#(also apparently i find it easier to write to a prompt)
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
Scrolling through my drafts to find prompt posts I'd squirreled away for a rainy day and the amount of things I've saved as a draft because "I'll add tags and reblog later" is honestly embarrassing.
#so i'm just queuing a bunch of stuff from drafts#without adding tags because apparently that's a rate limiting factor#and i will apparently forget it for literally years on end#(also apparently i find it easier to write to a prompt)#(even when i have an actual scene in my head because ???)
10 notes
·
View notes
Text


﹙ SHOW/FANDOM ⠆911﹚
PAIRING ⠆eddie diaz x single-parent!reader
CATEGORIES ⠆fluff, baby’s first words!, single-parent!reader, brief mention of choking, a kind of what are we situation, lots of plot for no apparent reason. not canon to the 911 timeline!
OVER THE INTERCOM ⠆i got a little carried away with this one but ive been so obsessed with this show i just needed to write something, so please enjoy!
𝟒𝟏𝟏. your finally shares her first words and it’s nothing like you expected, based off a prompt that says we’re friends and my child’s first words were your name… i’m jealous but also endeared.
you had met eddie when addison was six months old– he responded to a call where your baby was choking on a carrot that you had thought was soft enough to eat, thankfully they had gotten there quick enough for eddie to perform the appropriate heimlich to retrieve the piece of carrot stuck in her throat. whilst they had your daughter overnight at the hospital, he had visited you. partically to see if your daughter was holding up okay, but mainly for you. he knew as a father himself how hard you must’ve been on yourself and offered to take you out for coffee as comfort, share silimar experiences which lead to a blossoming friendship.
eddie was always there for when you felt misguided in parenthood, always there to lend a shoulder and give you advice you needed whilst he was still figuring out how to be a good father to christopher. addison and chris became fast friends as well– despite her being a toddler and chris being fourteen, he looked after her like a sister, reading books to her and looking forward to the days you’d drop her off sometimes when you didn’t have a sitter, it was almost like a little family and you were content with that.
now, addison is almost a year old and has been growing up wonderfully. eddie was there for a majority of her milestones, when she started crawling and beginning to stand on her own and almost taking her first steps. you and eddie were on blurred lines, whilst you appreciated him being there for you and you’re daughter, you both knew getting into a serious relationship or even putting a label to things was tricky, still navigating so many changes in your lifestyle and his, it was easier to just call yourselves friends.
eddie and chris are over are you apartment today for your regularly scheduled sunday breakfast, something you made a tradition after you grew paranoid with feeding addison on your own, so in order to ease your worries eddie offered to come over every sunday to make sure breakfast would go swimmingly. at first he came on his own but then started bringing chris after a few weeks, claiming he had fomo– which was just a coverup because chris knows about you and wanted to meet you, but eddie didn’t want you knowing he talks about you, especially to his son. in those five months you’ve all gotten closer– seeing christopher slowly mature over that time and seeing his closeness with addison, it was something you didn’t want to ruin.
it was a nice sunday morning, so you decided to eat outside on your patio, there was a slight breeze but the sun was warm enough to keep the chill away. you’ve got the full spread of a classic breakfast: plates full of pancakes, fruit, bacon and scrambled eggs, a perfect breakfast. addison is sitting at the head of the table in her high chair, you’re sat next to her with eddie and chris across from you. you try your best to give addison the food your eating so she doesn’t feel left out, which you know she does, her emotions developing and finding out clearer way to express herself. on her plate are bits and pieces of fruit and plain pancakes cut into smaller, digestible pieces– even now you still check with eddie to make sure they’re not too big, not that he has ever minded.
the morning air is light, filled with laughter and passing stories about chris’ new crush or what’s been going on at school, eddie talking about the squadron– their calls and a little chismes about their current qualms outside of work. you laugh and react to their stories, it would be a lie if you didn’t enjoy them– your job was quite mundane but kept you stable so this was something you looked forward to before the busy week ahead of you.
eddie is mid sentence talking about bucks recent dilemma with tommy when addison lets out a loud babble and slaps both palms against the tray of her high chair.
“foods good huh, chiquita?” he hums to her endearingly, nodding along to her babbling, an endearing smile gracing his face. it was hard to not imagine eddie becoming a father figure to addison, he’s a great father to chris and bonds so easily with your daughter, it’s selfish and a crazy thought but is something that has crossed your mind for than once.
“addie’s has been talking a lot more recently, hasn’t she?” chris chimes in, looking over at addison who’s picking up another strawberry. i remember when you started talking eddie reminisces, going on about how his first words were when he’s was on deployment and wishes he was there to witness it.
you hum, thoughtfully. lifting your napkin to dab a smear of syrup from the corner of addison’s mouth. “she has, i’m waiting for the moment she says her first words.” a part of eddie wishes he could be there for it.
breakfast continues, more jokes and stories were shared with addisons babbling reactions in the mix. then, addison starts babbling again, less random this time. more focused. insistent.
"dee... da... eh-"
your eyes snap to her immediately, chest tightening just slightly because you've been waiting for this moment. her first real word. you've been expecting "mama." hoping for it, really. eddie's already chewing on a bite of pancake, looking over at her with soft eyes. chris, mid-sip of orange juice, sets his cup down carefully.
the moment stills as you daughter tries to find her footing, she’s been saying sounds that sound like words but not quite there, this could be the moment though. you all watch her with bated breath, no way of telling if her first words will come from her lips. then addison turns to eddie. waving her chubby hand at him and beams.
"eh-dee!" the table falls silent, eddies eyes are already on you trying to gage your reaction. your mind is blank, you never expected her first words to be his name, not even mama, not even chris’.
she then looks at you, big bright eyes as if she’s awaiting your reaction. you clear your throat, sitting a little straighter in your seat. “that’s right baby, that’s eddie right there isn’t he.” addison flashes a gummy smile at you, nodding at your words, smart little girl. postive reinforcement! reguardless of her first word, at least she got there in the end and makes it clear as day. chris is next to react, breaking out into a loud, shocked laugh. "no way! did she-? did she just say?"
"eddie," she says again, a little more proudly this time, her tiny voice clear as day. "eddie!" you look at eddie, who seems to be in more shock than you, his eyes like a deer caught in headlights, his jaw dropped a little. it isn’t until you brushed your foot against his under the table, he shifts, eyes finally focusing to you. his are wide, soft, apologetic all at once.
"she-uh," he clears his throat, setting down his fork. "she said my name."
"yeah." your voice comes out smaller than intended, a touch breathy. "yeah, she did."
addison claps, giggling like she's solved world peace. your heart squeezes.
"i didn't teach her that," eddie says, like he needs you to believe him. "i swear. i always call myself tío or just talk about 'your mama' when i'm with her—i never-"
you wave a hand, the corners of your mouth twitching. "no, i know. i believe you. it's just.." you glance at your daughter, cheeks pink and eyes so happy. "i thought it would be me, you know? or even chris. not-"
"not me," eddie says quietly.
your eyes meet again. the air between you shifts, heavy with something unspoken. but neither of you address it, just push it aside for later, shifting your mood to the fact it was addisons first word, praising her endlessly, ignoring the swirl of warmth in your stomach when she babbled eddies name when he took her out of her high chair.
later, whilst you’re cleaning up from breakfast, now early afternoon. christopher is sitting snuggly on your loveseat, he’s enthusiastically reading to addison, making silly voices and sound exaggerations to make the story of the little red riding hood more entertaining.
you and eddie are doing dishes. he’s washing while you’re drying. it was silent at first, neither of you knew what to say. how to approach this conversation, hey my daughters first word was your name what does this mean? this was not something you read about in your guide to motherhood books. you couldn’t even form appropriate words without giving anything away. eddie knew it would lead to other unanswered things to your friendship that sometimes seemed more than what it was. eddie was content with what you had going on but lingering in his mind knew he wanted more, you wanted more.
it was just difficult to approach, you didn’t want to overstep or mislead. you never really settled on what your friendship had turned into, afraid of shifting your dynamic into something awkward and that would lead to being distant then into being out of touch and away from each others lives which neither of you wanted. if the conversation needed to be had, it was now.
eddies the one to break the silence “well, that was unexpected,” he murmurs, addisons little voice ringing in his head, he felt so delighted and warm when she has said it, it was a moment he wanted to experience with chris and it just so happened with your daughter, that’s evidently not his.
“…very unexpected.” you cough, picking at the threads of the dishtowel. unsure how the lead the conversation. the silence stretches again, this time a little less heavy, a little more expectant. like the moment is gently asking you both to be brave.
“but it wasn’t unwelcome, i didn’t think it’d make me feel so much.” he adds, glancing at you sideways, his voice barely above the hum of christopher’s animated storytelling in the background. “it did though, hearing her sweet little voice say my name…made me happy.” dishes are long forgotten and his soapy hands stand at the edge of the basin.
“yeah…” you trail, “made me happy too, just don’t know what happens now.” your throat feels tight, not in a bad way just anticipating his words.
your hands clutching tightly on the rag, eyes focused on the pattern away from his gaze. he pauses, turning to fully face you. his hands grasps yours, giving them a gentle squeeze. as if begging you to look at him. you slowly turn to him, your body before your head– gazing at him through your lashes.
he looks at you, really looks, like he’s searching for something in your eyes that’ll give him all the answers. his eyes are soft, with something raw and vulnerable he only ever shows in quiet moments like these. "i know we’ve been walking this weird line for a while now. friends, but sometimes it feel like we’re more than friends. you’re important to me. and addie—she means a lot to me too. maybe more than i realized."
you don’t look away. your heart thuds loud in your ears. "i’ve thought about it," you admit softly. "more than i should. i just didn’t want to ruin what we have. what we’ve built. it’s been safe. and good."
"it still can be," he says gently, moving your hands close to him, moving closer, closing the gap between you. "just... maybe with more honesty. more intention."
"you think we could make it work?"
he smiles then, a more meaningful one. "i think we already are. we just haven’t admitted it to ourselves yet."
you glance toward the living room; addison is squealing at christopher’s overly dramatic wolf impression, clapping her hands, her joy bouncing off the walls of your little home. it feels warm. like family.
"i want to try," you say, voice steady now. "not for her. not because of today. but because i want to. because you’re the first person i feel like i don’t have to pretend with."
he leans closer, as if telling you a secret only for you to hear. his big brown eyes boring into yours. "i’m not perfect. i’m still learning. still messing up." he means it.
"so am i," you say with a soft laugh. "but maybe we can figure it out together."
"yeah," he says, moving his hands to your waist and into a hug, cheek against your hair, it warm and content, like secret promises and new beginning "together sounds good."
just like that, everything you had been worrying about, are washed away and into something more, something real and worth it.
ownership of starrvsn. please do not repost, modify or translate.
#eddie diaz#eddie diaz imagines#eddie diaz fluff#eddie diaz x reader#eddie diaz oneshot#911 imagines#911 one shot#911 fanfic
103 notes
·
View notes
Text
smells like roses — aaron hotchner x gn!reader
WHUMPTOBER ENTRY FOR @tobias-hankel; prompts: suicide/attempted suicide, "you can't save everyone"
Aaron thinks you might be mad at him, so he tries to surprise you with flowers and a cozy night in. He finds your dead body instead.
Wordcount: 1,094
Content Headsup: SUICIDE. Main character death (apparently I'm never stopping the always kills the reader allegations). The suicide is not graphically described, reader is found inside a bathtub but I didn't write in the method, the state of the body (aside from dead, heavy and drenched), so it isn't THAT bad. This is pretty much just Aaron's POV to the day he finds you dead, so HEAVY ANGST, but not graphic. It is not implied that Aaron was at fault for it, the reasons behind the suicide are never discussed, reader is just depressed. Also, no dialogue and no use of y/n.
You can’t save everyone.
You can’t save everyone.
You can’t save everyone.
Those are the words flowing around his head. He can’t save everyone and that has always been his biggest fear. His Achilles heel.
He can’t save everyone and worse than that: Aaron couldn’t save you.
It’s his curse, really. Falling for someone only to inevitably lose them. It has happened every single time before: Haley, Kate, Haley again. Beth moves to Hong Kong and he meets you. He should’ve realized sooner that he wasn’t born to love or be loved for long.
Still, when you first smiled at him that one Monday morning back in June two years ago he knew he had to try. He had no choice but to love you.
And he did it so easily, made an effort to show you what he effortlessly felt for you from the beginning, as if he was never hurt before, like a teenage boy with a crush on someone pretty.
First time he saw you taking pills Aaron didn’t question it, thought to himself they were probably vitamins or something unimportant like that. Then he witnessed the panic in your eyes when you thought you had run out of it before your appointment for the prescriptions.
Antidepressants. He felt the guilt of not noticing it wash over him like a tsunami, his chest tight, his heart heavy. A profiler and your boyfriend and he missed all clues hidden under your smiles and your loving touch.
Aaron made sure not to let guilt paralyze him, calming you down, showing you no judgment and helping you find the missing pills you still had.
He acts normal on your good days but doubles the way he cares for you on your bad ones, even when busy on a case he calls, reassures you of his love, sends you food and asks to see you eating it.
He thought that would be enough. You were medicated and seemed effortlessly happy most of the time. Aaron really believed that and being by your side would be enough.
He worried. Worried about your well being. Made sure you wouldn’t starve yourself or forget to care for yourself on bad days. But he never worried about having to try to save you and failing to do so. He never laid awake thinking about finding your lifeless body in your bathtub. He wasn’t prepared for this.
The day started as it always does for Aaron, so early it can’t be considered bright. 5 AM on the dot, fresh coffee being made by the smart coffee maker you got him for Christmas last year the only noise heard as he quietly enters his boy’s bedroom. It’s too early and he feels sorry for Jack, but he has to be taken to his aunt’s before Aaron heads to the BAU.
Jessica’s car is at a mechanic and will only be done after lunch, it will be easier for her to take the metro with Jack this way.
Normal issues of a normal day. The worst he imagined could happen was an impromptu case, a flat tire even. If only he knew how his day would end.
It’s 10 AM and he should’ve paid more attention to the fact you haven’t texted him good morning. No breakfast pictures, no horoscope screenshots. But you’ve been working so hard and have been so obviously tired that he’s glad you’re sleeping in. You might be more of a workaholic than he is and Aaron just wants you to enjoy resting for a bit.
By noon he is swamped, drowning in paperwork and consultations that need his full attention, and Aaron knows he’s not at fault for doing his job but he wishes he did more than just snap a picture of his salad, he wishes he noticed it sooner, how you didn’t react to it, how he still didn’t know what you had for breakfast or what the day held for Scorpios.
8 PM he finishes work and it dawns on him how absent he was and how silent you’ve being. He curses under his breath, silent treatment was never a thing for the both of you so he assumes you must be extremely mad and Aaron learned from past experiences that he’s not the best at noticing subtlety when it comes to his love life. Maybe it was something he did or said, maybe it’s something he forgot.
Since meeting you he has been trying not to associate flowers with apologies, buying you singles or full bouquets almost every week, but still, that’s the first thing he does after leaving work, however mad you are, flowers and a surprise visit should be enough to melt it away.
He’s happy, annoyingly so if he thinks back, he’s not worried, it’s always easy to solve problems with you and he’s excited to see you, it wasn’t on his plans and that makes him extra giddy, a night surrounded by your scent and your voice is all he needs to feel recharged.
Aaron texts Jess to ask her to keep Jack for the night, tells her he can pick him up if she needs to, but he’s lucky she always seems to be prepared when he needs her, which is often, but less now with your help.
Maybe it would be better if he was worried. It would be less painful, less shocking.
Maybe if Aaron didn’t think you were just asleep when he turned the keys you gave him only to find a dark silent living room, the pained shriek that left his throat after following the bathroom light wouldn’t have been so loud.
But he didn’t worry. So when the bathtub overflown water hit his shoes, the flowers hit the floor, desperately let go as he yelled your name, his arms flying quickly to your cold body, trying to get you out as much as hugging you.
There’s something to be said about lifting dead drenched weight, especially over wet tiles. He slips to his knees before being able to, ends up dragging you out with him.
Aaron does CPR, the paramedics called by the neighbors don’t hide the pity in their eyes when they arrive and see him still trying.
Your name a begging sound, hurting more than the sore muscles of his arms from trying to lift and CPR a dead body.
The wet and stepped on roses leave a lingering scent, one he won’t ever forget.
He’s been trying not to associate flowers with apologies, and now they are forever linked, intertwined with death. Yours.
#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner x you#hotch x reader#aaron hotchner imagine#hotch x you#hotch x y/n
326 notes
·
View notes
Note
please do the prompt 37: "aw, poor baby, do you want me to take care of this for you?"
with Simon teasing Wille and Wille being all quietly needy and whimpering 🙏🙏🙏
Thank you so much for sending me this prompt, dearest anon!!! 💜💜💜 Also thank you to everyone who voted in my poll for what to write next! Once again, it's Sunday and I have no snippet, so have this ficlet instead.
So sorry this took a while to get to, but I'm slowly working my way through the prompts. I hope you enjoy this one hehe, I had fun writing this!
cw: nsfw
Wille lets out a ragged puff of air, squeezing his eyes shut in frustration. He's too impatient, he knows, god, he knows, but he can't help it. He can't find the right angle, wrist starting to ache where he's wedged his hand in between his propped up legs.
It's not... none of this is working the way it's supposed to, he can't twist his fingers in the way he wants to, can't reach far enough in this position. The position he chose himself so he wouldn't have to avert his eyes from Simon. He lets out a quiet whine and reopens his eyes. A small pang hits his chest when he finds Simon staring at him already, head slightly inclined now, a contemplative smile only just curving his lips. Fuck. Wille needs him, needs him so bad, had been waiting for him to come home ever since he slipped out the door in the morning, has been feeling out of it ever since, chest tight, thoughts swirling and jumping and leaving no space for him to think about anything but finally getting out of his head. He pulls his two fingers out, shakes out his wrist, tries again. It's a little easier now, yes, not easy enough though. He knows Simon will make him do it again if he stops now, if he tries to cut this part short, will make him continue fingering himself open, will make sure he's thorough with it before Wille can get anywhere near having Simon fuck him. Wille wants to scream into a pillow, and it's his own fault he chose to lie on his back instead and can't. Across from him, down by the foot of the bed, Simon is kneeling, has been kneeling there for longer than Wille can even begin to comprehend, and with every single lazy tug he gives to his cock Wille digs his teeth harder into his bottom lip. He wants his hand there, he wants to be stroking him, he wants to swallow his cock down, he wants to have Simon turn him onto his stomach and fuck him into the mattress. It feels deeply unfair that he has to bother with prepping himself, that he doesn't get to touch, that he barely gets a good look at Simon. That Simon sits there, like he's bored, waiting until Wille finally is ready for him. Hands all by himself, because he knows he would only distract Wille with them. Because he knows Wille would forget all about his task, would lean into his touch instead. If he weren't so set on doing what Simon so sweetly asked him to earlier, with his breath warm and his grip on Wille's hair deliciously tight, a smile on his lips when he asked if Wille could be good, and patient, and get ready - if he didn't have his mind set on proving that he can, he'd have given up already. But with every passing second, with every time he needs to shift around, needs to reapply lube, needs to crane his neck so he can better see what he can't have just yet, it's getting more difficult. His back is damp with sweat, his fringe sticking to his forehead and even when he twists his fingers again, too impatient, wanting to get this over with, it's nothing like when Simon does it. No matter how much he tries, it's nothing alike. The stretch is not enough, his fingers aren't moving smoothly enough. Even when he wraps a fist around his cock, waned slightly now compared to when he desperately ground it against Simon's thigh earlier, it's not enough. He could scream. Without warning, Wille feels a hand on his knee.
