never want you to stop, please never stop” you whisper, looking into his eyes and finding them shut, your lips quickly being pressed against his as Arvin pulled you closer. Your chest was against his, eyes shut as you lost your self in the kiss, everything was him, it was all that mattered. You didn’t notice as the world shifted around you, only realizing the movement when your back became pressed against the bench seat of the car. Your legs were wrapped around Arvin’s waist, your hands in his hair, and it felt amazing, his touch was on your skin and that was all that mattered.

Arvins hands wandered, moving farther down your body until he could hitch his fingers around the hem of your skirt, pulling the fabric up until your panties were exposed, Arvins raw denim clothed cock rubbing against your cotton covered cunt.

“Never wanna stop touchin’ you love” Arvin mumbles, his hands thoughtfully moving down your body, halting right above your core, looking up in your eyes for affirmation which you gave willingly, letting his hand slip in your panties and brushing over your lips, electricity burning through you at his touch. His fingers parted your folds, your wetness dripping onto his fingers, the feeling of you reacting this way to him was something else, he moaned at the feeling, definitely loud enough for other cars to hear but you didn’t care.

“So wet, sweet girl, so wet for me” he mumbled, pulling your panties down, getting distracted by the look of your dripping cunt, a pause that you utilized to undo his belt buckle, pulling his jeans down along with his loose fitting boxers, letting his pretty cock spring free.

“Arvin, I need you” you whimper, pulling him down on top of you, your words bringing him to you, wasting no time, his cock pushing through your engorged folds and sheathing himself fully inside of you, this time making him whimper. It was the softest noise that he had ever made and god it made you turn, a coil immediately forming as he began to thrust harder. The car was rocking with all the movements of passion and lechery. You were probably disturbing the people around, especially Arvin, his noises were like heaven, soft whimpers and groans of ecstasy.

“Arvin, I-I’m close” you couldn’t contain it anymore everything was fracturing around you as you came, Arvin’s hot seed painting and coating your insides as your chests pressed together, lips exchanging your moans and noises between tied tongues.

When you come back to some level of normalcy, your breath returns to normal, but still head in Arvin’s arms, his hands having slid underneath your back and pulling you close to him.

“I never wanna stop touchin’ you” he mumbles into the crook of your neck

“I never want you to stop touchin’ me, love the noises you make, lover” you whisper back him bury his head further in your neck in embarrassment.

“God you make me squirm”

god I hate this, I am so unhappy with how it came out but I hope one of you guys likes it lol

#arvin russel #arvin russel smut #arvin russel fluff #arvin russell x reader #arvin russel fic #arvin russel x reader #arvin russell #arvin russel imagine #arvin russel x y/n

[masterjedilenawrites]

hey, could you do a fic on how would the bad batch react to Omega's first period? idk if you've done it already, but i love your writing and you describe the characters really well!

I haven't actually written for Omega yet so I'm excited to dive into this one! Definitely love the single dad energy (x5... because in this house we pretend Crosshair was never left behind and it's the big happy family we all deserve)

Omega & The Bad Batch | 1.3k words

Omega closed her eyes in an effort to stop the wave of anxiety that rose in her chest. But when she reopened them, she was met with that scary red stain again.

She was so confused. She didn't remember getting hurt. She wasn't in any pain. Where was this blood coming from? And how was she going to get it to stop? She really didn't want to have to tell the team about this. They already worried about her over every little thing. If she could just figure out what was wrong first....

A sudden knock at the refresher door startled her. Her heart raced as she heard Hunter on the other side.

"Omega? You alright in there?"

She could hear the concern in his voice and it made her panic. She quickly flushed the toilet and fumbled with her clothes.

"Uh, yeah... yeah, I'm okay, Hunter... Everything's fine. Almost done!"

Hunter wasn't fooled. He rarely was, much to her annoyance.

"Omega," he said evenly, "if there's something wrong, you need to let me help you."