His head perks up, eyes landing on Simon. He's leaned forward, has apparently scooted closer, eyes still trained on where Wille is clumsily working his fingers in and out of himself. When he looks up, gaze meeting Wille’s, there’s a glint of mischief there. Wille swallows hard, feels the dryness of his throat and the faint beginnings of wetness on his lash line. Simon moves his hand, slowly rubbing a warm palm over Wille's propped up knee, fingers extending towards his straining thigh. It takes all of Wille's remaining strength not to pull his fingers out and surge forward, not to tug Simon down and on top of him. He bites down harder on his lip. "Oh baby…," Simon coos, eyes raking up the length of his body and down again. The sound goes right to Wille's cock, makes it twitch weakly in his grip. There's a taunting lilt to Simon's voice, like he can't quite believe Wille can't do it. It makes Wille want to whine and thrash and complain, but, god, does it also pool dangerously hot behind his navel. Instead of doing anything, he watches, absolutely enthralled, how Simon keeps petting his leg. He skates his hand along Wille's shin, then back up, over his thigh, getting so close to his cock that Wille's heart skips a beat. He can almost feel Simon's fingers on him, in him, thinks his curse is going to be lifted, but Simon tuts. "You can't make it work, can you?" The taunt wedges itself into Wille's mind, sharp and searing like a bullet. Dropping his head, he lets out a helpless groan. His face buns red-hot with shame-drenched arousal. Almost fully hard again, fuck, just from this, just from Simon talking… Wille involuntarily squirms under Simon’s watchful eyes. His movements have stilled completely, the immobility almost making Simon’s gaze more piercing, Wille’s cheeks even redder. But even with his mind and body betraying him, he's stubbornly hesitant to admit defeat. As if he can tell, as if he knows, Simon’s face of put-upon pity cracks, lets a cheeky smile slip. The anticipation nearly has Wille’s pulse skip over itself. “Hmmm?” Simon hums then, and moves his hand further, onto Wille’s arm. Wille’s breath catches inside of his throat, like the touch has frozen him in time. Soft fingertips are tracing down his arm, over the back of his hand, over his knuckles, carefully avoiding Wille’s cock. Keeping the distance of Wille’s own hand between them at all times. It’s like Wille can hear his resolve cracking in real time. “This isn’t doing it for you, is it?” Wille’s eyes slip closed against his volition, breath noisy when he blows it out through his nose. Fuck. Very slowly, he shakes his head 'no'.
Suddenly, Simon slips his hand further down. He traces Wille’s curled wrist, brushes over the tendons of his hand. And then he’s there, and Wille briefly forgets how to breathe. Simon’s fingers are lined up with Wille’s, gently petting where Wille has failed to open himself up for him, where Wille’s fingers are still holding space, just rubbing the slick skin, almost absentmindedly. Wille whimpers so loudly that Simon uses his other hand on his thigh to soothe him. God, Wille needs him so badly, thinks he’s going to burst into tears if Simon doesn’t do something about it. “Aw, my poor baby…,” Simon purrs, sweet and soft and with a devastating confidence that has Wille throbbing in his own grip again. He keeps massaging Wille’s rim with deft fingers, keeps working around Wille’s cramped up hand as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. Words escape Wille, whines and broken moans and tiny movements of his hips the only way he’s able to take what Simon is offering. And he’s so greedy to take, so desperate for more, for everything. “Do you want me to take care of this for you?" When Wille nods wildly, tongue unwilling to form words, it’s like finally pulling the ripcord. Simon is quick to gentle Wille’s fingers out of himself, to shove his hand out of the way. The loud snap of a bottle cap, the slick sounds of him lubing up his fingers, and finally, finally, Simon is easing two of his fingers into Wille. Perfectly thick, angled just right, moving just slow enough to draw a string of needy noises out of Wille. He can feel his own cock hardening rapidly. Just as he’s about to warn Simon, about to promise he’s ready, beg for what he’s been waiting for all day, Simon shifts and lies down next to Wille, warm and smooth and hard against Wille’s hipbone. "Just have to ask, baby," Simon mumbles, moving his fingers even more slowly now, shallowly, like he knows Wille can already take him. Like he still wants to make him squirm and wait. "I know this is difficult for you." His breath is hot against Wille's ear. His fingers unrelenting. "But you need to ask when you can't do it yourself. Need to let me help you." Wille nods weakly, throat dry from all his breathy gasps. "Yeah," he sobs, canting his hips for Simon to get better access, to go- oh. "Y-eah," he gasps again, breath leaving his lungs all at once when Simon nudges his fingers against that devastatingly sensitive spot inside of him. He tightens his fist around his cock, tries to reel back from the edge Simon has pushed him to. Then, “please”, he manages, voice cracking and eyes squeezed shut. With a last teasing drag of his fingers, Simon pulls back and away from Wille’s panting body, leaving his mind spinning, his muscles twitching. But when he hears the bottle cap again, the tell-tale slickness of Simon’s fist flying over himself, Wille feels his body relax against the mattress. Knows that Simon will take care of him.
Feel free to send me some prompts from that list, or just make some up <3 Or read my other ficlets here
also pls let me know what you think <3
#wilmon#wilmon fanfic#yr#young royals#wilmon ficlet#yr ficlet#answered#anon#hope you like thissss this has been my little spark of happiness all weekend
57 notes
·
View notes
Note
Kink Dialogue Prompts - If you fancy, any of the following with Egon Spengler (Receiving?) :3c:
🌱 Virginity, 🥇 First Time, ✏️ Marking/Bititng, 🩺 Doctor RP (Giving), 🔴 Humiliation
Experimental Methods
Egon Spengler x Female!Reader, word count: 3.5k HELLO!? finally another excuse to write nasty again for egon, my fuckin beloved ;-; also i have been COOKING this one and it got away from me so it is LONG lmao mostly because i didn't realise you said any of and not all of the prompts oops and then i also added in prem.ejac. my actual beloved👻 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: medical kink, losing virginity, marking kink, humiliation kink, premature ejaculation

The walk from the elevator to your apartment door at the end of the hall felt like it took an eternity, definitely down to the dead silence between you and Egon which had been ongoing since the moment you left the restaurant down the block. He was often quite quiet once a date had ended, but this was different. There was a distinctly awkward air to the way he shuffled uncomfortably along beside you, and the soft sigh he had let out as he agreed to walk you to your door didn't exactly settle your nerves. That discomfort in the pit of your stomach was only exacerbated by the way he avoided all eye contact once you had placed the key in the lock, and stood, turned to him, as you held the door ajar. "Egon, I think you should come in so we can talk."
"Talk?"
"Mhm."
You nodded solemnly as you headed inside. He was a sweet man, very kind, very straight to the point. Besides the very limited bursts of anger you had seen him display at questioning skeptics and otherwise disinterested city officials, you couldn't imagine him wanting to harm anyone. So you had to be the one to broach the subject, since it seemed like he never would.
Once inside, you watched him make his way to the sofa, sitting on the very edge with his hands placed on his knees, palms rubbing nervously at the woolen fabric. When you were sitting beside him, you could hear his shallow breathing and the sound of him swallowing his nerves. As much as you were apprehensive about this converation, it spurred you on to know you were putting him out of his misery.
"Look, Egon. I know you're a sweet guy, but I don't want you to be uncomfortable just so you don't hurt my feelings. If you don't want to see me anymore in a... romantic way... then we don't have to."
"What?"
"We can meet for coffee or go out for food alone or with other people, but as friends, y'know?"
"Yes. That is generally something we can do. I appreciate your time, and for being so forward with your feelings. If there's anything I can do to change your mind then-"
You raised your hands up, shaking your head in confusion.
"Wait, wait, wait. Change my mind? I... I'm not breaking up with you, Egon. I'm making it easier for you to break up with me."
His face was blank, except for the slight hint of confusion, and you could almost hear the gears of his mind grinding away as he puzzled over where you got the notion that he might want to break up with you. It didn't take him long though. He wasn't oblivious. The evidence was definitely piling up, although the intentions behind it had been lost in translation.
"I don't want to break up with you. I enjoy spending time with you. We share a lot of the same attributes in common and you are extremely tolerable of any discussions about my various interests."
"How romantic."
You smiled, emphasising the playful tone of your slight dig.
"And of course, I find you attractive. Very appealing, physically as well as emotionally and intellectually. Which is precisely the problem."
Egon sat in silence for a few moments, as though he expected you to psychically glean what he meant by that statement, waiting on your response. But when it was apparent that you had none, he took a deep breath and continued.
"This is our fifth date. I expect that you'll want to have sexual relations, or at least some form of physical contact beyond what we've experienced thus far."
Your eyes widened, surprised by how blunt he was, if not more technical or formal than you expected, and you stumbled over your words.
"I, uh... w-well, that would be nice! But, if that's not your thing then of course we don't have to."
Shocking you both, he abruptly removed his hand from his own leg and placed it on your knee, both of you looking at it before he snatched it back.
"I want to, of course. But, speaking openly, I haven't ever experienced that. Yet. With anyone."
In absolute disbelief, you blinked as your body moved backwards a little, your nose twitching, raising your mouth in a curious and surprised sneer.
"You're a virgin? You. Are a virgin. You?"
"Does that factual statement require this much questioning?"
"A little bit, yeah! I mean... I would've been all over you four dates ago if you'd seemed a bit more at ease with it. I don't know how you've gone forty years without someone-"
He interrupted you with a slight frown, lips pursed as he waved you off before he spoke.
"I've spurned a few advances, but believe it or not, there's something about my personality that other find rather..."
"Abrupt. Formal. Disinterested?"
Egon nodded in agreement, very well aware that you used the words with no hint of criticism or negativity, but rather truthfully, and, oddly enough to him, with an almost loving tone.
"And yet you find those attributes appealing."
"Of course! They come in a very nice package."
You leaned into him, placing your hand on his thigh, squeezing it gently between your fingers as you edged closer to him on the sofa. He watched your fingers moving, eyes closing as he took in the sesation of the touch. Even that smallest gesture was enough to excite him. Your hand, moving further up his long, slender leg, fingers tensing into the muscle and releasing their grip as your palm snaked higher and higher, closer and closer.
"Oh, ok. You definitely are interested then..."
It was impossible not to notice the distinct bulging at the front of his slacks, and you felt immediately bad for pointing it out, but Egon smiled, nervously adjusting his glasses and clearing his throat.
"I wouldn't have lied to you. Besides, I knew the biological response would betray me eventually. I'm only lucky to have gone this long with the problem arising, for want of a better word."
Taking stock of the situation, you considered the next steps. You didn't want to rush him, by any means, but you didn't want to let the opportunity go to waste. An intimate conversation could lead to a more intimate encounter, and that was definitely what you had been hoping for tonight.
"Egon, we can do whatever you want tonight. You can go home, with no hard feelings, and we can continue dating and wait until you're ready. Or we can give it a go. If you want to stop, we can. But I think this could be a nice experience for us, as a... couple. Let me guide you through this. I'll be very gentle, unless of course you tell me otherwise."
His face lit up with a warm smile, clearly in appreciation of your gentle offer and your efforts to make light of what was most definitely an awkward conversation. Still, though, he seemed too nervous to speak much, so the ball was once again in your court.
"Ok, so... is it the skills involved that are causing you problems? Or...?"
"I suppose so, but like most other things, you gain experience with practice..."
Your stomach flipped in excitement, a heat prickling over your skin at the notion that you might be involved in this practice.
"... It's an area I haven't really been involved with before. It's not as though you're something to study, to examine and figure out."
"That's... exactly what it's like, actually."
"Hm."
"I mean, that's what it could be. If that makes things easier for you. Maybe a little bit of roleplay, putting you in a position of control that you're familiar with... maybe that would make it a bit easier for you?"
Egon paused for a moment, considering your suggestion with a hopeful look, nodding silently before he spoke.
"Your hypothesis is intriguing, and I do think it would be beneficial to at least test it in an experiment before we rule it out completely as a possible solution. If... if you're sure...?"
Placing your hand over his, you squeezed it, reassuringly, as you leaned in to him.
"It's a new experience, yes. But don't worry, I'll help you through it... Doctor."
His eyes lit up, a fire suddenly burning in the pit of his stomach. Standing from the sofa, he took your hand and brought you up to him. Egon's eyes flitted towards the door to your bedroom.
"In that case then, please come with me and we can begin this examination."
You reached for his hand, hoping he'd guide you romantically to the privacy of your bedroom, but he was already fast ahead of you, his long limbs gaining the distance with his wide strides as you hurried excitedly into the room behind him.
"Now, if you'll lie back on the bed, please, and take a deep breath. Let me take care of you. I'm sure that whatever is wrong, I can provide some assistance."
Obedient, and with a level of excitement you weren't afraid to show, you bounced onto the mattress and laid back, inhaling and exhaling slowly and carefully as you listened to Egon pacing around the bed, finding the best place to conduct his examination. Standing on your right, looking down at you, you watched as he procured a small notepad and almost pointlessly short pencil from the inside pocket of his suit jacket.
"I think we should begin by noting the first examples you found of paranormal occurrences. Were the internal or external?"
Narrowing your eyes in confusion, you tried to think of an answer to the question, but before you could find a suitable one he had moved on to the next.
"If neither of those are pertinent to your experience, can you tell me if you had any sensations or evidence of being posessed?"
"What? Egon, what are you talking about?"
Blinking twice, he lowered himself to you, bending at the hip, and whispering in a lower voice as though he were trying not to break the roleplay experience.
"This is my area of expertise. The paranormal. I am examining you as a doctor of such, so... are you experiencing anything paranormal?"
Quickly catching on, you mustered up a few symptoms for him to use in his diagnosis.
"Oh... uh... yes! Well, Doctor Spengler, the reason I came to see you is that I've had a strange onset of problems, ones no ordinary doctor could diagnose. I think you might be my only hope now."
Reaching out, you took his hand in yours and squeezed, looking at him with wide, pleading eyes.
"And what might these symptoms be?"
"Well, I'm not sure if they're all related, but I do know that I've been feeling very irritable lately. Completely exhausted and filled with stress and tension. It's like there's something inside of me that I just need to get out, something that's controlling my behaviour."
"It sounds like you might need a formal adjuration addressed to the demonic presence that has decided to utilise you as its host."
"I need a what?"
"In layman's terms, an exorcism."
"Ah! Wow, that sounds very serious, Doctor Spengler."
The way you spoke his name, each consonant, each syllable, lingering on your lips and tongues, lustful and seductive, had him clearing his throat and swallowing the building, shaking nerves that it conjured.
"It can be. Could you detail when you feel these symptoms for me?"
"Hm... they mostly surface when I'm around my boyfriend. He's real neat, I think you'd like him. He's so intelligent, so sweet, and he's super hot."
"Ahem... he sounds, delightful."
"You don't think the demon, or whatever is inside of me, is targeting him, do you, Doctor Spengler?"
You forced a concerned pout onto your lips, looking up at Egon through your batting eyelashses as you watched him try to recover from not only the insinuation that he was hot, but that you considered him to be your boyfriend.
"I see... then I believe that perhaps this is not anything paranormal but very natural. I think a release of tension, of a more physical or... coital nature, is the required prescription here."
With his cheeks flushing at the mere mention of sexual activity, Egon adjusted his glasses once more as he avoided eye contact with you.
"Oh, thank you, Doctor Spengler! So... what should I do about this predicament? Do you think you could maybe administer the correct dosage for me? Perhaps we can do the procedure here?"
The deep red blush seeped further across Egon's skin, his pupils wider than you'd seen them before. Quickly, and with no attempt to do so discreetly, he moved his hands down in front of him, holding the notepad strategically in front of his pants.
"Are you hiding something down there, Doctor Spengler?"
Egon stuttered, dropping the note pad before bending to catch it swiftly, the tent at the front of his slacks visible for only a brief moment, but long enough that you could ascertain what he was working with below the tweed and formality.
"I-I-I'm... I-it's... I apologise, I didn't mean to rush things by getting ahead of myself. This is embarrassing."
"Oh, come on, Egon! You know as well as I do that it's a natural reaction. If you're going to be ashamed of anything, I would say it should be how easy it was to get you as flustered as you are... I mean look at your cheeks! Tell me... is any other part of you blushing pink?"
The silence was almost deafening, and he was once again unable to look into your eyes. Fearing you had taken it a little too far in your taunting, given it was his first time, you were quick to apologise, sitting up on the bed and holding his arm. But he brushed you off, working on his nervous habit of fiddling with the legs of his glasses as he replied.
"No need to apologise, I'm just quietly reconciling the facts. Yes, it was embarrassing, but your taunting made it worth it. It definitely played a fact in the increase in arousal, it would be a fascinating thing to study if I had any spare time. I'd even suggest that we experiment with that more this evening, but I'm worried it might lead to a quick conclusion to our combined efforts if the external stimuli is too... well, stimulating."
"How about we just remember that you're into it and add it to our list, hm?"
"We have a list?"
You eased yourself up onto your knees on the bed, holding on to the lapels of Egon's suit jacket as you watched his Adam's apple bob, his chest rising and falling as your hands soothed over his body.
"Now we do."
Your lips met his in a soft, interlocking embrace, with Egon catching on quickly after a sharp inhale. You could feel his smile against yours as the passion deepened, his hands falling to your sides as he held you steady as you balanced yourself against his surprisingly sturdy frame. Letting out a deep sigh as his hands curled around you, his palms flat against your spine as he stroked up and down, you found yourself leaning into him more, fingers pressing into the back of his neck as you kept him kissing you.
One of your hands pushed into his thick, tight curls as the other drifted back around and down his front, your fingers skirting over the buckle of his belt and hooking just below it, tugging his hips towards you. He came easily, putting up no resistance to your desire to have him closer to you.
Egon's breath haltered as he watched you in stunned silence, your fingers expertly, and quickly, unbuckling his belt and slowly, deftly, unzipping his pants. Looking up to him to make sure he was still on board, you caught his eyes, pupils wide, behind the slightly fogged lenses of his glasses. In response to the question you hadn't asked yet, you caught out of your peripheral the slight twitch of his cock, waiting impatiently for your touch.