"Nothing's wrong!" she said quickly, starting to turn in circles, unsure what else to do. She should probably put something down there to stop the bleeding, right? Until she could figure out what else to do about it.

"You're hurt, I can tell..."

She was unrolling a wad of toilet paper and paused as she remembered the Sergeant's heightened senses. There would be no hiding this. But she would have to try anyway.

She unlatched the refresher door, letting it swoosh open to reveal Hunter's hardened gaze looking down at her. She quickly stepped out and started making her way around him toward her bunk, careful to keep the toilet paper out of his eyesight.

"I'm not hurt. See? Everything's fine. Just using the fresher like everyone does. No big deal."

Her scene with Hunter was starting to attract the attention of the others. Tech and Echo peered down the hall from their seats in the cockpit while Crosshair and Wrecker paused their daily weapons cleaning to watch.

"You're hiding... toilet paper," said Crosshair, perceptive as ever.

"And I know you're bleeding," said Hunter. "What did you do?"

Omega paused just below the ladder up to her little room. His comment made her snap. Why was he always assuming she was getting into trouble? It didn't matter that she'd been with them a few years now and had more than proven herself as an equal member of the squad. He was still suspicious and way too over-protective.

"I said I'm fine, Hunter!" she shouted. "Why can't you leave me alone?"

She climbed the ladder as forcefully as she could and threw the little curtain closed. She wasn't sure why she felt so angry, so emotional. It'd been like this for a few days now, where even the smallest things frustrated her, and she hated she couldn't control it. She didn't want any of them to think of her as a child anymore and these emotional outbursts certainly weren't helping. She clutched the toilet paper to her face and cried softly in it, forgetting about her little predicament for the moment.

On the other side of curtain, Hunter had moved to follow her up the ladder with an exasperated call of her name, but Tech stopped him.

"Hunter," he called from the cockpit.

"She's hurt, Tech," Hunter huffed over his shoulder, one hand on a ladder rung. He need only go up one step before reaching eye level with the curtain.

"Yeah," agreed Wrecker, ready to follow after her as well. "We need to help her."

Tech shook his head. "The best way to help her in this case is to understand her."

Hunter and Wrecker paused in their journey to look back at their brother, holding up a holopad in his usual signal of having more information than them. They shared a look before reluctantly changing course to see what Tech had to say. Even Echo and Crosshair were leaning forward in curiosity.

"I started researching after Omega mentioned having pains in her abdomen yesterday. Coupled with her more sensitive emotions lately and the odd blemishes that have appeared on her face, I wondered if it wasn't all connected somehow."

Tech looked between all of them, dragging the explanation out as he always did, delighting in being the one to teach them something. Usually Hunter could ignore his brother's theatrics, but he was already on edge knowing Omega was hurt. He couldn't be so patient now.

"And?" he prompted with an annoyed furrow to his brow.

"There are a few explanations, but your mention of bleeding has confirmed my primary suspicion. Omega has started what is known as her menses."

The others only blinked in response. Tech held back a self-important smirk and continued to explain.

"You are all familiar with the concept of puberty, yes?"

They nodded slowly. Even with their accelerated growth, the clones had still experienced a degree of it.

"Well, with girls, it is accompanied by the start of their menstrual cycle, which is a process by which the body naturally discards the inner lining of the uterus, roughly every twenty-eight rotations. It is ultimately a sign that pregnancy has not occurred."

The air in the small space of the ship immediately became anxious as the others fully processed Tech's words.

"Oh."

"Uh...."

"Hmm."

"Oh my..."

Tech pushed his glassed up matter-of-factly, the only one unbothered by such things. "It's a natural bodily process for most female humans. And it does lead to the other symptoms we've been noticing from Omega. The cramps, the pimples, etc. All a normal part of the process."

"Is that true?"

It was Omega's voice that reached them, and they all turned to see her timidly standing nearby. It was clear she had overheard enough of Tech's lecture so that it wouldn't have to be repeated.

"It really is normal?"

"You know if Tech says so, then it must be true," said Echo with a friendly smile, the first to recover from the awkwardness, mostly to throw in a little jab at Tech.

Hunter found himself feeling guilty. Looking at how shy and scared Omega stood before them, he knew she was going to need their full support in figuring out this strange new part of herself.

"And it's nothing to be worried about," he affirmed, instinctually bending lower to face her, even though she was getting tall enough now where he didn't really need to do that. "I'm sorry I upset you earlier. I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"I know," she said, wiping at her eyes. "And I'm sorry for yelling at you."

"So what do we do about it?" asked Wrecker. "She's just going to be bleeding forever?"

"Of course not," said Tech, his voice edged with annoyance. "Didn't you listen? It's a cycle. It'll run its course over the next several days, and then she'll be fine for about another month. It varies from person to person... In fact... You should probably have a calendar to track it, Omega."

While Tech got up to dig around in a chest of old holopads, Echo leaned over to look at the scans on the ship.

"There's an outpost only one short jump away, near a human-inhabited planet. Surely there will be some special supplies for this sort of thing there."

"And if you still need to blow off steam," said Crosshair, "we can test out that new blaster I got on those old clanker heads."

"Okay," said Omega, perking up with every offer of help from the boys. "I'm also kind of hungry..."

"I got you covered there, kid," winked Wrecker.

Hunter placed his hand on her shoulder. "We've all got you, Omega. We'll figure this out together."

She started tearing up again, only this time it was in relief. What had started as something scary and mysterious and embarrassing, had now turned into a rally of support and love from her team. Her family.

It also seemed like a great opportunity to be spoiled a little... She'd have to work on figuring that part out herself....

#star wars #star wars fanfiction #the clone wars #the bad batch #clone force 99 #omega #hunter #crosshair #wrecker #tech #cw: periods #my sweet baby girl #found family #i'm feeling creative in this chilis tonight

[butterbeerblurbs]

boyfriend boost (f.w.)

💌: meet your biggest hype man (and boyfriend), fred weasley. 📝: word count: 3,128 words / fred weasley x reader / 🌸fluffflufffluff 💬: tell me i’m wrong that fred would not be your biggest hype man. i’m wAITING [also this was very self-indulgent so let me bask in this thankuloveububs]

there was nothing, and nothing subtle about fred weasley. if there were two boxes, one being the tamest option there is and the other being the grandest of the grand, oh, wonder where fred weasley would’ve been put into? you guessed it right, folks, the grandest of them all. don’t get it twisted, though. when he’s being all that grand, it was more in the form of how he showed his appreciation for you rather than himself. he was confident with his successes and strengths, sure, but he was rather humble about it. he’d rather hear it come from others than himself.

but when it involves you? oh, subtleties be damned.

fred weasley was y/n y/l/n’s number one cheerleader and hype man combined, no less. a hundred and ten million percent always willing to back you up and will throw hands if anyone dared to lay a finger on you (not that he didn’t think you couldn’t fend for yourself - he believes in you - but he’d rather much take up on the fight because his anger would fuel him faster than you could hold him back). he’d gladly holler through the bleachers of how gorgeous you were, even if it meant he’d get into trouble (he has). a surge of pride would go through his veins as he cheers for how you’ve managed to achieve good grades (and comfort you when you don’t). he’ll yell at the top of his lungs that he’s the luckiest man alive to be dating you when his team wins a match of quidditch and you’d hear your name echoing across the pitch area - along with the whole bloody castle (which, he also has).  

although you could do without his continuous yelling because one day, that man will lose his voice, you have to admit that you love it. how unafraid he was being with you. how proud he was with every single one of your achievements and celebrated yours like it was his. he has his loud moments, but his quiet ones are the ones you equally loved as well. how gentle he was whenever you needed a shoulder to cry on or how he’d resort to using his body to cocoon you in from the world. or how he’d fetch you the things you craved for just to make sure he’d see a small smile on your face. on top of it all, his company and his presence; willing to make himself known with a hand in yours as you bundled up in the sheets together. 