As seductively as you could, you pulled his slacks down slightly, enough that you could hook your thumbs into the waistband of his white, y-fronts, watching as more of his cock was revealed until it sprang over the top.
He was an impressive length, and a thickness you could get used to with some practice. Looking at it, you considered that was probably why he so often wore looser slacks, given there was a lot for him to attempt to conceal. Without even realising it, you had begun to lick your lips, trying not to drool over yourself. So, to satiate your growing hunger, you wrapped your palm around the base of his length and began to stroke it.
Your movements were gentle, not too slow but not too fast. You were sure he had experienced some level of physical intimacy before, and he couldn't have gone forty years without some level of masturbation. Surely... but there was always a chance...
Either way, your ministrations against his thickening length had it pulsing and throbbing against the flat of your hand as you dragged it up and down, stroking his cock in rhythym with his breathing and matching the pace of his subconscious and almost imperceptible thrusting.
Despite having a grown man under your power, you were still preoccupied with his comfort, worried that you were moving things too quickly. So to counter your concerns, and keep things as pleasant as possible for you both, you took to looking deep into his eyes, past the lenses of his round frames. It was a piercing stare, one that was uncomfortable for only a moment before it deepened the intimacy, letting you see him in a completely new light as his jaw hung open and his tongue lapped at the air. You couldn't help but smile back at the lopsided grin he wore, your heartbeat unsteadied by the mere suggestion that you were making him happy.
A small, sultry giggle escaped your throat, and Egon groaned in reply, bucking his hips forward,standing on tiptoe and shuddering as he balanced himself back onto his heels again. Only when you felt the cooling of the warm liquid spread over your fingers did you realise what had happened.
With a quick glance down, you could see the last threads of cum spilling ont your hand from the flushed, pink head of Egon's cock. Drops and strands dripped down your knuckles, and as you loosened your grip, the action accompanied by a soft whimper from Egon, you fought the urge to lick your hand clean. There would be opportunities in the future to taste him, right now the priority was to assuage the concern you could see growing on his furrowed brow. You could feel your own underwear soaking in arousal at the idea of pushing Egon to climax so quickly, but he didn't seem to feel the same.
Looking to him, your mischievous grin was quickly contorted into an easy, comforting smile as you stood up and quickly kissed him. If your lips were firm against his, then there was no qay he could finish the entirely unnecessary apology that he was trying to make for what he felt was a speedy response to your touch. Resting your forehead against his, and letting his large nose press into yours, you pulled away from the deep kiss, a slowing tirade of softer ones following it until you were sure he would be quiet.
"It's ok, honestly. There's no need to apologise."
"Are you sure? I'd hate to be a disappointment."
"Hardly! In fact..."
You punctuated each word with a kiss, covering his cheeks, his chin, his neck and his collarbone in them.
"... I think it was pretty hot having that kind of power over you."
When you moved your lip back over his neck, you allowed your teeth to graze across his skin before sinking them in, closing your lips over and sucking at him, feeling his flesh warm in your mouth and delighting in the wet, smacking sound as you let go. With your drool settling in a strand against him, you bit your lip, suddenly a little embarrassed by the very forward nature of the bite. You waited for Egon's approval, or disapproval, of the flurry of affection, giggling when he finally spoke.
"To clarify, that bite was a positive response, yes?"
"Of course! I just wanted to... mark my territory. This way, whenever someone looks at you, they'll know you belong to someone. Just in case anyone else gets any ideas about being your first before I can get to you again."
Egon's fingers twitched, reachign instinctively in that recognisable flustered action to adjust his glasses, one side of his mouth lifted into a coy, but satisfied grin.
#I PUT MY WHOLE PUSSY IN THIS ONE GUYS#egon spengler#egon spengler x reader#ghostbusters egon#ghostbusters#egon spengler fanfic#egon spengler fanfiction#finnie writes
611 notes
·
View notes
Text
Brotherly Duties
Hey hey, @rosiesramblings! I cannot tell you how excited I was to be your @squealing-santa this year!! This fic was so fun to write and I love it a lot, so I hope you love it too!
When I saw your 3 prompts, along with your request for ler!Dick and lee!any-of-his-little-brothers, my brain went "Why Not All Three, Though?" So here's your batbrothers fic, featuring all 3 baby brothers and all 3 prompts! I may have gotten a little carried away lol
And also, a huge thank you to @cantsaythetword for hosting this year's @squealing-santa! You are hugely appreciated, Crow! I know hosting this event is no easy feat, especially with tumblr seemingly trying to block all avenues of communication. We all really appreciate you!!
(also obligatory warning to all that my characterizations are still very fanon-based, as I have been too busy to delve much into comics just yet lol)
____________________________
Brotherly Duties
Fandom: Batfamily (no specific source material/continuity)
Ship(s): Gen!!! Platonic!! Familial!! No batcest here
Characters (lee/ler): Lee!Jason, Damian, and Tim & Ler!Dick
Word Count: 6846 words
Summary: Whether it's to get his siblings to take a break or to stop them from being obnoxious little shits, Dick's patented brother-wrangling techniques are always successful.
[ao3 link]
____________________________
Dick didn’t think he’d ever get used to seeing Jason back in the Manor again.
He was used to forcing brotherly bonding by breaking into one of Jason’s safehouses, or cajoling Jason until he agreed to drop by Bludhaven for a movie night, with or without their other siblings. When Jason started dropping by the Batcave every once in a while, even if it was originally just to steal gear and gadgets from Bruce, Dick thought he might cry. Bruce almost did. And Dick finally did cry the first time he entered the Cave to find Jason giving Tim a few pointers on the sparring mats, because despite all the sarcasm and their argumentative tones, they were bonding.
Alfred, the miracle worker, was the first one to get Jason back upstairs, if only for a brief moment to pick up a care package that Alfred had put together for him. And once Jason had gotten through that first hurdle, it slowly got easier and easier to convince him to head upstairs for a bit, until Alfred had convinced him once more to start joining in on family dinners.
So walking into the den and seeing Jason engaged in a Mario Kart tournament with their baby brothers? Dick had to swallow that swell of emotion damned fast before any of them called him out for tearing up. And then he promptly vaulted over the back of the couch to prove who the real Mario Kart champion is.
Except, after (losing) only a couple more races, Damian was called away by a disappointed Bruce – apparently he had some big test coming up that he was meant to be studying for, but he’d snuck away to play video games with Jason and Tim instead.
Tim himself only lasted one more (lost) race after that before flitting off himself. Dick knew he was sneaking off to do some work, whether it was for their nighttime cases or something to finish up for W.E., despite the fact that he’d practically been ordered to take a break for the day. Dick also knew he was completely taking advantage of the fact of Jason being here, because Dick hated having to walk away when Jason was right there and willing to spend time with them and was unlikely to follow after and make Tim rest.
But Dick decided to let it slide, just this once. It’s not like he could reach his usual state of overworked before Alfred called them all for family dinner, and Dick could always force him to take a break later. Even if he had to sit on the kid so that he couldn’t reach his laptop. It wouldn’t be the first time.
And then it was just Dick, Jason, and the Nintendo Switch.
“You gonna back out, too?” Dick taunted, raising an eyebrow at Jason.
Jason scoffed, settling more firmly against the arm of the couch, bringing his socked feet up to rest on the cushions. It was a position he took up often when they played video games or watched movies here in the den when Jason was still a short, scrawny kid, all curled up like a cat despite being ready to spring up at any moment. It looked a little silly now, someone as large as Jason tucking his feet up like that, but it made Dick’s heart ache anyway.
“As if,” Jason said. “I’m gonna kick your ass.”
Dick couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, because you’ve been doing such a good job of that so far. Remind me, Jay, how many races have you won since I got here?”
Jason grumbled something that sounded rather like “shut the fuck up, Dickface,” clutching his controller closer to his chest. “Just pick the next race, already.”
Dick chose a track at random and settled in against his arm of the couch, locking into the race. Though it was a close race, Jason staying on his tail the entire time, Dick still won the race. And the next one. And the one after that. Dick couldn’t help but laugh, even as Jason fumed.
Jason chose the next track without a word, refusing to even look in Dick’s direction. Dick couldn’t wipe the grin off his face if he tried, and broke into even more laughter as Jason’s kart failed the startup boost and burst into a cloud of smoke. His laughter was quickly cut off as a foot jabbed into his arm, jostling him and making his own kart almost fly off the track.
“Hey!”
“What?” Jason said, as if he wasn’t stretched across the couch (curse his stupid Lazarus Pit induced growth spurt), and he shoved at Dick’s arm again.
“Cut it out, Jason!”
“I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.”
Another light kick, this time to Dick’s hands in an attempt to knock the Joycon out of them. Dick cursed, barely keeping the controller from going flying, and Jason crowed as he pulled into the lead.
“Take that, Dickwing!”
“Jason!”
“What?”
Another kick, Dick just barely managing to evade it as he tried to regain first place. Jason’s second foot came into play then, one continuously jostling the arm nearest to Jason while the other tried to knock the controller from Dick’s hands. Dick couldn’t even fight Jason off, because he’d chosen a track with too many twists and turns to take his hands off the controller for too long. When the foot dedicated to shoving at Dick missed his arm and instead jabbed a toe into his ribs (which Dick totally didn’t flinch at, thank you very much), the solution came to Dick all at once.
He just hoped the Lazarus Pit hadn’t made his baby brother any less ticklish.
“That’s it,” Dick snapped at the next kick as he paused the game, grabbing an ankle in the same motion.
“Shit, wait!” Jason’s voice had gone hilariously high pitched, and he started kicking at Dick for a whole new reason. “Dick!”
“I’m not waiting for shit – you deserve this.”
Dick skittered his fingers against the socked sole in his grip and Jason grunted, sealing his lips shut. Unfortunately, Jason was a lot stronger now than he had been at thirteen, and he was easily able to rip his ankle out of Dick’s grip. He spared a moment to shove Dick into the arm of the couch with both feet before rolling over, trying to crawl over the arm of the couch to escape – as if that was somehow a better plan than just standing up from the couch and leaving.
Either way, it gave Dick the perfect opportunity to launch himself forward and sit across the backs of Jason’s thighs. Jason spat out a curse, kicking and twisting and bucking to try and throw Dick off to no avail.
“Get your fat ass off of me!”
Dick tutted, a habit he had slowly started picking up from Damian without realizing. “You’re gonna owe Alfred so much money in the swear jar by the time I’m done with you.”
Jason gave up on squirming, shooting Dick an absolutely lethal glare over his shoulder. “I’ll fucking kill you.”
“Mhm,” Dick said, absently, cataloguing Jason’s body language and facial expressions. “Sure.”
As skilled as Jason might have been at burying his thoughts and feelings (they were both trained by the Batman, after all), Dick was better at prying them out. Not only was Jason his first baby brother, as fraught as their relationship has been over the years, but he was the first son of the World’s Greatest Detective. Jason couldn’t hide those reactions from him.
The laughably awful escape plan, the lack of tension in Jason’s eyebrows, the twitching at the corners of Jason’s mouth. His nose wasn’t even scrunched up in anticipation of a snarl, which always happened when Jason was starting to get pissed off. Plus, while Dick could certainly take Jason in a fight (he’d been in the vigilante business a lot longer, after all), it’s not like he was extending a lot of effort into their little play tussle. If Jason had really wanted to throw Dick off earlier, he would have.
Jason was having fun.
And who was he to deny his little brother some silly goofing off? God knows Jason needed it.
And so Dick didn’t hesitate a second longer, reaching out to vibrate his fingers into the middle of Jason’s ribcage. Jason didn’t bother clamping his lips shut this time, instead burying his face into the couch as he let out a giggly yelp. His legs kicked out behind Dick, drumming against the couch cushions, and he tried to squeeze his arms against his sides for protection despite how awkward his position made it.
“Aww, Little Wing!” Dick couldn’t help but tease. “I think you’re even more ticklish now than when you were a kid.”
Jason peeled his face up from the cushion just long enough to shout a wobbly “Shut the fuck up!” before planting his face back in the fabric.
Dick laughed, squeezing sporadically up and down Jason’s sides just to watch him wiggle around like a frantic little worm. When they were younger, he used to curl up like a little pill bug whenever Dick or Bruce would tickle him, knees up to his chest and arms wrapped around his torso like it could ever save him from their wiggling fingers. It had never worked, of course – and was even less help to him when they realized just how ticklish Jason’s back was.
Speaking of…
Dick pulled his hands back, giving Jason a half-second of a breather, before delivering a series of sporadic, nibbling pinches traveling up Jason’s back. This time Jason shrieked, his legs scrabbling even harder at the cushions since they couldn’t curl up, and he reached back to try and slap at Dick’s hands. Being all bulky muscle now, he couldn’t quite contort that far anymore, so instead he settled for slapping at Dick’s knee.
“You dick!”
“Well, that is my name, Jay. Don’t wear it out.”
“You’re so fucking stupid!”
“I hope you know I’m keeping track so I can tell Alfred later. You’re up to at least six dollars, and that’s not even counting before I started tickling. You’re gonna get the disappointed grandpa look.”
Jason picked his head up to retort, but Dick chose that moment to start poking just below his shoulderblades, following along the edges of them. Instead of cursing Dick out again, he tumbled into bubbly giggles and shimmied his shoulders to try and throw off the attack. Dick laughed again, switching to prodding at the edges of Jason’s armpits.
“What’s-a-matter, Little Wing? Does that tickle? You regret messing with me yet?”
Jason’s laughter spiked, but it had nothing to do with the tickling. “You kidding me?” He warbled through his laughter. “I died, I’m not gonna break for a little tickling, Dickhead.”
Dick frowned at the death joke (he didn’t think he’d ever feel comfortable with Jason joking about it), but narrowed his eyes as the rest of the sentence hit him. He paused his fingers, but even though his panting giggles, Jason still kept trying to (very obviously half-heartedly) wiggle his way out.
“Oh, yeah?”
Something about his tone made Jason freeze in place. Jason slowly turned to look over his shoulder, making eye contact with Dick (bright, smiling eyes, and so full of life).
“Dick.”
Dick raised an eyebrow. “Jason.”
“Come on, man.”
Dick’s other eyebrow jumped up. “You wanna be tickled that bad?”
Jason’s eyes went wide and he started wiggling again. “Wait– no!”
Dick chuckled and wormed his fingers under Jason’s body, settling his fingertips into the divots beside Jason’s hip bones.
“Any last words?”
“Um. Sorry?”
“Hmm. I don’t think you are, though.”
And Dick dug his fingers in, squeezing at Jason’s hips mercilessly. The noise Jason let out was almost a scream before he fell into hysterical, hiccuping cackles. His body went limp under Dick, giving up on fighting or even trying to pill-bug for protection as he laughed himself hoarse.
“Are you sorry now, you little shit?”
Jason managed a mangled “swear jar” through his guffaws.
Dick grumbled, but couldn’t help but grin. It had been so long since he’d gotten to goof off with Jason like this. It felt like something inside him was finally clicking back into place, the final piece left to settle his soul ever since getting Jason back.
“Okay!” Jason wheezed, knocking Dick out of his thoughts. “Okay, I’m sorry!”
Dick chuckled, but stopped immediately. He swung a leg over Jason so he was no longer straddling him, but sitting against the back of the couch with his legs tossed over the backs of Jason’s legs. Jason panted and giggled and finally curled up like the little pill bug he was. Dick reached out and rubbed a hand up and down his back to help him calm down.
Jason’s eyes had drifted shut as he recovered, but Dick caught a shadow lurking out of the corner of his eye. Glancing up, he saw Bruce hovering in the doorway to the den, eyebrows drawn in worry. Dick inwardly winced, recalling the frantic scream Jason had let out only a few minutes before. He couldn’t exactly blame Bruce for coming running at the noise – and clearly just back from the office too, based on his attire.
But Dick just grinned at Bruce, winking and wiggling the fingers of his free hand in explanation. Bruce’s face cleared, his mouth twitching up briefly in amusement (what would likely be a chuckle on anyone normal) as his eyes melted in that fond way they tended to whenever Dick or his siblings did something Bruce found particularly endearing. Dick had to look away, always feeling oddly vulnerable under that gaze, and after a few more moments of staring, Dick saw Bruce’s shadow retreat. The warmth his smile had left in Dick’s chest had not.
“You know, Dickie,” Jason said, having finally caught his breath, “one of these days, one of us is gonna get you back.”
Dick laughed, briefly clawing up Jason’s back just to hear him squeal again before going back to rubbing it soothingly. “Keep telling yourself that, Little Wing.”
Jason scoffed. “You better watch your back. I’m bigger than you now, and I remember all your tickle spots too.”
The warmth still sitting in Dick’s chest turned into a swarm of butterflies. Fuck Bruce, actually, for tickling him in front of Jason often enough for that information to stick.
* * * * *
Apparently, being benched meant you couldn’t even run comms these days. Dick had to shove down the wave of frustration as Alfred shooed him away from the Batcomputer, as if a shoulder injury somehow meant he couldn’t operate a keyboard and talk into a microphone. He wasn’t an invalid, thank you very much. But Dick knew better than to argue with Alfred, and his tone brokered no room to do so as he told Dick to “go check on your brother.”
Because Dick wasn’t the only vigilante benched that night.
And as Dick picked his way through the Cave, Alfred kicking him off comms suddenly made a lot more sense. He could hear heavy breathing coming from the training mats, the sound of grunts and fists meeting vinyl. Dick sighed and changed course, heading for the training area instead of the stairs. Of course Damian was frustrated with being benched. He wasn’t even hurt.
Dick watched Damian train for a few minutes. His face was creased with irritation, sweat dripping from his jaw and hairline. Dick could see where the exhaustion pulled at Damian’s limbs, making his form sloppy and imprecise (at least, sloppy and imprecise for a former assassin and a current Bat). He had his fists wrapped properly in tape, but Dick could see his boxing gloves abandoned at the edge of one of the training mats. The velcro strap on one of them was broken, but whether it was from overuse or Damian’s frustration was unclear.
“Shouldn’t baby bats be in bed this time of night?” Dick called out eventually, kicking off his slides to step onto the training mats.
“I should be out on the streets with Batman,” Damian ground out, throwing a particularly vicious punch at the bag.
Dick sighed again, making his way behind the punching bag to brace it for Damian. “You know the rules, kiddo. No patrol before school tests, not even a reduced one. You need your rest.”
“It is a waste of time! My classmates are imbeciles, I could take the exam high on fear toxin and still get the highest grade of them all.”
Dick bit back a reprimand, seeing as Damian would certainly not be receptive to it at the moment. He’d been doing better with his peers recently, anyway – he had even joined the art club and started making a few friends. It was more than likely his anger talking than any real malice.
“I know how smart you are, Dami, we all do. But Robin still has rules, and they’re there to look out for you.”