there was no other man like fred weasley and you were well-aware of it; more so when he’s kissing you like you’re the only person that mattered in this world, and... letting you go to sit down beside him as if he hadn’t snogged you in front of all of your friends.

he mutters a soft: “you’re welcome for the show there, fellas!” and they groan in response, waving him off as they dig into breakfast. oliver even going as far as to toss a napkin to fred’s face who only snickers in response. it seems like they’ve grown numb to fred’s never-ending affections towards you and for someone rather reserved, they’re always questioning how you were so calm in the midst of fred’s hurricane of affections. you fondly brush his hair back and chuckle as he leans in for a small peck on your lips, along with kissing the side of your head after and he settles down for breakfast. as he does, he adores how you still blush after being kissed by him yet try to pretend like it doesn’t affect you. he knows because you hit the side of his thigh under the table and he catches your hand, holding onto it and winking at you before starting to eat.

fred was generally a romantic person to begin with; and he showed that off pretty much in public, in private, whenever he could. it felt like the chase was never over. it was far from it. it’s been quite some time since you agreed to date him and it was one of your best choices yet. two years and still going strong, it feels like there’s more to fred weasley to love day by day. the new things you learnt about him made you love him more. and any disagreements that came your way, resolved together felt like levelling up in life and in relationship through growth and communication. it felt like two pieces of a puzzle coming together, finally completing each other.

it was the same for said boy, too. (but we’ll save that for another time, let’s focus on you this time around)

at any moment, he’d find an opportunity to make you feel like you’re the luckiest person alive. and when that feeling subsides, he does it all over again, even at times he didn’t appear to be trying. oftentimes, his glances, the way he cares for you, the little things he notices; those were everything to you. how he has a hand on your lower back as you walked, or how he’d pull the chair open for you or snatching your books away as he accompanied you to your next class. fred was a touchy person, more so when it involved you - he can’t take his hands off you. and when he can’t find the words, or show you the way he feels... well... there’s one answer to that.

a bang. 

surely, that’s one of the things that led up to his reputation - and that’s exactly how he plans to show you. he squeezes your hand and you slow down on your chewing to gaze at him in the middle of katie’s little ramble to the whole gang. you swallow down the food in your mouth and he points to under the table, where you reach for the note he’s placed between the pair of you. he then leans in to whisper into your ear, “read it later during herbology,” and you nod silently, easily slotting it into your pocket and return to listening to katie’s story.

though on the outside you seem to have it together, deep down, your heart was racing at the thought of what it could be. fred was never one to be on the down-low with his advances, and it only got progressively more and more daring in public when the pair of you got together. you try not to press too much on it for now, enjoying fred’s fingers between your own beneath the table and basking in the tranquil of the morning shared with your friends.

//

although you had been rather good at keeping your facade up for the whole day, you had to admit, you were curious what was up fred weasley’s sleeves. the boy was super excited as well and you could tell. throughout the class today, he still wouldn’t let slip to what he has planned. not even george would tell you when you tried to prod for more information; swiftly directing you away from the topic (and back to your seat). it only affirms your suspicions that george is in on it too...

angelina notices your furrowed brows towards the end of class, poking your arm with a grin, “what’s going on in that head of yours, y/l/n?”

you pout as you reach for the piece of parchment fred had slipped into your hands earlier, now passing it for her to scan through the words.

“weasley’s handwriting is ghastly,” she comments, and you laugh quietly but still flick her forehead, “alright, alright, sorry mrs. weasley,” she giggles in response, but upon reading the note properly, she sighs, “well, guess it’s another one of his grand scenes again, isn’t it?”

the note reaches back to you and you frown at the words you’ve deciphered earlier:

love, after dinner come out to the courtyard. got a little surprise for you ;)