At least, most of the time. Dick could still easily recall just how stifling a number of Bruce’s rules could get, and Damian wasn’t the only Robin to ever feel held back by them.
But Damian just heaved out a large sigh, briefly resting his forehead against the punching bag. “I know.” He just as quickly pulled back, fixing the scowl back onto his face. “But that does not mean I should neglect my training. Just because I am forced to stay in for the night does not mean there aren't ways to improve myself.”
Dick pursed his lips and glanced at a nearby clock (analog – all the digital clocks had been removed from the cave shortly after Jason started re-integrating. Dick still didn’t know who was responsible). It wasn’t too late yet, and Dick was all too familiar with how vigilantism could screw up one’s sleep schedule. If he tried to force Damian into bed now, he’d just lie there awake for the next couple of hours.
“Alright, Dami, we can train for a bit. But only for another 45 minutes, then it’s bedtime for baby bats.”
Damian scoffed and looked away, crossing his arms. “Tt. I do not need your assistance with my training. You’re still recovering.”
Dick rolled his eyes, then rolled his injured shoulder. It twinged a bit, but nothing like the pain when he had fumbled his grapple and almost wrenched it from its socket. “I’m fine – almost good as new! I can help you run through some drills, or work on your gymnastics.”
After some more prodding, Damian agreed to let Dick guide him through some new gymnastic and acrobatic moves, provided that Dick did not do anything to strain his arm and only stepped in when Damian needed it. They worked through a few flips and various ways to incorporate such moves into fighting. As always, Damian was a quick study.
And as always, Damian was far too stubborn and far too focused to quit when their time ran out.
“Dami, come on.” Dick rubbed at his eyes, feeling oddly tired himself despite the hours he usually kept. The injury must have taken more out of him than he realized, even as healed as it was. Maybe Bruce and Alfred were right to keep him benched for this long. “Time’s up, we can come back to it tomorrow when we’re fresh.”
Damian let out a frustrated growl. “I almost had it!”
“I know, buddy. And I bet you’ll get it even faster tomorrow, when you’re fresh and well-rested.”
Damian didn’t listen, continuing to try and execute the flip and only succeeding in flopping himself to the plush mats over and over.
“Damian.”
Damian did not budge. He flipped again, his body once again not reaching the rotation it needed to successfully execute the move. Except this time, Dick could track the trajectory – Damian would try to land on his feet, but at that angle… well, he would probably wind up benched for a lot longer than one school night.
Dick launched himself forward, managing to catch Damian around the middle to stop his momentum and halt the bad landing, but wrenched his injured shoulder in the process. He hissed a breath in through his teeth, hoping it was quiet enough that Damian didn’t hear, and lowered them both to the ground.
“I had it, Grayson!”
“No, you didn’t!” Dick snapped, then paused and took a couple deep breaths. Damian stayed quiet while he composed himself. “We’ll talk about what went wrong and how to prevent it tomorrow. Are you tuckered out yet?”
Damian crossed his arms. “If you’re so tired, then you go upstairs to bed. I’m fine to continue on my own.”
“Alright.” Dick took another slow breath to calm himself. “That’s it.”
Dick dug his fingertips into Damian’s sides, squeezing and wiggling away. Damian, clearly not expecting the sudden attack, had no hope for defense or hiding his reactions. He burst into boyish giggles instantly, slapping and shoving at Dick’s hands as he tried to wriggle away.
Dick grinned, the laughter of one of his baby brothers melting away his frustration faster than anything else ever could. “Maybe this’ll finally tire you out, huh?”
“Richard! Wait!”
Dick chuckled. “Why do you guys always tell me to wait? Wait for what, kiddo?” His hands converged on Damian’s belly, laughing along when his giggles got even squeakier. “It’s not like anyone’s gonna come to your rescue.”
Damian grumbled through his laughter, finally managing to wiggle out of Dick’s hold. “I don’t need a rescue, I can take care of myself!”
Dick let Damian retreat a few steps before hauling himself to his feet. He put on a show about it, stumbling around a bit and bringing one hand up to his head. “Uh oh, Baby Bat – better look out. I think I’m being taken over… by the Tickle Monster!”
Damian tried to scowl at him even as a goofy smile tugged at the edges of his lips. He clicked his tongue, watching Dick’s movements carefully. “Tt, the Tickle Monster isn’t real, Richard. I am too old for such childish games.”
Dick stumbled forward a few steps, reaching a jerking hand out to Damian. “Oh, save me, Dami! There’s only one thing that can help me now!”
Damian’s retreat faltered, one eyebrow raising in curiosity. “Which is?”
Dick grinned. Gotcha. “Your giggles!”
“I do not– Richard!!”
Dick laughed as he tackled Damian down to the mats, careful to twist them so he didn’t land on top of the boy or on his injured shoulder. He rolled so his own back was against the mats with Damian’s back flush against his chest, and made sure Damian was secure in one of his patented Octopus Grip hugs before resuming his attack. Damian burst back into silly giggles as one of Dick’s hands attacked his stomach, the other climbing up and down his sides and ribs sporadically. Every few seconds he would switch hands, and Damian squeaked each time without fail.
“What was that about not giggling, Baby Bat? What’s that I hear right now?”
“Shut up!”
Dick laughed, but laid off the teasing. The kid could only take so much playful embarrassment before he got genuinely upset, and Dick didn’t want to push it when he was already having such a frustrating night. He kept his tickling light, silly, and jumping, not wanting to overwhelm Damian on top of everything, but despite his squirming and protestations, there was no strain to his laughter or genuine undercurrent of anger in his threats.
Yeah, maybe Damian needed these giggles just as much as Dick did.
“Tuckered out now, kiddo? Tickle Monster’s happy to stick around if you’ve still got some energy to spend.”
“You’re ridiculous!”
“Well, in that case…”
Dick heaved them both up to a sitting position, barely giving Damian a moment of reprieve before reaching down to squeeze at the muscles just above his knees. Damian shrieked, laughter growing from giggles to guffaws. Though he kicked out to try and dislodge Dick’s hands, tugging at Dick’s fingers with his own, Damian still easily melted back into Dick’s chest as he laughed. Dick couldn’t help the fond smile that rose to his lips as he tapered the tickling off, pressing a kiss to the top of Damian’s sweaty head.
“Hit the showers, bud, then the hay. Got it?”
Damian huffed out a large sigh, clearly swallowing back residual giggles as he leaned even further back into Dick for a few moments. “Yes, Richard.” He hauled himself to his feet before holding out a hand to help Dick up. “Get an ice pack for your shoulder, and perhaps locate some anti-inflammatories before you head to bed as well.”
“I told you buddy, I’m fine–”
Damian shot him an unimpressed look. “I heard you when you saved me from injury, I know you aggravated it. I will tell Pennyworth if you don’t take care of it.”
Dick sighed, pulling Damian into a side hug with a gentle smile. “Always looking out for me, aren’t you, bud?”
Damian rolled his eyes, as if it was a stupid thing to take note of. “Of course. Just because you’re not Batman anymore doesn’t mean that stops.”
Dick pulled him in for a full hug at that. “You’ll always be my Robin, Damian.”
Damian hummed and gave him a quick squeeze before detangling himself from Dick’s limbs. “I’m serious,” he called over his shoulder on his way to the shower. “I’ll tell Alfred if you don’t take care of it.”
Dick grumbled under his breath, but obediently turned to head toward the medbay. If he wanted to help Damian perfect that flip tomorrow, then he needed to make sure his shoulder was as good as he could get it.
* * * * *
By the time Dick finished up his patrol and returned to the Batcave, Tim was already planted in the Batcomputer’s chair, hard at work despite the cast that now swallowed his left calf. Red Robin had taken a nasty hit on patrol, thrown full-force through an already-crumbling wall by an irate Killer Croc. Dick was just grateful that he hadn’t gotten hurt worse, walking away from that fight with only a broken leg was a near-miracle. Clearly Tim didn’t feel the same way, if his scowl was anything to go by.
Dick sighed and eyed the several Zesti cans littering the desk. Tim hadn’t even been back in the Cave for two hours. “Bruce is going to kill you. You know his rules about food and drink near the Batcomputer.”
Tim shrugged one shoulder, not bothering to turn around. “What B doesn’t know won’t hurt him. I needed the caffeine.”
“You should be resting, kiddo – Croc’s back in custody, it’s okay to take a break.”
“No time.” Tim waved him off. “Jason asked for my help tracking down some murders in Crime Alley, whoever it is is good. And Two-Face escaped last week and we’re no closer to finding him. Ivy’s seemed jittery lately, despite how well she and Harley had been doing, so I need to keep an eye on both of them. And I’ve got this case for the Teen Titans –”
“Whoa, Timmy – take a breath. Not all of that has to get done tonight.”
Tim took a deep breath in, then suddenly finally turned to look at Dick. His face was twisted in disgust, wrinkled button nose and all.
“You smell like shit.”
“Gee, I wonder why. Who could we possibly know that frequents sewers around here?”
Tim rolled his eyes. “Go take a shower, I can’t focus with you stinking up the place.”
Dick raised an eyebrow. “Maybe I’ll just stay right here, then. Drive you out with the smell so you can finally get some sleep.”
“I’m fine – I’m not even tired.”
“Tim, your eyebags have eyebags – just looking at you is making me tired.”
“Then maybe you should go to bed.”
Dick pinched the bridge of his nose. Getting Tim to take a break was nearly impossible, and he didn’t know if he had the energy or patience for it tonight after dealing with Croc. He was glad that Batman and Robin were handling things with the GCPD, letting Nightwing head back first.
“Look,” Dick said, keeping his voice light and level. “You have until I’m in civvies to clean up the desk and finish up, and then we’re both heading up to bed – even if I have to carry you up there.”
“Mhm, yeah, Dick. Sure.”
Dick narrowed his eyes at the back of Tim’s head. “I will sit on you.”
“Good luck with that.”
Dick held in another sigh and made for the locker rooms, snatching up some solvent for his mask along the way. He took his time in the shower for once, forcefully scrubbing the sewer stench off his body while letting the hot water ease the aches and pains from getting thrown around like a ragdoll. When he was finished and dried, he pulled on a soft, warm pair of sweatpants and broke into Jason’s locker to steal an oversized sweatshirt (it wasn’t like Jason used the Cave’s locker room often enough to miss his clothes – Alfred always washed and replaced them before Jason even noticed).
Smelling fresh and feeling cozy, Dick emerged from the steaming locker room and back into the chill of the Batcave. Tim hadn’t moved an inch in the time he was gone, still hunched over the Batcomputer. In fact, Dick could swear there were even more cans of Zesti than when he had left. Where was he even hiding it all? There was no way Alfred allowed that much soda into the Manor, let alone the Batcave.
“Come on,” Dick said, jostling Tim’s chair as he approached. “Let’s take care of these cans and catch some Z’s.”
Tim didn’t dignify him with a response, only throwing him a bloodshot glare. Dick took a careful breath and switched tactics. Flippant sometimes worked with Tim, depending on his mood, but it was more the tactic to use on Jason. Tim, attention-starved little gremlin that he was growing up, historically responded a lot better to affection – so long as it didn’t feel like coddling.
So Dick carefully leaned up against the back of his chair, reaching down to squeeze gently at Tim’s shoulders to try and get him to release some of the tension there. “Alright, bud. Anything I can help with?”
Tim shot him a hesitant look. “Not really. I’m mostly just combing through security footage for Jason, right now.”
Dick hummed, turning his squeezing into more of a shoulder massage. “Two sets of eyes are better than one, right? Let me help – you’ll get it done faster, which means you’ll get some rest sooner.”
“I thought you were tired.”
“Never too tired for you, Baby Bird.”
Some of the tension bled out of Tim and he blinked heavily before turning back to his screens. Instead of pulling up one of the spare office chairs they had tucked away exactly for this purpose, Dick continued to lean up against the back of Tim’s. It left him with easy access to Tim’s neck, shoulders, and upper back – all places he carried immense amounts of tension from hunching over computers and laptops just like this. He kept up the gentle massage as they reviewed Crime Alley’s limited CCTV, and despite Tim’s evident frustration with their lack of progress, his shoulders stayed relaxed under Dick’s ministrations.
After a while, Dick switched up tactics. One of his hands travelled down to rub at the gooseflesh along Tim’s arms, thanks to him only wearing an oversized t-shirt in a literal cave (though, notably, it was one of Dick’s soft old t-shirts, clearly stolen from his locker just like Dick stole from Jason’s, and something about that made his heart melt). The other hand travelled up, combing through Tim’s hair and scratching gently at his scalp. After a few passes, Dick could feel Tim fighting off the urge to go completely boneless. A careful peek over the chair and Tim’s shoulder showed his eyelids fluttering as well, valiantly trying not to close completely.
“I know what you’re doing,” Tim grumbled.
“Oh?” Dick’s voice was low and quiet, as soothing as he could make it. “Do you, now?”
“Yes. And it’s not gonna work.”
Dick hummed. “Seems like it’s working to me.”
Tim frowned, bracing himself for a moment, and pulled away from Dick’s hands, rolling the chair closer to the desk to try and create some space between them. Dick’s blunt fingernails caught on the nape of Tim’s neck as he rolled away, earning him a rather adorable little squeak and a brief turtling of his shoulders.
Well, there was an idea.
Maybe a different method of brother-wrangling was in order.
“Well it’s not,” Tim said, clearing his throat and shaking his head immediately after, clearly trying to wake himself up.
Dick sighed, long and dramatic. “Then I’m afraid you’ve brought this upon yourself, Timmy.”
Tim whipped around to look at him, eyes wide. “Wait– what?”
Dick’s only answer was a mischievous smirk as he rolled the desk chair even further forward, until Tim’s chest was flush with the desk. No squirming away on his watch. He leaned up against the back of the chair (careful not to put too much pressure, lest he crush his baby brother) to prevent Tim from pushing back and set to work, skittering his fingers around Tim’s neck and ears. Tim, tired as he was, immediately burst into bubbly giggles, unable to bury them like usual. His shoulders hunched up as he chased after Dick’s hands with his own.
“Dick! Wait, no!”
“No more waiting, Baby Bird! I tried to be nice, but it looks like now you’re just gonna have to giggle yourself out. Let me know when you’re ready to take a break from working, yeah?”
Tim squealed again, thrashing in his seat as Dick dragged all his nails up the length of his neck, bursting back into giggles as Dick went back to spidering all over the delicate skin.
“That’s not fair!”
“‘Course it’s fair, Timmy! It’s practically Big Brother Law that I tickle you a certain amount per week. I’ve been slacking lately – gotta make up for lost time.”
Finally, Tim managed to latch onto Dick’s wrists, and Dick let him pull them away, if only for a moment. He panted and tried to pout up at Dick, but the expression was rather ineffective when he couldn’t quite wipe the smile off his face.
“Come on, just let me finish? Just thirty more minutes, I swear.”
Dick titled his head, pretending to consider the offer. “Mmmmm-nope!”
At a speed even the Flash would be impressed by, Dick twisted his hands out of Tim’s grip and shot them down between Tim’s body and the armrests of the chair. Expecting the worst, Tim shrieked before Dick had even touched him, plastering his arms down against his ribs.
No matter, Dick could easily come back for those later if Tim kept being stubborn. Dick instead targeted Tim’s hips, readjusting so he was attacking from either side of the chair rather than from above. Tim snorted, which made Dick laugh, which made Tim’s hands shoot up to cover his nose and mouth.
“You’re such an asshole!”
“Sorry, what was that? I couldn’t hear you over all this laughter.” Dick vibrated his hands into Tim’s stomach, making Tim burst out into full-bellied laughter. “Man, it’s so loud in here, huh? That echo really carries.”
“Dick!”
“Hey, could you keep it down? I’m trying to focus on this CCTV here and you’re really distracting me right now.”
“Fuck you!”
Dick laughed again. “Jason would be proud.”
Tim’s hands latched back onto Dick’s wrists. Success. Dick grinned down at the rats nest that was Tim’s hair and put his plan into action, slowly crawling up Tim’s sides.
The thing was, having not been tickled much growing up, neither by the neglectful Drakes nor his friends, Tim was a bit inexperienced in how to defend himself. Despite Dick’s countless tickle attacks from the moment he named Tim his baby brother (long before the adoption papers came along), Tim had never really grown out of that.
For someone who was always thinking twelve steps ahead and had at least six contingencies for every possible outcome, Tim was on a rather one-track mind when he was tickled. Usually, that one track was simply Oh God, Stop Dick’s Hands. It was a sound line of logic – after all, if Dick’s hands stopped, so did the tickling. However, Tim rarely took into account how laughter weakened even the hardest-earned muscles and leached the coordination from even the most well-trained gymnasts. Dick knew from experience – he flopped around like a fish out of water when he got tickled. All this to say, Tim tended to forget that in trying to capture or push away Dick’s tickling fingers, he left open weak spots that were all-too-easy for Dick to exploit.
Like now, with Dick’s fingers slowly crawling onto his now-exposed lower ribs. Tim cackled and, based on the thumping coming from below the desk, was kicking his legs fiercely. He didn’t seem to realize that the higher Dick tickled, the higher his own arms went too, exposing all his worst tickle spots.
“Last chance, Baby Bird. Taking a break?”
“N-no! I have to finish–!”
Dick let out a fake sigh. “Then you leave me no choice, kiddo.”
Dick latched onto Tim’s upper ribs and Tim’s arms finally crashed back down, trying to launch a defense all too late. Tim wheezed before bursting into the loudest, most hysterical laughter Dick had ever heard anyone make (outside of Harley and the Joker, that was, but they were outliers and should not be counted). He tossed his head back against the chair and shook it, scrubbing his already messy hair into one big knot against the leather.
Even with Tim’s cheeks going an endearing tomato-red from the laughter, Dick didn’t stop. He knew Tim’s bull-headedness all too well for that. He poked and prodded, scribbled and scratched, searching around for those hidden little hyper-ticklish spots across Tim’s upper ribs and armpits with relative ease, despite the arms pressed against them.
“Okay!” Tim eventually shrieked. “Okay, okay!”
Dick didn’t stop his attack, but he did slow his fingers slightly. “‘Okay’ what?”
“I’ll – I’ll take a break!”
Dick blew a stream of air against Tim’s ear and neck, just to hear the squeaky snort he let out, his head jolting sideways for protection. “Hmm, I dunno if I believe that.”
“I promise! Dick, please!”
“Alright, alright.”
Dick chuckled and pulled back, wheeling the chair away from the desk and turning Tim to face him. His face was flushed, his eyes were teary, and Dick wasn’t even sure if his hair was salvageable at that point or if Alfred would wind up having to cut some mats out. Still, the dopey smile remained plastered to Tim’s lips as he went completely boneless in the chair.
“You, Baby Bird, are sleeping all day tomorrow. Even if I have to sit on you.”
Tim blinked blearily at him. “Don’t you drive back to Blud tomorrow?”
Dick shrugged. “The city can survive another day without Nightwing. Not sure my baby brother can go on another day without Dick Grayson.”
Tim rolled his eyes, but didn’t correct him. Dick fought off a frown. Maybe he needed to make the drive from Bludhaven more often, if Tim was missing him enough to not give him shit. Or maybe Tim was just that tired.
Either way, Dick pushed the thought away for the night. Deciding the cans were a lost cause for the night (which, Tim was totally getting grounded from the Batcomputer for those), he leaned down and swept Tim into his arms, tossing Tim over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Tim squawked in protest.
“What are you doing?!”
“Cashing in on that break you promised – we are having a movie night, all curled up in your bed–”
“It’s covered in W.E. documents.”
“– all curled up in my bed with warm blankets and Alfred’s famous hot cocoa–”
“You’re just trying to get me to fall asleep.”
“You’ll keep beating sleep off with a stick if I leave you alone. If I can get you to rest with some hot cocoa, brother cuddles, and hair pets, then I’m willing to make that sacrifice.”
“Oh no,” Tim snarked. “Dick Grayson being forced to cuddle, what ever will he do?”
Dick grinned and bit back a laugh, tweaking the back of Tim’s knee to make him yelp. “Watch it. Timmy. We can still go for round two.”
Tim grumbled under his breath, something about stupid big brothers and revenge, but Dick decided that could wait for another day. He had a baby brother to tuck into bed, and hopefully his own sleep to catch soon after.
#tickle fic#my writing#squealing santa#ss2k24#batfam tickling#dc tickling#lee!tim drake#lee!jason todd#lee!damian wayne#ler!dick grayson#ticklish!tim drake#ticklish!jason todd#ticklish!damian wayne#dc#batfam#dick grayson#jason todd#tim drake#Brother Wrangling series
147 notes
·
View notes
Text
I just work here
Based on this post by @all-for-the-things-breathing on Tumblr
Neil works at Exites because it's as good as he knows his Exy career will get, and he knows that for his safety, it must stay that way until one day, the Queen of Exy decides he simply must have him. (This is sort of a crack fic, but I can't write crack to save my life, so it's pretty serious until the very end. I'm also fairly new to writing in the past tense, so there is that.)
Note: The author of this prompt wrote a fic for this themselves, but I didn't see that at the time of my writing this (5th June). I haven't read it, but if you like this fic, you should probably check it out on their Tumblr @all-for-the-things-breathing.
A regular uni student, that’s what Neil Josten was. Absolutely, very, totally extremely, every word in the thesaurus, ordinary, that was for sure. Well, as ordinary as you can get with a serial killer for a father and a mobster for a mother. Still, he’d managed quite well on his own he thought, managing to procure a job, just so it wasn’t too suspicious how he was so easily affording school. Okay, maybe a job as a sales clerk at a sporting goods store was that good a cover for his stolen cash, but jobs are hard to find!
And, in his defence, Exties was just any sporting goods store, no, no no. Excites was a speciality store. They sold gear for one sport and one sport only: Exy. This happened to be the sport that Neil lived and breathed by, as much as he could anyway. He’d played Little League up until junior high, but that was all it was ever going to be for him. Having a team meant committing for a year, it meant putting down roots which he couldn’t do when on the run where he might need to skip town at a moment’s notice. He certainly couldn’t pick up the sport in uni, that would only force upon him the very notoriety he’d been trying to avoid all his life. He’d made his peace with that, and this life in general. But he could watch, and he could dream.
This was as close to Exy as he was going to get, and that was good enough (it wasn’t), it had to be. And he did get to play some (barely, not really), when customers were trying out new racquets and needed someone to practise against. He’d copped to his junior high experience in his interview, it was the most honest he’d been in a while and his head spun when the manager hired him on the spot. Apparently the rest of the staff were just more broke kids taking whatever they could get. There were a few little league coaches who helped and some high school coaches who came in to advise on panels the store held occasionally, but they were never around reliably, so demonstrations and “try-ons” fell, nearly exclusively, to Neil. If he was a bit proud of that, he didn’t have to bring it up. Either way, the staff were glad to have him around. (If it didn’t make sense to him why someone would work in a shop selling gear for a sport they’d never even tried, he kept himself from saying so.)
And life in South Carolina wasn’t bad. The weather was good, in all but the peak of winter in December and January, and when it got hot the aircon in the store would be on blast anyway. It wasn’t bad at all. On break, he’d chip away at the seemingly endless amounts of maths homework, or, if he was particularly tired, breeze through the Spanish with ease. He’d never tried the language before, but after years of living nearly everywhere, language came easy to him, a survival skill. and gaining a new one was comforting.
Truthfully, he’d never imagined university, never thought he’d make it, couldn’t imagine it. When it had crossed his mind, he’d thought of somewhere farther away, but international meant paperwork and money didn’t grow on trees. But he’d needed to go. He justified it with the reasoning that he’d eventually need a job, even a low or mid-level one, and a big crowd would be easier to hide in, plus it was guaranteed housing for four years, though he planned to graduate as quickly as possible. Right now, he was sorely wishing he had consistent enough transcripts that he could have done dual enrollment and graduated in two years instead. While he was glad for some creature comforts, the thought of staying in one place for so long honestly made him nauseous. He settled for taking an enormous classload instead, and with this job, and perhaps some work on the side (using skills he’d picked up on the run… this was far enough away for word not to get back to his father’s men, right?) he could even do summer classes again like he did last year before he’d had to get as stingy with his money. He was puzzling it out, going through the logistics of it in his head when the bell chimed.
“Store closes in 30 minutes,” he said out of habit.
There was no answer. He was tempted to look up, but he was so close to finishing his revision pamphlet that he didn’t want to break his concentration.
When it was done he sighed and glanced at his watch. ‘Still 25 minutes until closing.’ The store had gotten a delivery earlier, maybe he could play with the newest model of racquets.
A benefit of being a favourite was that the manager pretended not to notice if Neil stayed a few minutes after closeup just to feel a racquet in his hand. He’d asked him once, why he didn’t play for real. Neil said told the man he wasn’t good enough. That was probably true.
Even still, he liked it, loved it. Here, he’d gotten to “spar” with all kinds of players almost every day. Between that, early morning jogs, and making it to the school’s gym when he could, he’d managed to stay in pretty decent shape despite all the time he spent sitting at a desk. It helped that food wasn’t in abundance with the skimpy meal plan he’d chosen.
“Neil!” The sound of his name jolts Neil out of his thoughts.
“Yeah- uh, yes?”
“Need you up here for a try-out.” The manager shouted down from the top story. The store was so empty his voice carried fine. His tone was light and he was only in his early thirties, so Neil didn’t flinch.
“Coming!”
Perhaps a little too eager, Neil bounded up the steps.
The manager clapped him on the shoulder when he got to the top, saying not quietly enough, “Thoese are university athletes, the real deal. Be careful.”
Neil couldn’t make himself care, he wanted to play, even if just a few swings. “Oh, yeah, thanks. I’m locking up?”
“Sure,” he handed Neil the keys, “Have a good night, Neil.” Then he turned and added, “Study hard!”
It was sweet that he’d remembered the test Neil had mentioned off-hand yesterday. “Yes, Mr. Thompson.”
Warmed, Neil walked towards the mini court and faced the customers. He opened his mouth to give the usual spiel, but nothing came out.
He didn’t need to tell these people what to do, who was he kidding? One face stuck out, burned, like a memory, like a cigarette, like a car, like the blade of an axe in his stomach.
Kevin Day. Holding a light racquet in his right hand.
‘Fuck.’
If he hadn’t just spoken to the manager he would’ve used his English accent, but he’d been stupid, let his guard down, forgotten to observe his surroundings, and thus limited his options. ‘Dammit!’
From experience, he knew he had about five seconds to act normal before making his incredibly awkward and potential very, very dangerous. Pretend to be clueless. Random bullshit, go!
“You all ready to test out the racquet? Have you found everything alright so far?” It sounded stupid, stupidly bland in front of this audience, but what choice did he have?
Kevin just gave a stilted, “Yes, it’s fine.” He looked almost as relieved as Neil felt not to be recognised. Weird. There’s no way that was possible. His eyes darted towards the court, but he couldn’t be as eager as Neil. No way. As calmly as possible, because this is what he was good at, Neil began unlocking the court.
The member of Palmetto State’s Exy team had brought his own gear, obviously. This was only a practice round to get a feel for the new racquet, but that didn’t make the Exy balls any softer. While he put it on, Neil took advantage of his distraction to steady himself as he put on his own gear. He took a breath, reminding himself of burning rubber and bone. As if he could ever forget. Those were the stakes, he needed to tread with utmost caution or be dragged back to Baltimore to be laid out like a pig on some stolen lab table, bled then gutted. Maybe his father would be quick.
“You coming, I don’t have all day.”
Neil jumps at Kevin’s voice, so familiar, so distant. This isn’t at all like the Kevin Day whose every interview he’d watched when he could, no, this person was all rough edges, and empty.
“Yeah.”
Shaking it off as best he could (Why couldn’t he? He’d seen worse.), he grabbed his racquet, (well it belonged to the store, but for this purpose, the manager had written his name on a piece of painter’s tape and stuck it on) and headed inside. Unlike most courts, this one locked from the inside for liability purposes.
It was strange to watch Kevin grip the racquet with his other hand like the earth had shifted its axis.
Then Kevin swung. It was gentler than Neil expected like he was testing his hand, making sure it could bear the racquet’s weight. The sight was a little sad. Kevin adjusted quickly, he wouldn’t be here if he couldn’t, and tossed the ball to Neil.
Reminding himself to focus, Neil tossed the ball robotically back. A human pitching machine, that’s what he had to be. Sure, he had a little fun showing off in front of younger customers and even casual high school players, but there was no way he could pull that on the Queen of Exy. And even if he could, Kevin didn’t need that. Neil was sure he was already feeling terrible about his skiing accident already. If Neil couldn’t himself play Exy he should be glad Kevin was at least getting a chance back on the court.
Kevin’s gaze was intense and Neil was very glad for his helmet obscuring at least part of his face.
Neil had learnt that sometimes, as much as it pained him, the best way to appear unsuspicious was to not worry at all, so he threw himself into the game. Every thought was consumed with the trajectory of the ball. How weird would it look if he blocked that? How weird would it look if he didn’t? He’d never played while so carefully calculating his every move and it was at once terrifying, painful, and brilliant. He’s not sure he ever wanted to do it again. He would be glad when Kevin left. He was supposed to ask questions while the customer tried out the racquet, but he thought it was fair to assume Kevin could judge the feel for himself, even in his other hand.
Eventually, Neil lost track of time. It could have been five or ten minutes that had passed, maybe less, maybe more. Exy always did that to him, that’s why it was so dangerous.
When he looked, really looked at Kevin’s face for the first time in a while, a frightening smile sat there, a wicked grin, pure Exy adrenaline. Neil was jealous, so jealous.
And then the fun started. Kevin’s shots became tighter, more precise, more forceful, less a try-out and more something you see in a game. Goal after goal, the red lights must have been working overtime. Neil was worried that the off-brand walls of Exites’ court wouldn’t be able to take too much of this. Should he be blocking more of the shots? He could, but… Kevin’s expression was somewhat manic, not scary, not after all Neil had seen, but overzealous for sure.
It was instinct, self-defence almost. Everything in Neil’s body screamed not to let him lose. Every time those damned lights blinked red, it sent a prickle of anger through his chest. As Kevin’s shots increased in speed, Neil found himself matching pace or rather didn’t find himself. He was completely lost in the game.
And the ball was coming towards him once more, the strongest shot yet. Fucking brilliant. Neil jumped, just a little, it was muscle memory at this point and sent the ball flying back in the other direction. He was surprised, and yet not when it slammed into “Away-court”’s goal, exciting the red lights. He wasn’t bad but this was Kevin Day. Shit. What now? He could easily enough dismiss it as a fluke (he knew he couldn’t). As he considered it, he walked, at what he could best determine to be a reasonable pace, to retrieve the ball.
Ball now in hand, he made himself face Kevin or rather his back.
Kevin was completely still.
The only noise Neil would swear was a chuckle, probably coming from one of the guys who had come in with Kevin. “Interesting,” one of them said, but he sounded bored.
“Sir?” It felt wrong to call him that, but what else could Neil do? “Are you alright? Is the racquet suitable? You can try another if you like.” The suggestions were hollow and miserable.
“Five minutes.” was Kevin’s only reply.
“What?”
“Five minutes. You scored on me in five minutes, closer to three if you count the way you were barely trying before. Trust me, you think I didn’t notice? Do you know who I am?”
Internally, Neil was asking the very same question.
Kevin’s words weren’t arrogant, just incredulous.
Neil shook his head, still readying his vocal cords for more lies. Under Kevin’s stare, he realised he had to say something. “Uh, the manager said you guys were college athletes.” At last, Neil made himself look at Kevin’s three companions. Two blonds close to Neil’s height and the third, a brunet closer to Kevin’s.
“Sir, no smoking in the store.” the words fell out automatically at the sight of the cigarette after a year and a half of working here, but he wished he’d said nothing.
A hand grabs his shoulder and he’s ready to fight, his racquet is on the other side of the court, but the ball is heavy enough.
He’s lucky Kevin still has his helmet on.
“Jeez, he’s a flighty one. Strange for what he just did to Kevi.” one of the guys whispers not quietly enough, the tall one, maybe, Neil guessed.
“I’m sorry!” The apology is acidic on his tongue, this is survival, there is no time for sorry, but he means it.
“You’re sorry?” Kevin still looks dazed.
Time to play dumb. “Yes, of course. I don’t normally hit customers I swear, you can ask Manager Thompson. You just startled me is all.” yeah that was about as convincing as a sales proposition for the Brooklyn Bridge. Neil lived a life of lies, so why now…
Kevin rolled his eyes, looking rather like he’d forgotten he had his helmet on when he went to smack his palm to his forehead. With a slight flush, he took it off, holding it like one would a basketball against his side. Oh, well, Neil hated simpering anyway, he was relieved honestly. And if he just remembered he needed to take his own helmet off, that was no one’s business but his own.
“You really don’t know?”
Now Neil could be annoyed. It was clear from the look on Kevin’s face he didn’t suspect a thing. Maybe he could try to sell him the bridge now, but either way, he could afford some false ire now.
“No.” The word was sharp and stubborn in a way that contradicted his previous show of floundery, but it felt real on his lips. Still, there was no reason to go off on Kevin, not now, it best to stay under the radar as he always had. He shrugged, imagining taking a file to his edges, the rough grating sound resulting in something smooth, and pleasant. “No, I don’t really follow the professional stuff.” Of all the lies Neil had told in his ten and eight years, that was somehow the biggest.
Kevin actually seemed to calm down at this, “I’m a striker for Palmetto State University,” He paused after that. Of course, the words felt foreign, until recently he’d been a Raven working under the founder of Exy himself. Neil knew from experience his face would give nothing away. He was glad for that, to be honest, he was surprised Kevin hadn’t said his name, maybe he to was secretly hoping for some anonymity. Kevin cleared his throat, “the Foxes.”
Neil nodded, not sure where this was going. Did Kevin think he was dumb? Well, he hadn’t exactly given him a reason not to think so.
“Why haven’t you tried out?!” The words are sudden, an explosion of confusion, like it was the strangest thing in the world, or at least Kevin’s expression would have made anyone think so.
“What?” This time, his confusion wasn’t a lie.
“You go to Palmetto, right?”
It was then that Neil looked down at himself. Underneath his Exites uniform vest, he wore a t-shirt in Palmetto’s ostentatious orange. He lived by saving money and blending in, before now he would’ve never chosen such a colour, but in a university town he blended right in, and this was one of his newest shirts, so even the cheap rough cotton was a nice change.
In fact, he hadn’t even looked at what it said really, it had come from some charity event and a girl with dyed rainbow tips had been so sweet when handing them out that he couldn’t say no, so he’d dropped a five into the collection box (for an orphanage, maybe?) and taken a medium and been grateful. The benefit of a huge sports university like Palmetto was there was always some event or another with free swag.
Shit. he’d taken too long to answer. “Yeah. What of it?” Was that too snappy? But why wouldn’t Levin just go already? He could have checked out two minutes ago but here he was flaunting Neil’s dream in front of him like a matador in a bullring. He couldn’t help it, of course, being Mr. Exy himself but…
“So, why haven’t you tried out for the team?”
Neil was tempted to ask, “What team?” but selfishly didn’t want Kevin’s opinion of his intellect to stoop any lower, so he said, “I’m not a sports guy.” It’s true, he was an applied mathematics major. “And my schedule is already way too full for anything else.” Also true. “I want to graduate as quickly as possible,” Painfully true. “I don’t have time for any of that useless stuff, this is just what I do for extra cash.” Three gut-wrenching truths and two, terrible, terrible lies.
The words hurt. The honesty of revealing his crunched graduation schedule and the insult of Exy. But he had to do something to get Kevin out of here before he recognised him before Neil’s dreams could settle too deep into his bones. He’d worked so hard to force them down, to scrub them out, to burn them away alongside his mother’s blood.
He heard someone suck in a sharp breath, as if bracing for something, and turned to Kevin’s group. “Sorry.” but it didn’t sound at all like he meant it.
He pushed as much boredom as he could into his tone and made sure to get a head start towards the register as he asked, “Are you ready to check out now?”
In his periphery, Kevin still hadn’t moved. “But- but you have talent!”
“Thank you. Will you be paying in cash or credit?” The dead-pan came easily after so many years.
One of the blonds began to howl with laughter that sounded slightly inhuman. Neil ignored him, instead preparing the point-of-sales device. “Can I get a name for the transaction? If you haven’t got an account, I can start one for you, I’ll just need a mobile number or email.”
The howling got louder. What sound did foxes make, again?
“But you have to! You can’t just sit on talent like that!”
“Oh sure you can. I do.” the blond chimed in through his laughter. The reassurance would have been nice if the laughter and arrogance weren’t a bit unsettling.
“Not. Fucking. Now, Minyard. I’ll deal with you later.” Kevin’s voice was a growl, but he didn’t even look at the blond.
Minyard, or rather Minyards, plural. The twins: 05 and 03. Andrew or Aaron, Neil wondered vaguely. Who was he kidding? It had to be Andrew. His behaviour was the reason the Foxes got so much coverage last year. Neil knows he shouldn’t look at the brunette (who must be Nicky Hemmick), if he looks he’ll only be drawn into this conversation.
“Can you bring me the racquet, I don’t have the product ID memorised so I’ll have to scan the sticker,” Neil asked innocently, holding his hand out to Kevin who’d finally come off the court.
“Well, give him the damn racquet, Day, since he asked so nicely.” Andrew was laughing again, or still.
Kevin did. Neil was surprised. But when he got to the register he reached over the counter and grabbed an old recite and a pen and started scribbling before Neil could stop him.