- your favorite ginger, freddie

“he better not,” you mumble under your breath, recollecting how he pulled a stunt during valentine’s day that even got you in trouble. you’ll admit, your heart swooned at the sight of him bursting heart balloons and making it rain chocolate but it just so happened a balloon exploded in front of professor snape’s face. even when fred pleaded for you not to get involved, snape... wouldn’t be snape if he had listened and granted all of you detention for two weeks. not only that, he was a little bit harsher on fred soon after, which only made you somewhat sad. fred could handle it, of course he could, but it doesn’t make you feel better knowing this situation happened because he absolute adores surprising you like this.

you look over your shoulder to see fred chatting with george animatedly past the plants. it seems like your stare can travel past the air when fred takes his turn to listen to george speak, ever so casually gazing your way as well. he stops george mid-sentence, the weasley twins now looking at you and you lift up the piece of paper, shaking your head with a small frown, to which they easily translate to: please don’t do it.

george chuckles and shakes his head, the same time fred lifts a finger up and wiggles it disapprovingly, to which you translate to: not a chance, love.

well, so be it then. if fred is aiming to be the first person to get expelled for professing his love then... oh god, please don’t get expelled.

//

your stomach is turning upside down the moment you’re done with dinner. the great hall is still filled with people, but it starts to disperse when students get up to leave. your heart drops when you already see fred and george gone, gaping at the sudden lost of the ginger haired boys - how could you have let them slip?!

you rise up to your feet and nudge angelina to follow suit. she links arms with you as you make your way to the courtyard, and she can tell you’re nervous mainly for fred’s wellbeing. she finds it adorable, but you’re a mess inside. of course you appreciated fred’s gestures and his way of showing he loves you, but you’d rather him do it in a way that doesn’t jeopardise his studies... which... you somewhat understand he’d rather much risk it all.

it was simply in fred weasley’s blood. apparently george’s as well when the moment you reach the courtyard, you’re gaping at the pair of them on their broomsticks, as if they had been swirling around to wait for your arrival. it amazes you how they haven’t got caught yet. now that they deserve an award for.

your jaw drops, anxiety fills your bones and you frantically look around in hopes you don’t spot a professor in sight. lee’s voice fills the courtyard as he hollers to the twins above, “y/n y/l/n is in sight!”

“let em’ rip, freddie!”

“when you do, georgie!”

“what the bloody-!” your voice gets cut off when the pair of them swing whatever it is in their hands up into the air, erupting explosions of fireworks out on display. cheers can be heard from the people who have gathered to watch, some from the sidelines, some from past the gaps of the corridors but you... out here in the open as the sparks of blue, red, and yellow intertwined up to paint the night sky. midnight blue, spread across with glitters of white all dancing along in the air and it keeps going.

the shapes morph from hearts, to stars, and you swear you see your initials being spelled out like constellations. your breath starts to quicken at the sight and angelina rubs your arm soothingly to calm you down, but she can already see the glow in your eyes in admiration to fred’s stunt. of course, she chuckles, and you take a side glance to her and playfully nudge her by bumping your shoulder to hers.

“and you wonder why fred does it? when you’re looking at the surprise like that?” she muses, and you shake your head, eyes gazing back up to the sight and your heart is full. “he’s gone mad,” you snort, but angelina knows your true feelings when you squeeze her arm, the firework of hearts now embedded in your eyes instead. 

more people start to gather around and it’s only a matter of time before you’d all get into trouble. but when you look up and manage to lock eyes with fred who looks like he’ll gladly even steal the moon for you if that’s what you wanted, your heart rests easy. we’ll go down together, then.

before you can hold eye contact with the ginger haired boy and express your gratitude, a bunch of girls on the side nudge you for your attention. you turn over to them, along with angelina who raises a brow.

“where on earth did you get him from?” one of them asks, and you didn’t know if they were being serious or not. yet, their tone really sounds like they’re genuinely curious. it makes angelina laugh, already looking away to continue watching the fireworks and you shrug, shaking your head, “honestly, i have no idea,”

“you’re one bloody lucky girl, y/n,”

“yeah,” you breathed, watching how wide fred smiles at you like you are the world and truly, you were. but fred was the same, if not more to you, too. literal stars in his eyes as he continues to fly around in the air, his movements somewhat coordinated with the on-going fireworks. your eyes are locked on him the whole time, biting down on your lip to stop yourself from grinning too hard. when he slows down on his broom and sways down to you, his eyes remain on you as you release the bite from your lip, smiling face to face at fred,  “i am.”