“Here.” he shoved the paper towards Neil, “the dates and locations for the try-out. I’ll confirm it with the coach tonight.”
What? Wh-
Neil begged himself not to agree right then and there. Oh, he needed a cigarette, just to remind him, to remind him why he-
He let the paper fall hen pushed it cooly back across the counter, “That’s very generous of you, but no thank you.”
Kevin pressed on, sounding distressed now. “Why?”
“I already told you my reasons. Now may I get a name for the transaction, or an account number if you have one? I’d be happy to start one if you don’t, but keep in mind we’re about to close. Unless you’re out of here with this by nine pm, you’ll have to come back tomorrow, I don’t care who you are, that’s the manager’s rule, not mine.” He crossed his arms, suddenly feeling childish. But, it was necessary, saying yes would feel so good, too good, and would only get him dragged back to the very man he’d be trying to escape for so long. “And I’ve got homework.” He added, a bit petulantly.
Kevin opened his mouth again but was stopped when the brunette stepped up, placing a hand right over his face and smoothly taking the racquet. He placed the racquet across the counter with a curtsy that seemed more than a little sarcastic, “I’m so sorry about him, he was born with a racquet up his ass. The account should be under Wymack, that’s W-Y-M-A-C-K, first name David and we’ll be using credit.” When Neil finished entering the racquet’s information, he looked between the two men, before deciding it would be faster to give the form to the brunet.
The brunette gave him a smile that seemed just a bit too friendly and began to fill the form with a bright orange pen he’d pulled from behind his ear. He frowned when Neil didn’t seem impressed with the trick. It was only because his mother had spilt all the secrets of sleight of hand to him years ago.
Thankfully the brunette was quick, when the information regarding colour and design was entered, Neil gave him the thumbs up. “Thanks. I assume that will be all. May I get a name for the order or just Wymack?”
And damn if it wasn’t just a little satisfying to see a look of surprise cross Kevin’s face. Neil had told him he didn’t know, but he guessed it hadn’t quite sunk in.
“Day, Kevin.” the brunet supplied, placing his hand back over Kevin’s face and pushing him away, back towards the blonds. Thank goodness. Maybe he could go to a game, just once, just to cheer this guy on. He could bring a big sign saying “Thanks for saving my life!” yeah, no.
Meanwhile, Andrew still had the look on his face like all of this was the funniest thing in the whole wide world.
“Okay. The other two should be here in a week, would you like a box or bag for this one?”
“Nah, save the turtles and all, thanks though.”
Neil almost laughed at that, almost. Thankfully he kept it in, or Kevin might have started talking again. And, it was almost nine. He really did have homework.
The group left as loudly as they came, all making fun of Kevin. And when they were clearly out of earshot, Neil laughed harder than he had in as long as he could remember, and when the laughter became coughing and then the acrid remains of tears he could no longer cry, he locked up and went back to the dorms.
He was alone on the bus, which was good. At night the drivers drove faster than they probably should, so he made a great time, and the jolt of every pothole kept him from thinking, imagining where he might be if he’d taken that paper. The group had left it there. He’d wanted to throw it away, so desperate, but like the miserable bastard he was, he pocketed it, just so later, when his luck inevitably ran out and he was being dragged towards a painful death he could remind himself that Kevin Day had wanted him, even if it wasn’t really him.
Thumbing the paper in the pocket of his ratty jeans as he climbed the steps to his dorm made him realise he had less dignity than Kevin. Of course, he did, he’d killed men. And he would have begged the exact same way if he’d been in Kevin’s place, everything and anything for the game. It wasn’t even a question.
At midnight, there was a knock on his door. His roommate didn’t stir, of course not, it was Friday night, so the man was probably near black-out drunk. In fact, Neil was surprised he came back so early. A power nap before hitting the club in an hour or two maybe? This must be his friends coming to collect him.
Eye-roll at the ready, Neil opened the door. It wasn’t his roommate’s friends. Neil rolled his eyes anyway.
“Why are you here?” was pointless.
“You found my room number? Stalker. Leave or I’m calling campus police.”
“No, you won’t.” the blond from earlier, Andrew stepped out from behind Kevin. Neil hadn’t noticed him, he was so short.
“And why not?” Neil was already shutting the door.
Andrew jammed a racquet against the frame, preventing it from closing all the way. “Because you don’t want shit to do with pigs, I can tell.”
“Campus police hardly count.”
“No, they’ve got the real deal now, after Kevin’s transfer and all.”
Right, of course. Raven’s fans hadn’t been happy about the ordeal, nor had they been kind and they weren’t subtle about either. He’d heard rumours of the vandalism whispered in the corridors.
Dammit, why did this guy know exactly what to say? Did- Did Kevin recognise him? Was he sitting in the car thinking, and he made the connection? Did Kevin bring Andrew here as muscle to knock him out? He hadn’t seesaw hat care they were driving, but it must have been roomy to fit the four of them. They’d probably already called his father-
There was a fire escape just across the room behind him. Neil bolted. For once, he was too slow. Andrew shoved the racquet through the door, opening it wide and sending Neil sprawling. He lay, frozen on the floor, awaiting doom.
He grit his teeth, “I won’t go.”
Confusingly, Andrew stepped away, back towards the door, and took a place by Kevin in the doorway. As he went he sighed theatrically. “Jesus, fucking Christ, Josten -yeah we got your name from the lady too- what the hell did stickball do to —Fuck you! Not you- no, no, actually you too.” Andrew bent over clutching his ribs.
Kevin had taken the racquet and shoved it into Andrew’s side to shut him up. Neil squirmed upright in time to see the glint of a knife at Kevin’s throat.
“I have ears, fuckwad.”
“And yet you never use them.”
The blade moved upwards, “Would you like to never use yours again?”
Kevin glared, but Neil guessed that there was some understanding between them he wasn’t seeing because he shoved Andrew away like he wasn’t about to get the double Van Goh. No ears, one hand, they’d have to call him Number One then.
He walked towards Neil. Neil tensed. Fuck Exites’ metal detectors because no he had no weapon.
But Kevin just said, “Please.”
Please?
Oh yes, please go back to your father and get chopped up, just for me. Pretty please with a cherry on top.
“Go fuck yourself.” Neil Josten wouldn’t have said that, and wouldn’t have started a confrontation, but if he was going back to Baltimore, he wasn’t going back without a fight.
Kevin groaned. “Great there’s two of you.”
What? Was he seeing double? Was he drunk?
“Andrew’s just like this you know, join and maybe you can find a friend.” Kevin turned to Andrew for backup. Andrew didn’t even acknowledge him, didn’t want to grace the plea with an answer.
“What?”
“Play Exy for the Foxes You have to,”
Neil tried to say he didn’t have to do a single damned thing for anyone, tried to ask what this had to do with anything. Was this some sort of deal with his father? Do well here then make him money playing Pro-Exy and Neil could live in peace? But Kevin didn’t let him get a word in.
“I can’t watch your talent go to waste like this. It hurts! Don’t you know what you could be? Don’t you want it? You should. You should want it like air to breathe. You could be Court for god’s sake!-”
This went on for so long, that Neil stopped listening (he couldn’t, it hurt too much, it felt too good) and instead wondered if his roommate wasn’t really dead. Then he, Kevin Day, actually dropped to his knees and begged. Granted, Neil was still on the floor, but…
When Kevin finally took a breath, cursing that athletic stamina, Neil stood up. It was so quick he was a bit dizzy, and the room was lit up with spots for a moment. He regained his bearings quickly though when Kevin grabbed his legs, reminding him of his original purpose.
“Holy shit jackass, can you pretend to have some dignity??”
Kevin had no answer but, “I think he really wants you to play Exy with him.” Neil turned his head so fast it hurt. He’d forgotten Andrew was there. But he was, very, there, casually turning a lit lighter in his hands barely illuminating his cocked eyebrow and twisted grin.
It went against everything he lived by, it was everything he lived for. It was everything he’d given up long ago, it was everything he could still be. It would get Kevin to shut up.
But what really sold him… “Join. See how long you can keep his attention. You won’t have to stay long. I’ll be done with you by spring, but maybe he’ll keep you around till summer.” And Andrew stepped forward, yanked Kevin up and turned to go, “You still have our paper, don’t you?” The question dripped with faux pity.
Neil was at The Foxhole Court at 4:30 am the next morning.
(A/N: This was supposed to be a crack, but it got kind of internal dialogue-heavy. I’m sorry. Also, it is a bit longer than I intended because I suck at one-shots. The ending got tricky because I wasn’t too inspired on what to write for the actual dialogue bits of Kevin’s pleas and I didn’t want to rehash too much of Neil’s thought process against joining since we already know that so if it sounds weird that's why. I kinda feel like everyone was a bit out of character but this is only my second AFTG fic so… idk.)
#aftg#aftg trilogy#aftg fandom#aftg foxes#all for the game#exites employee!neil#kevin day#aftg kevin#kevin aftg#aftg andrew#andrew minyard#andrew aftg
21 notes
·
View notes
Note
44 with either yoongi or jungkook!! ❤️❤️❤️❤️
Since I haven’t gotten any other Jungkook requests I wanted to use him but this prompt is just so Yoongi coded I had to do it.
#44 I still remember the way you taste
Warnings: Swearing, a little suggestive but nothing extreme, some self doubt, maybe a little power play but in a playful way
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
When you graduated high school you had decided to take a year off before going to college. Something about finding yourself and deciding what you wanted to do with your life. Well one year turned into two turned into five and now here you were ten years after graduating high school sitting in a college freshman literature class.
After having what you’re calling a very small little breakdown (your friends would call it a full blown complete meltdown after one too many margaritas) about not having accomplished anything with your life you decided it was time to get back into it and go to college.
You weren’t 100% sure what you wanted your major to be so right now you were taking mostly just filler courses to fulfill your credit requirements.
Looking around the room made you feel so old. Everyone there was fresh out of high school, so wide eyed and full of hope as they sipped on their sugary coffees and panic attack inducing energy drinks. You stuck to a nice simple green tea with just enough caffeine to wake you up a little, but not make you feel like you were having a constant heart attack. One of the many joys of getting older.
Bored you scribbled away in your notebook when you heard the door close behind you.
“Alright class, Welcome to Literature 101. I’ll be your professor this semester. My name is Min Yoongi. You can call me Professor or Professor Min.”
The oh so familiar sight made you choke on your tea. You coughed and coughed and sputtered as the entire class including your professor stared at you. Once you composed yourself you apologized feeling like your entire body was on fire from embarrassment.
Yoongi looked in your direction for a moment before going back to emptying his briefcase.
Okay so maybe he doesn’t remember you. You felt both a sense of relief, but also a little hurt. He was all you had thought about for years. High school sweethearts who were madly in love until one day they weren’t. Or at least he wasn’t. Yoongi had broken up with you half way through his second year of college. Something about feeling like you weren’t taking life seriously enough and being worried you’d take him down too.
At the time you were incredibly hurt, but looking back now you couldn’t blame him. For years you worked hard to get over him. Dating other guys. Trying to build your social circle. Nothing really helped the hurt though.
It did help a little when you found out that he’d gotten engaged. The thought that he was completely off the market and therefore having no chance of reconciling helped you to move on too. You never did bother to follow up on how to wedding went though. You didn’t want to pry that much into his life. You just hoped he was happy.
Seeing him here was stirring up a lot of feelings and you were worried how you were going to get through this semester. You already weren’t excited about literature to begin with. Yoongi always had a way with words so you weren’t surprised he was teaching this. You on the other hand often struggled to put together coherent sentences. This was going to be rough.
Although the next several weeks of the semester went by easier than you’d thought. You put in a lot of effort to put out good work. Yoongi barely acknowledged you and the few times he did speak to you he treated you like any other student.
You stared down at the paper you had spent days writing. You worked really hard on it, but apparently Yoongi thought otherwise thanks to the big fat red note at the bottom, “Meet me in my office after class. We need to discuss this.” You thought your heart was going to explode out of your chest.
“Alright class, I can tell your brains are pretty mush today so how about we end class early. See you all next week.”, Yoongi chuckled receiving many cheers and thank gods from the class.
Great. Just great. You thought you had another whole hour to prepare. Slowly as if to stall you packed up your belongings and made your way over to his office.
Once there you knocked before poking your head in the room. He motioned for you to take a seat on the couch. He took his glasses off and sat them on his desk before closing the door and joining you on the couch as well. His cologne intoxicating and comforting all at the same time.
“How have you been Y/N? I’ve been wanting to catch up. It’s just been so busy.”, he spoke.
So he did remember you after all. “Good, how are you?”, you asked.
“Good as well.”, he smiled.
Wanting to get out of there before you did something you’d regret you decided to expedite the conversation, “Look about the paper, I tried really hard. I don’t know what happened…”
Yoongi put his hand up to stop you, “Your paper was fine. Sure there were a few changes to be made but nothing major.”
“Oh okay well what is this meeting about then?”, you questioned.
He chuckled to himself, “I guess I just wanted an excuse to have some alone time with you. Do you know how hard it is to see you sitting in my class over and over and not being able to do anything about it?”
You looked at him stunned, “I…I didn’t think you even remembered who I was.”
“Remember who you were? Fuck Y/N, I still remember the way you taste.”, he said before locking his lips onto yours.
It felt incredible to feel his touch again. His soft lips. His strong hands leaving goosebumps as they made their way along your waist. Your whole body tingled with want and desire until you remembered one little detail. Because you are many things some good, some bad, but homewrecker was not one of them.
His lips were still feverishly searching for yours as you pulled away, “What about your wife?”
His face turned to confusion, “Wife? What wife?”
I ran into Jimin several years ago, “He said you were engaged.”
He sighed and nodded in understanding, “I called it off. I couldn’t go through with the wedding.”
“Oh I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Don’t be. I had realized I was still in love with someone else the whole time anyways.”, he whispered before leaving over you and crashing his lips back onto yours which you now happily received.
There was a knock at the door that stopped you both followed by a woman’s voice, “Mr.Min I have some papers for you to sign.”
“I’ll grab them later Mrs. Kim. I’m with a student right now.”, he replied. His voice faltering towards the end as you undid his belt while before running your hand up his thigh.
After he was sure she’d left he turned his attention back to you, “You’re gonna pay for that.”
“Mmhm we’ll see about that Yoongi.”, you teased.
He smirked, “Yeah we’ll see. And that’s professor to you.”
#bts#yoongi fanfic#yoongi x reader#min yoongi#bts fanfic#bts x reader#yoongi x y/n#yoongi fic#yoongi angst#yoongi au#yoongi fluff#bts yoongi#yoongi
58 notes
·
View notes
Text
If anyone is able, please help a queer, disabled household pay our bills? (Ko-fi link)
The world is very hard for us while two out of the three of us are waiting for disability and any help would be appreciated. (It also turns out, I'm a DEI hire, so there's that)
I have been planning on streaming video games on twitch on Saturday nights at 7pm EST. We will be starting on February 1st and a poll has decided that we will start with Persona 5 Royal.
I am also working on recording myself reading banned books, so if you're interested in that, let me know! I also write fanfiction and am willing to write for prompts!
I'm hoping building community will help makes things easier in the next four years, so here's a start.
Edit (April 29, 2025)
My bosses have only been giving me one day a week so I am bringing home less than half of my rent, (my portion is $400/month) which obviously isn't enough for rent or anything else I need.
My sisters and I are fighting tooth and nail to stay afloat, but at this point we can't.
My disabilities are also getting worse every day and I'm to the point where I can't hardly get out of bed most days. I did have a phone call with the disability office again, but I probably won't hear back for another six months at least and even then I may not be approved.
If there is any way you can, any help is appreciated. Even just sharing this post is helpful. We're desperately trying to make it until I can get disability.
I have a caseworker now who is helping us get food stamps and trying to find us a place to stay just so we can get out of this rat trap, but we still need help.
EDITED ADDITION
So, it looks like my ESA has some health issues that will take constant care to address and money will be even tighter.
Her previous owners apparently fed her things that were very bad for her and ruined her stomach, so now she needs special food. (She's just like me!) We are also pretty sure she has asthma so we will have to get her medicine to help her breathe.
We know exactly what she needs and are working to get it as soon as possible, but we will have to continuously keep up on those medications and food.
Her name is Holly and she would deeply appreciate any love and support you could send our way.

#personal#community#fanfiction#cat pictures#american politics#community support#disability#disability community#autism awareness#actually autistic#twitch streamer#persona 5 royal#persona 5#p5r#p5#us politics#dei hire#mutual aid
30 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hey there! I'm here to request some rambles, please! Honestly I'm curious about all of those but for now I'll ask for:
-Talk about chaotic biology
-Talk about birds and why their existence is horrifying
You can see prompts I've finished/am working on here!
Ramble - chaotic biology and birds combined: Are you aware of how fucked up bird lungs are? You're about to be.
Drabble - after a quick discussion, RWBY finding a box of kittens has been requested. (sorry about the wait! the drabbles succeeded in re-igniting my writing urges, which unfortunately means they got shuffled to the bottom of my to-do pile. Heads up, gonna make these a bit shorter just so I can get them all done in a decent amount of time!)
Continuing on the thread of birds ruining my mental health, lets talk about the topic that cemented birds into my nightmares: bird lungs.
So, people like to compare our lungs to balloons, but they're really a lot more like sponges. You squeeze a sponge and water flows out, you release it and it sucks water back in. Your ribs and diaphragm (the muscular barrier between your chest and abdomen) work together to squish air out of your spongy lungs, then suck it back in by expanding. Simple, but not super efficient. There's always a small amount of air left in your lungs, kind of like how a sponge is still damp after you wring it out. You don't have 100% air turnover.
Bird lungs are different. To the point where it's a completely different system, with non-contractile lungs, two air sacs, and a breastbone (keel) and ribs that rock back and forth instead of contracting and expanding.
To make this as simple as possible - first inhale, air into the bottom air sac. First exhale, air into the lungs from the bottom air sac. Second inhale, air from the lungs flows into the top air sac (and also everything that happened in the first inhale happens). Second exhale, the top air sac empties back to the outside (and also everything that happened in the first exhale happens). So, it takes two sets of inhales/exhales for air to complete the circuit around - but this also means that air is always flowing through the lungs, in one direction.
This means they are INSANELY efficient at pulling gasses out of the air - this is where the 'canary in a coal mine' expression comes from. Birds aren't inherently susceptible to poisons in the air, but they absorb them so much faster and easier than us that it takes less time to absorb a lethal dose.
Crocodilians actually have similar lungs - not exactly the same, but it's one-way flow as well. By extension, we can assume that dinosaurs also had similar lungs, since these both of these groups are its closest living relatives (birds being from the same family tree, and crocodiles being a close cousin). Which is maybe why they were able to get so large, though at this point it's all crazy speculation.
Anyways! Birds have a really cool and fucked up system, and that's fun! It also started my spiral into chaotic biology madness so there's that.
---
Out of their little group, Yang would have said Ruby would be the most likely to show up back to the dorm with a box of kittens, and Weiss the least. Yet here she was, locked in a stare with Weiss, who was frozen in the doorway with a meowing shopping bag in her arms.
The dish and sponge in her hands slowly lowered. "So. Uh. What'cha got there?"
"A fucking smoothie." Weiss snapped. That was apparently enough to break the spell, which she accentuated by kicking off her shoes and heading for the little living room. "Get over here and help me make them comfortable."
Well, that was certainly a command. Yang turned off the sink and followed, watching in bemusement as Weiss carefully placed the bag down on the ground. As she approached, the edge fell and a pair of wide green eyes came into view. Yang stared back as an incredibly skinny cat with patches of brown and orange stared up at her. Five kittens were pressed in next to her, eyes barely open, still tiny and potato-like.
"Where'd you find these?" Yang asked, very bravely ignoring her heart oozing out from the bottom of her ribs.
"They were in a bucket beside the dumpster." A blanket appeared in her vision - Weiss' soft and probably expensive white throw was delicately tucked in around the group of cats. "I saw them on my way in to the store, I put them in my car and got some cat food. Shelter's closed until Monday, but I found a vet clinic that'll scan the mom for a microchip tomorrow morning."
Yang couldn't help but stare. "How... do you even know what to do?"
"I googled 'what to do when you find a stray cat'." Weiss heaved a sigh, digging a can of wet cat food out of the bag. "And I needed to have a plan before Ruby and Blake get back from class and start trying to persuade me to keep them."
"My sister in Christ, you brought them home."
Weiss looked straight ahead, hands halting on the still-closed can. Then, in a much more Weiss-like manner, exploded; "Well I couldn't just LEAVE them there, what kind of monster-"
Yang cut her off with a wave, turning back towards the kitchen. "I'm just giving you a hard time." She grabbed a small dish out of the cabinet, returning just as Weiss cracked the can open.
"Meow."
Both of them glanced down. The mother cat was sitting upright, staring at the can in Weiss' hands. "MEOW."
Several things happened in quick succession. The cat attempted to bound out of her bed but, weighed down by the blanket and the kittens wedged around her, collided with the edge of the bag. The entire apparatus tipped, spilling kittens across the carpet. Then, as Yang scrambled to retrieve the fallen kittens and Weiss frantically emptied the can onto the plate for the screaming cat, the front door opened again.
At first, Yang thought the high-pitched squeal was the mother cat. The blur of red racing across the living room was harder to misidentify.
Ruby all but skidded in on her knees, wide-eyed as she carefully scooped up the one kitten remaining on the carpet. "Are - how-"
Weiss let out a slow, pained sigh. "Why is everyone home early today?"
"Just good timing." Blake had taken the time to shut the door and take off her shoes, but she bee-lined to the bag of kittens with just as much eagerness. "How did this happen?" She asked, leaning over Yang to stare at the kittens.
Another long, dramatic sigh. "You should have gotten home earlier if you wanted to hear the whole story, I'm not repeating it now." Despite the cranky reply, Weiss was petting the happily eating mother cat.
Blake looked back up at Weiss. Then down at the mother cat, then back at the kittens. She seemed to hesitate for a moment, but a smile twitched at her mouth as she spoke. "So, you're not worried about things like rabies or fleas then?"
Weiss' hand froze on the cat's back.
Blake started laughing before the mood changed entirely. "Relax, as long as we keep them in one room and no one gets bitten, it'll be fine. I'm just surprised you didn't think about that already."
"Well, I didn't have a lot of time." Weiss grumbled, but she didn't move from her spot beside the cat.
It was Yang's turn to sigh as she stood up to go grab a bowl for water. "On top of that - we need to go buy a litterbox real soon here."
This was going to be a long couple days.
#spinedog writes#rwby fanfiction#shaking off some rust - both mentally and physically lmao#my wrists have been giving me trouble lately
10 notes
·
View notes
Text
A Mile Past Glade Hollow
Journal Excerpt~ 1.7k words
TW: Discussion of struggles with anxiety and dissociation
Late Feb, 2025
My therapist is losing patience with me. He wanted to know if I’ve been adhering to his journal prompts (no) and if I would be willing to share what I have been writing (also no). I’ve also refused to discuss the underlying feelings around my resistance to share or cooperate. He believes my fear of “letting someone in” is mirrored by my so-called agoraphobia. I told him I leave the mill almost every day… he said walking alone in the woods doesn’t count, in terms of countering my social anxiety.
Apparently it’s all connected- the anxiety, how I disassociate, my maladaptive daydreams. I’m sure that’s true. I just don’t have it in me to open up. I honestly thought moving back to Glade Hollow would help… getting out of the city, working from home at my own pace. It’s actually getting worse. I don’t want to tell anyone, but so-called easy things are getting harder. For example, I’m having a hard time leaving to go to the store. There’s enough to eat but I don’t have anything that’s fresh. I’ll get ready to go but then I get stuck in my mind. I start pacing, daydreams filtering in and out. Before I know it, an hour’s passed… then it’s dark… then it’s too late.
The shrink insists using his journal prompts will help. Okay… here’s a prompt. "Recall a recent situation when you felt overwhelmed by anxiety. What thoughts and emotions accompanied that feeling?"
I’m feeling anxious about buying fucking groceries! It’s ridiculous and it makes me feel pathetic! I have enough money, the store is right down the road… but guess what? I don’t like to drive anymore! Do I know how to? Yup! Can’t stand the idea of going out to the jeep and cranking it up. The battery might even be dead. It makes me angry. It means I’m eating jerky and canned beans for dinner… and probably breakfast too.
These prompts don’t help. They just make me upset. If I get too worked up, I’ll disassociate. Then I start to lose time… then I can’t remember what I’m doing. What helps? I know what helps. And no, I don’t like talking about it with people. I should probably try to talk about it. I know I need to find a way to open up. I don’t want to start all over again with another therapist, but I’m pretty sure this guy is going to drop me. I don’t blame him… I’ve been a complete ass to him.
On a more positive note, Shay and Ravi are coming home tomorrow! This is excellent news. It’s definitely the kick in the pants I need to go shopping. I can’t let them see me going on like this, especially Shay. If he gets wind that I’m regressing, he’s liable to go into full-blown nurse mode. I love him to pieces but he’s nothing short of a mother hen when it comes to my mental health. I have no idea what I’m going to say to Ravi. I know he gets updates from my therapist. I’m sure I’ll have a lecture coming. But that’s about a thousand times easier dealing with than what Shay will put me through.
It was clear I needed support after the “incident.” I still don’t have any memory of what happened. I had been camped out at a writing retreat outside of Montreal. I remember feeling stressed out. This was before I had any official diagnosis but I was cognizant of my anxiety and starting to realize how intersected with my depression. And yeah, then something inside me just cracked… lights out. Somebody realized I was missing. There was a search party and I was found about 2 and half days later in the woods. It took me a while to come back from my dissociative state. Thankfully, the hospital was willing to release me into Ravi’s care. It’s not the first time I was thankful one of my dearest friends was a doctor.
Shay immediately insisted I move in with them until I got better. Somehow, I was allowed the autonomy to refuse. I just can’t relax in other people’s homes. That meant Shay moved in with me for no less than 12 weeks. Practically 3 months of regimented eating and exercise, being bussed to appointments, insisting I carry a cell phone at all times, accompanying me on all of my walks. I know I needed it. I had reached a point where I couldn’t care for myself. But my god, the fussing!
Naturally, I resisted all of it. Shay is a sweetheart and overly patient with my bad moods. But even he had his limits. Thanks to our 30 year friendship, he knew exactly how to put me in my place. Usually that meant trapping me on the couch and showering me with playful tickles. Shay would encourage me to lighten up, knowing the sensations freed me from my mind, bringing me back to the present. Though I’m loath to admit it, it worked like a charm.
Unfortunately, I wasn’t in the best state of mind and there would be times when I pushed him too far. My age-old stubborn streak, the unwillingness to entertain sound advice, the determination to create distance between myself and everyone else. I know I can be impossible. I suppose I should feel lucky that my closest friend is even more stubborn than me. However, I didn’t feel particularly lucky when I would inevitably cross the line. No, that would be fear that flooded my brain.
At that point, no amount of bargaining would stave off his bear hug, pulling me into his broad chest. Pretty much everyone has the size advantage on me, including my husky friend. Despite my poor behavior, his voice was overly kind. “I’m sure you didn’t mean to say those hurtful things, did you?”
Of course I didn’t. I was being reactive. I’m not used to sharing my space. I can’t stand all the extra attention. I don’t want to be cooked for and cared for. It makes me uncomfortable… I don’t like it!
“Really?” His Irish accent intimating that his care and attention were non-negotiable. “Well, let’s try to make you more comfortable then.”
I would be pulled into his lap, a brawny arm easily pinning both of mine behind my back. This was usually when I would regain my senses, highly motivated by self-preservation. It was way too late to backpedal.
“Why do you sound so nervous? We’re just having a little conversation.” His free hand would start stroking my bare tricep, softly, slowly. His fingers would lazily dangle under my arm and gently flex against my skin.
The tenderness was nothing short of criminal. When he wants to, Shay can make his touch excruciatingly soft, knowing full well what that does to me. Up and down, fingers gently spidering under my trapped arm, the threat that we had only just begun looming overhead.
“You’re sorry? Don’t be… you were just being honest. It’s okay if you don’t want me to cook for you. We can just sit here and relax.”
His hand pulled my tank up just enough so my sides were exposed. Shay worked with his hands. He was a brilliant mechanic and a talented potter. Hands that looked like they could bend steel had the touch of a jeweler. Large calloused fingers slowly kneaded my flesh, administering the most delicate of pinches, drawing meandering shapes before heading back up towards my armpit.
I dug my heels in, trying to twist out of his arms. Wrong move. His big hand started squeezing my thigh, resulting in shrieking that I’m embarrassed to call my own. I could practically hear the smile in his voice, “No more wriggling. Sit still so we can talk this through.”
Clearly, this was personal. He paused to switch out his arms with the intention to work over my other side. I took the opportunity to reason with him, barely suppressing a whimper. “L-listen… I’m sorry! I know I’ve been acting like a jerk. P-please, no more!”
“No more of what? Could you be more specific?” His free hand started a new assault on my fresh side, just as slowly as before. The strongest hands I know barely grazing the surface of my arms, large fingers practically feathering my armpit.
It was unbearable. My stomach was fluttering so hard it felt like I was free-falling. I remember pleading as best I could between bursts of giggles. His touch was too soft to drive me into full blown hysterics. It was just slow enough to create unceasing anticipation, an agonizing feedback loop of what was happening and knowing where he was going next. I was stuck in a giddy frenzy, unable to sink into the oblivion of pure tickle hell, hyper aware of how sensitive I was and my incoherent babbling. My only hope was gaining his pity.
Unfortunately, Shay had been putting up with my nonsense for days. My pleas fell on deaf ears. “What are you going on about? What’s too soft? You can’t take it? I have no idea what you’re trying to say. If you refuse to make pleasant conversation, maybe you can help me decide what to make for dinner.”
His hand drifted to my ribs, fiddling with each one, collectively caressing them, massaging them, carefully wiggling every single one before starting again. There went my grasp on the English language. I couldn’t even understand myself anymore. It was somewhere between useless begging, desperate laughing, pathetic mouth sounds and trying to articulate the first food item that popped into my head.
Shay finally paused, “Oh, you want potatoes? I could probably whip up a shepherd's pie. How does that sound to you?”
I gulped in air. He finally let go of my arms and made me turn to face him. I was both embarrassed by how badly I treated my friend earlier and my thorough defeat. “Y-y-yes, please! I’m s-sorry for b-before.”
“Oh, were you acting poorly earlier? I’m not sure I even noticed.”
I stared at the ground, feeling quite unworthy of his relentless friendship. “Thanks for t-taking such good care of me. Um, c-can I help with the food?”
Shay’s hazel eyes twinkled. I could tell I was forgiven. He touched his forehead to mine, his auburn curls framing both our faces. “No, you just stay out of my way… unless you want to have another conversation.”
#lu writes#tickle oc#tickle writing#tickle fic#amilepastgladehollow#tw mental health#tw anxiety#tw dissociation#still learning to accept help#someone is very very very slow on the uptake#and um yeah that's all i can say about this 😵💫
16 notes
·
View notes
Note
anon here, excited to read the essay! i asked you because i really like your takes and i see people in the more canon-adjacent parts of the marauders fanbase to complain about the extremes of the fanon one, though personally ive never really seen anything Too extreme, tho thats probably just tantamount to how well i curate my spaces i suppose (ive seen people say that fanon makes remus really “alpha” or makes sirius “bimbofied” and while ive seen hints of those extremes here and there, mostly it looks like it varies from person to person. ive just seen remus be more assertive than he probably is in canon, or sirius being more dramatic and “fem” than he probably is in canon). from what i know people like exaggerating events (the prank, etc.) or shifting some personality traits, but i dont really think thats a bad thing - i personally enjoy it. as long as they dont completely turn characters into stereotypes (though its a pitfall of every fandom, i fear), then whatever its just camp.
people are allowed to criticize stuff like that though, not taking that away from anyone, i personally just dont really care enough to be totally accurate esp since this hyperfix is kind of the bottom of the barrel for me LMAO. but i ask mostly bc im just curious to see what other peoples opinions are, and bc i think - especially in a fanbase like this - that its incredibly important to be at least a little critical with your media experience and reflect on it. saying “oh fuck canon we’re just having fun” is fine and all, i dont think anyone is stopping you, i think the personalities people have made up for characters that have zero screen time are super fun and the little ships are not everyones tea but like its fine. but even still, people should be way more aware of what characters theyre dealing with and from what franchise, and like reflect on any biases you may have. if youre making shit up for a random DE character, or retconning some sutff, okay, whatever, but be sure to not defend or like suddenly turn to really weird rhetoric. idk i think its the bare minimum in a fanbase like this
i definitely rambled way too much here, super sorry op! i hope this doesnt bother you, feel free to reply or feel free to not. i just really like hearing peoples thoughts on things, and i like your takes and your blog so i hope i didnt catch you by surprise. i really am just an outsider trying to look in LOL
hello anon, I'm sorry I lost your ask. I was writing on my laptop and saved the draft (but apparently had to press on alt, and didn't do it) so I basically lost your question and half of my initial response. Ty for sending in another ask!! Not a bother at all, i find this very lovely :D
I was mortified to find that someone who isn't really a part of the fandom was perceiving me while I was complaining about fictional characters ahahaha. still, thank you for validating me and asking my thoughts on the mischaracterization of marauders!! I do talk about it daily, unfortunately, and without any prompt too. I'll try to gather all my thoughts here. I don't necessarily come across fanon as much as I did when I reentered the fandom and honestly, I can not be more with you about curating your space !! at the end of the day, I am just here to have fun, and really, pointing out these issues is not a good time at all! But I do post a lot about these, I can't be bothered to bottle up any thoughts lol.
I think the major issue I have with current interpretations is the underlying bigotry that comes along with it. There is a lot of unchecked problematic content that doesn't sit right with me.
Flanderizing characters in fandom interpretations is not limited to marauders fandom obviously. any popular media will face this because so many of us want to interact with one character so their traits are simplified for easier consumption and to find a common ground. this is also not limited to new marauders fandom. even in the older era, leather jacket-wearing, motorbike-driving quintessential bad boy siruis was a thing. so I won't nitpick on silly simplifications.
I just want to say that this isn't about me wanting everyone to have the same interpretations as I do about the canon. I follow so many lovely people and I don't agree with all of their posts. But, we all just simply share the love for these characters in the text and form an imaginary community. So, if we were to remove all the issues I will mention, it is still very well possible to have different personal takes.
Here are some of my issues:
Queerness, Gender roles, and misogyny:
My biggest problem is the representations of queer relationships. the fandom packages these couples in a strange and obvious heteronormative mold where the individuals fit into male and female gender roles. mlm and wlw are now an “f/m”* stereotype and characterization gets affected by the ships. Heterosexual relationships shouldn't have these limitations either, anyway. There is no one way to be a woman or a man. With queer relationships in particular, we have reclaimed the word queer now but it was used to describe the unconventional weirdness in the relationship. We didn't fit into the normal portrayal of a loving relationship. So, it really bothers me, even in fiction, that queer ships are popularly consumed in a way that represents a traditional template. (*this is not about gender itself but the gender roles! f/m can very well be queer!).
Let's take the biggest victim in this fandom: sirius.
Sirius’ portrayal concerning his gender and sexuality has heavily changed his characterization in the fanon. We have a character who is popularly headcanonned as trans and is it a coincidence that all their traits have changed from the og material? Sirius is suddenly vain, whiny, and dumb. Canon doesn't suggest this interpretation, it has to have stemmed from somewhere. It's the implicit bias. Sirius becomes a caricature of what a woman “should be”. When we focus on sexuality, there is the suddenly short twink sirius who has the same new traits- proving the point of fulfilling gender roles. These characteristics are a stand-in for the “female” role of the traditional relationship and it becomes more clear in the example of new age wolfstar. Remus is now the big alpha stoic manly man- the obvious stand-in for the “male” role. I could go on, it is apparent in the way you can see remus becomes a caretaker and sirius is taken care of.
The point I am trying to make is not to discourage gender/sexuality hc. I love them, keep them coming. But, why is female sirius not tall suddenly? It is not inherently bad at all to have a feminine and masculine pairing! But why do we need to change the constitutions of these characters to consume their relationship?
I'll keep dropping disclaimers because I hate being misinterpreted: I don't obviously mean every single person is doing this or that doing one of the things means doing the other too.
Race:
It is related to the point above. I was personally so excited to see the popular desi james hc. Even in fanon, I have never seen such a prevalent and encouraged brown rep, it was quite sweet to come back to that. But the problem is the change of characteristics that comes with race hc. Desi james is also a manly dude who is big and buff as opposed to the white petite and delicate regulus within jegulus ship. The melanin is directly proportional to the manliness here.
This is a propagation of race stereotypes. Maybe jegulus was a bad example because usually there are seen as blank templates. I will raise the argument that this can't be all we can come up with for blank canvases then. Either way, my point about race still stands when you repeatedly design interracial queer relationships so they fall into heteronormative roles. Anyway, same issue with wolfstar when there is a brown remus.
Canon, JKR, and hypocrisy:
Refusing to engage with source material is funny when we are picking characters out of it. the interpretations of the characters will be from their book. otherwise, they are just original characters with the same name. you can add onto the traits and a lot of the time fandom comes to a consensus regarding a few things! This is common in every fandom but I don't think I have seen such reluctance to not only critically engage with media but also shame others who do. We are surely in special circumstances with this fandom but I really do think jkr and how we navigate the fanon should be two different things.