((”freddie!” you manage to leap into his arms and he catches you, always does. he chuckles when you squeeze him tight around his neck and he’s taking advantage of his grip on you to tug you to the side so at least, you two would somehow have a moment together in decent privacy. he kisses the side of your head, arms wrapping around you to give you a squeeze back. he grins at you when you pull back, one of his hands reaching up to push your hair from your face, “hello there, gorgeous,” his hand then goes back to your waist, now swaying the pair of you idly in the midst of loud chatter of the people around you but somehow, fred only sees you. 

“did you like the surprise?” he wiggles his brows, earning a grateful nod from you, “i love it freddie,” you admit shyly, feeling heat rising to your cheeks and fred resists the urge to openly snog the heck out of you, willing to hold back... for now, at least. “you always make me feel like the luckiest person alive,” 

he frowns, brows knitting together, “hey! don’t go around stealing my line,” his nose scrunches up in disapproval, “’m supposed to say that!”

“oh, you’ve surely said enough with those fireworks,” you snort, hitting the back of his neck gently. he opens his mouth to say something - if you had to guess, probably something along the lines of ‘reckon i could’ve said a whole lot more’ because fred believes life’s too short to not go out with a bang - but you quickly place a finger on his lips, beating him to it.

“speaking of, lay low a little, please?” you huff, “wouldn’t want to explain to molly and arthur that you got expelled just to profess your love to me,” fred reads between the lines and it’s code words for please don’t get expelled and not try to complete your studies or ruin your remaining time in hogwarts just for this. the amount of love and care you had for him was insane and he never knew someone could love him like this before. it made his heart feel like it was floating in his ribcage.

“i’ll try, i guess... if you give me a kiss?” he raises a brow, even though he knows it’s not a question that had any other answer than leaning in with a grin, aiming for his puckered lips, only to be-”mr. weasley,”

you don’t know if you’re grateful that at least, it wasn’t professor snape. instead it was professor mcgonagall who’s pulling fred by the ear. he yelps in response, refusing to let go of his arms on your waist until you brush his hands off. for a moment he looks a little hurt, but you can tell he’s just being playful.

“p-professor,” you lower your head, and she only tuts at the pair of you, but more towards-”i expect to see you in detention, mr. weasley,” her hand extends out to the side and she grabs ahold of-”this mr. weasley as well,” george groans when professor mcgonagall drags your weasley by the ear, and the other by his robe. “your time starts now,” she sternly reprimands, nudging them to the side to make their move and you frown and keep your head down when she turns to look at you.

yet, she doesn’t say much, only dusting your robe and offering you a small smile, to which you return as well. “i’m still surprised how you’re with mr. weasley but,” she leans in and you instinctively do the same, “as sweet as that was, do keep it under the covers. wouldn’t want to expel him,”

you let your reaction get the best of you by saying: “that’s what i said-!” you notice your outburst surprises her and you quiet down, “w-will do, professor, thank you,”

she lets a soft chuckle escape before clearing her throat to the rest of the-”students, off to bed!”

“but professor! look at how pretty she is! not even a kiss?!” fred hollers just as he’s a good distance away, his voice echoing in the courtyard as it blends with laughs from some of the students. you can’t help but keep your eyes away from anyone staring and angelina swoops in to drag you back to your dorm, but not until you’re able to blow a kiss to fred and bid him goodnight without words.

“look at that! so gorgeous! so unfair-ah!” fred yelps and you hear a smack, to which you can only make up is from professor mcgonagall when they disappear in the halls and you’d have to wait until tomorrow morning to give fred that kiss he’s earned... a few kisses, at least.))

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