Most of us don't condone jkr or even remotely agree with any nonsense she spews on the daily. Most of us can see the problematic nature of even consuming this media and staying in this fandom. It is one of the reasons I even left the fandom. Most of us are simply doing our best to engage carefully while distancing ourselves from her. So, it is quite laughable when some love to take the moral high ground for rejecting canon while still engaging with the same characters. (the rejection of canon in question being sirius’ height, lol)
(Sirius' height is quite a polarising fact apparently. Unfortunately, the point about height is also discussed so disingenuously. When I talk about sirius’ height, it is not really about him being 6 or 7 feet. It will not really impact my life. It is about what it represents. He is bimbofied as he becomes short. It's an issue of "WHY" again.)
Of course, this isn't an accusation of intentional bigotry from everyone here. The problem with this fandom is that the people in it tell themselves that it is progressive and to run away from the problematic creator as much as possible. We are not progressive if all we do is co-opt queer and racially diverse identities on such a superficial level. The bias manifests in subtle forms. I just wish we check ourselves from time to time, that's all.
There is a lot of hostility when we try to discuss issues in the fanon. Things are interpreted in the most misguided way to just win the argument. Like I said in the beginning, we all just want to have a good time. That also means creating a welcoming space for vulnerable groups (especially when the same identities are used to pat yourselves on the backs for inclusivity points). I didn't even cover everything btw, I just wrote about the issues that concern me. queer and poc also partake in biased representations, I also probably have some biases that I didn't identify yet. I just think it would be super neat if everyone tried to make an effort to unlearn and engage with media without hurting anyone.
I have other issues but they are all just super subjective opinions and smth I can ignore when others do. ex: I really don't like giving tragic backstories to bigots in the story. Not every supremacist loser has a trauma that forced them into oppressing people! There is also "tropeyfication" of all major ships. Just an overall issue in the reading world I think, though.
Anon, I didn't mean to make it preachy in any way btw. You probably asked for a silly little rant and I went full lecture mode, so I apologize for the tone shift!! I mentioned these because every other issue can be brought down to these imo. Like you said, I also don't have any fixation on everything being canon-compliant. I only complain by asking about the thought process behind certain kinds of changes, if that makes sense! I hope this wasn't a drag really and you can see where I am coming from. If I misspoke anywhere, pls lmk. Thanks for sharing your opinions too!!
This is a long long rant, anyone who read everything, you are wonderful and patient. Thank you for taking the time. This huge post and the content can make you think, “who cares this much?” or “it's not that serious” and yaa it really isn't that serious. The characters aren't real but we all are. the identities projected are real. so, it does matter to talk about this.
Everything said this is a fun place to be once you find your own corner in the playground.
#anti jkr#anti jegulus#anti marauders fandom#anti fanon#marauders fandom#gender and sexuality in fandom#race in fandom#canon wolfstar#fanon wolfstar#hp canon#canon vs fanon
48 notes
·
View notes
Note

Also my friends idea for a fluffy one shot! (with their permission and full credit to them)
This became... a bit more than expected. I wanted to write a few of these prompts tonight, but apparently I was lying about some of them being short...
“I’ll need a bit more kindling before I can start the fire,” Phil said, looking up from the pile of firewood that had been gathered already. “Will you boys go get some?”
“Sure,” Will said, getting up from the lawn chair he’d been reclining in.
“What’s kindling?” Tubbo asked, oddly curiously for him. He’d seemed intrigued by the concept of making a fire since Wilbur had first mentioned their plans for a bonfire.
“It’s, like, little sticks and bark,” Wilbur informed him.
“Why does he need that?” Tubbo asked. “He has an entire stack of big pieces of wood.”
“Those are too big,” Wilbur explained. “The fire won’t be hot enough to catch entire logs on fire at the start. Kindling lets the fire grow and get hot enough to burn the bigger pieces.”
“Huh,” he said.
“Come on, let’s go find some.”
Wilbur led him into the woods and Tubbo went willingly, surprisingly, not even hesitating when Tommy didn’t follow them.
Phil glanced up at Tommy, not questioning why he stuck back. “Want to help me get everything else set up?” Phil asked.
“Sure,” Tommy agreed. “What should I do?”
“Let’s clean out the firepit and then start putting down the tinder.”
The firepit was well maintained, but a few inches worth of leaves had fallen into it since the last time they’d used it.
“Have you ever been to a bonfire?” Phil asked as they began digging out the leaves.
“That depends,” Tommy said. “What’s the difference between a bonfire and a regular fire?”
“They’re usually bigger,” Phil said, “and always outside. They’re sometimes made for celebrations or to get rid of burnable waste, sometimes both. We’re making a pretty small one though.”
“Hmm,” Tommy said. “Maybe then. We mostly used them to cook food though.”
“We’ll be cooking food too,” Phil told him. “We’ve got hotdogs and stuff for s’mores.”
“What are s’mores?” Tommy asked.
“It’s a type of dessert,” Phil informed him and grinned when Tommy immediately looked interested.
They’d cleaned the firepit and spread out tinder by the time Wilbur and Tubbo got back with armfuls of thin sticks. While Tubbo didn’t know anything about fires, Tommy clearly knew a lot about them. He helped Phil stack the kindling and firewood in a crosshatch pattern without instruction. The lighter, however, did throw him for a loop.
“That’s so much easier!” Tommy exclaimed in awe as Phil set a piece of newspaper on fire with a click of a button. “Can I try?”
“Sure,” Phil agreed, handing over the lighter. “You have to push that button forward before clicking that one.”
Tommy took it. It took him a couple of tries to get the grip right, but then the flame flickered to life. He lit another bit of the kindling and grinned.
“Phil,” Techno said, “did you really just gift the child fire?”
Phil rolled his eyes and Tommy turned to glare at Techno. “Be careful Blade,” he said, waving the lighter threateningly. “I now have the power to burn your sheets.”
“Which is why Phil shouldn’t have given it to you,” Techno said dryly. He moved to set the roasting sticks he’d just cleaned in the kitchen on the table they’d set up nearby.
“Please, do not burn anything that isn’t firewood,” Phil requested.
Tommy sighed heavily with a grin on his face. “Fine,” he agreed. He went back to lighting the fire in a few more places before relinquishing the lighter back into Phil’s care.
Phil and Techno went to grab the food from the kitchen while the fire grew.
The sun had started to set by the time the fire was ready to cook on and the air was chilly when they stepped away from the fire.
They ended up sitting in a circle around the fire. Tommy continuously had to push Tubbo’s arm so he was holding the hotdog over the coals instead of over the flames. Eventually, he just gave Tubbo his cooked hotdog, brushed the ash off of the one Tubbo had been trying to cook, and set about cooking the second hotdog himself.
“You’re pretty good at that,” Wilbur commented. (Despite how many times Wilbur had roasted hotdogs over fires, he always was too impatient and ended up with a partially burned, partially cold one. He always ate it anyway.)
“We used to cook dead rats over our fires,” Tommy said cheerfully. Disgust immediately pinched both Wilbur and Tubbo’s faces. Technoblade just snorted out an aborted laugh.
“Well, I bet hotdogs are easier to cook then those,” Phil replied neutrally.
“And less hairy!”
Phil watched Tubbo stare at the hotdog he’d just finished slathering with mustard. He glanced at Techno briefly before shoving the hotdog into his hands.
Techno looked like he was trying very hard not to start laughing in earnest.
Wilbur, meanwhile, shoved the rest of his hotdog into his mouth, but didn’t look particularly pleased about it. “Well, that’s my cue to start on the marshmallows.”
Usually, Phil would protest breaking out the dessert already, but he didn’t say anything this time.
“Marshmallows?” Tommy asked, “Like for hot chocolate?”
“Yep,” Wilbur said, pausing to ruffle Tommy’s hair on his way to grab the bag of marshmallows as well as the rest of the s’mores supplies. “This time, we’re roasting them though.”
Wilbur tossed the bag of marshmallows at Techno when he returned, almost making Techno drop one of his two hotdogs. Techno rolled his eyes, but did finish his first hotdog in two bites so he could rip open the bag. He put four marshmallows on his roasting stick: two for Wilbur and two for himself. Then, he passed the bag to Tubbo.
No one else was ready to roast marshmallows yet, so Tubbo ended up just clutching the bag for a few minutes. Tommy ate his now finished hotdog while carefully watching Techno roasting the four marshmallows and Wilbur setting up graham crackers and chocolate on a paper plate.
After observing the s’more making process and finishing his hot dog, Tommy grabbed the bag of marshmallows from Tubbo’s lap. He also put four marshmallows on his roasting stick and held it over the fire. For it only being his first time cooking marshmallows, Phil was impressed that he only set one of them on fire once. Wilbur told him to blow on it, and he responded quickly enough to save it.
Tubbo had the rest of the s’mores prepped by the time Tommy finished roasting the marshmallows. Tommy slid them onto the graham crackers, and they ended up only a little bit messier than Wilbur and Techno’s.
It was a little harder to tell with Tubbo, but both boys seemed happy with their snack.
Phil was the only one to cook himself two hotdogs before moving onto marshmallows, but after distracting themselves from the rat roasting conversation, both Wilbur and Tubbo ended up with another hotdog. (Tommy cooked Tubbo’s for him.)
The graham crackers and chocolate were used up almost comically quickly. It wasn’t much of a surprise. Just Techno and Wilbur alone could consume more s’mores than should be humanly possible. Tommy and Tubbo gave them a run for their money.
They still had half a bag of leftover marshmallows and Techno and Tommy slowly cooked them two at a time while the fire continued to burn. Wilbur got up every so often to add a log or two to the fire. The air was freezing by the time the entire bag was finished, but it was warm near the fire.
“Alright,” Wilbur said, after polishing off his last marshmallow. “One more tradition.”
Tubbo and Tommy looked at him in interest as he pulled a bundle of fabric out from under his chair. He dumped it unceremoniously into the fire.
“My least favorite outfit of the year,” Wilbur said in explanation.
“You’re burning clothes?” Tommy asked, confused.
“I didn’t like them.”
“Did you consider just returning them to the store?” Tubbo asked.
“It’s symbolic,” Wilbur said, waving him off. “Plus, they were itchy.”
“Can I burn things too?” Tommy asked, watching the clothing start to burn.
“What would you want to burn?” Wilbur asked.
Tommy shrugged.
Phil saw Wilbur’s eyes suddenly light up brighter than the flames. “I have an idea!” he said, almost knocking down his chair before bolting into the house.
It took him a good 20 minutes to get back. His symbolic bad outfit had already burned almost completely by then, and Techno had added another log. Phil wondered what had taken him that long to find until he caught sight of the fabric he was carrying.
Ah.
Wilbur’s smile was actually evil when he handed it over to Tommy.
Tommy, of course, instantly recognized it. You didn’t exactly forget the outfit you almost bled to death in.
“I didn’t realize you’d kept this,” he said.
They had. Phil had even (tried to) clean the blood off of it before he’d been aware Tommy and his super-suit were not going to be returned to the heroes. He’d forgotten about it since.
Wilbur just shrugged, that smile still on his face. The flickering light from the fire made him look a bit deranged. Techno had sat forward in his chair to watch.
Tommy only hesitated for a few moments before tossing his old super-suit on the fire. Phil felt himself grin.
The suit was designed to be sturdy, so they needed to put another log on top of it to get it to fully burn, but it did burn in the end.
“I think I understand Wilbur’s clothes burning thing,” Tommy said decisively once the outfit was nothing but ash.
“It cathartic,” Wilbur said. His smile was a bit softer at this point, but there was still a hint of derangement to it.
Tommy turned to Tubbo. “Do you want to burn anything?” he asked.
Tubbo shook his head. “Nah,” he said. “My hero suit got destroyed before I came here.”
They didn’t add any more logs to the fire after, letting it burn down until it was too cold to stay outside. They doused the fire before going back inside for the night.
What Tubbo sees when they bring that super-suit out over the fire:

(He is... honestly... kinda correct)
(I just realized that kinda goes against the last point of the prompt... but then again maybe not. Maybe that does make Tubbo actually feel safe with them.)
14 notes
·
View notes
Text
less than tactical touch
prompt 1: hand holding
well wELL WELL!!! Look who's back at it again. Oh? What's this, you ask? Well, nothing really... just my attempt, yet again, at posting for Writingtober, or whatever. SFW Kinktober, if you will.
Yes, I'm so very behind. No, I will not catch up. You can partially count these prompts for NanoWriMo. They're definitely not being finished during the month of October. but!!! here's the first one.
it's Ghost. Yes. What about it? This year, I'm also doing something a little different in that I'm only going to be writing characters I want to write instead of randomizing a few of my favs amongst fan favs. It'll just make the writing process for me easier.
either way!! without further ado, here's a bit of touch starved ghost to kick these prompts off! I hope you enjoy :)!
Word Count: 1.7 k
The rescue went as smoothly as it could, but the rebound is showing its taxing nature. You’re incredibly tired, but Kate brought you out here to do your job. With all that's come to light in the past twelve hours— you were grateful to be on this side of things.
Finding out what happened to Ghost and Soap seriously gutted you. Hearing the report by word of mouth when Kate and Captain John Price found out what Graves and Shepard had attempted to do with Ghost, Soap, and Los Vaqueros… it makes your blood boil thinking about it now.
Laswell had told you to ‘pack your shit together’ as soon as she’d heard word from Price that they’d been successful with extracting the boys from Grave’s personal prison. That’s what you could only describe it as, the stupidity of it all. They were out and heading to a base where, apparently, you had been requested to appear at too.
You didn’t need a hint to know who had requested your being there in the first place. So, following Laswell’s directions, you quite literally packed your shit together as quickly as possible, got in a car, and you were off to the safe house.
Here, feet imprinting into the dirt floor of this other warehouse for Los Vaqueros, you weren’t waiting more than a couple of minutes before the vans arrived. The one leading holds Alejandro and the majority of his men, the next van is the one Rudy hops out of. They barely recognize your person, or don’t fully acknowledge that it’s you. Rudy might’ve lightly waved, but you weren’t sure. There was an understanding amongst everyone— the circumstances existed. There was no changing that, or them, there was going forward with them. Stakes were just different, seriously for better or for worse.
The third truck pulled up as you pushed forward to take a peek outside, observing the unfolding chaos already emitting from the first two cars. It slowed to an easy halt next to the first two vehicles, and the doors kicked out. The team members of 141 all immediately begin to pile out. Price fronts the group as always, but instead of his approachable demeanor from when you’d first met him, you swear there’s almost steam emitting from his head he’s so pissed. Gaz is behind him, slamming the truck door shut and starting to march into place behind the leader before he scans his surroundings and finds you.
Kyle’s demeanor shifts entirely, the glare shifts into something softer. He’s approaching you before he can think twice, and you’re grateful that someone like him is also present through all of this.
“Hey…” he sighs, sounding too tired. “When’d you get here?”
“Couple minutes ago.” You reply simply, tilting your head on its side. “… Is everything okay? What happened with you guys?”
Gaz is back to looking uneasy, and he averts his eyes toward the floor, “…Well—“
“It was fuckin’ Graves.” The Scottish accent angrily hisses on the other side of your head, you alarmingly turn to address it. Soap is marching on, following after Price. “Graves and Shepard, to be exact. The fuckin’ twats tried to kill us.”
“How?” You turn back to Gaz, seeing that Soap wasn’t going to stay and chat details.
“He—“
“He tried murderin’ us, that’s what.”
You barely have time to process what’s just been spoken in your direction, and your eyes are bulging wide as the six-foot-three soldier comes marching up to you and Kyle— promptly pulling you off by your arm. The only heads-up being the singular statement.
“Uh? Ah?” You start to vocalize— Gaz only helplessly watches as the large, skull-faced soldier drags you away by your upper arm. And you’re fumbling with coming up with something to say. How to interject, get him to stop. But he’s so much bigger than you, and Gaz is nowhere near his stature either.
You both watch each other as it happens, Gaz helplessly sending a single wave in your direction before turning off to follow his captain who was barking orders to get a handle on the situation. You want to be in that conversation, not dragged away and hidden which seemed to always be the goal of Ghost whenever you were both present at debriefings.
“Stop stalling,” Ghost growls, pulling your closer, “I know you can walk faster than that.”
“I— sure? But— Simon.” You pull against his grasp, and it’s very clearly not going to do anything. His fingers were still pressing marks into your wrist, a reassuring soreness. “Simon. Please?”
Your voice is softer than you expect, and it must catch him by surprise too. He let’s go, turning back and peering down at you through the eye-sockets of his skull mask. The dark eyes shadowed by the black face paint, it always captivates you in so many ways. This time, it is tender. He’s really seeing you, and you can’t grasp entirely why.
“I wasn’t there, and I’m now here. You’re here, you made it back, nothing’s happening right in this moment.” Gently, you reach your own hand in his direction. Brushing your fingers over the space in-between his tactical gear. The long sleeve is thick, but it’s warm from him, and the moment is suddenly careful. “We’re okay.”
Simon never looks away while you stay focused on his arms, and the silence isn’t anything new. He’s typically quiet, everyone knew this, but the presence in his stare holds a weight in your chest. It compels you to look back, the warmth in his stare all the more evident. It holds you there, it closes you off from the rest of the warehouse and makes it your moment together.
“…I can’t let you out of my sight.” Simon’s hand reaches for his glove, he’s ripping at the velcro and pulling the item from his palm. His veined hand stretches out once free, and it’s reaching for your bare palm as well. “It was you, in the back of my mind. Last night…”
“Simon…” you murmur, letting him take up your hand and delicately turn it over so your palm faces the ceiling. His fingers, weightless, brush over the creases in your palm. It tickles, and you sadly smile. “I’m right here. Shepard was never in contact with me.”
Reaching the edge of your palm, his hand finally clasps around your own. His touch is forever warm, and reassuring, and your heart feels like it might as well leap out of your throat. Physical touch is rare with Simon, and this isn’t the first time he’s been soft with you… but, it’s not just you two alone. There are Vaqueros, and 141, and no one’s actively paying attention, but you know that they’re there. And he knows it too. So why—
“I don’t care,” he squeezes your hand tightly, “You weren’t with me.”
“I was with Laswell.” You meekly reply, like it will help whatever turmoil Simon is feeling over the fact he was away from you.
Ghost’s head shakes in displaying Laswell wasn’t enough. He takes you in by your hand, and suddenly the towering man envelops your waist in one arm. He still holds tight to your hand, your grasps carefully remaining between your chests. You can feel your heart beating lightly against your knuckles, Ghost’s gear swallows his heartbeat in full. But he’s breathing, his shoulders are gently rising and falling with that much evidence.
Lightly closing your eyes, you press your forehead against the front of his jacket. Plastic straps slightly dig back against your skin, and his hand snakes up to gently lay against the back of your skull.
“I’m here now?” You offer softly.
“Hah,” his laugh is humorless, but the sound makes you smile. A pathetic, maybe grateful smile.
His hand squeezes against yours again, and it’s only then when your eyes sting. You both were here, and the weight of it presses down on your shoulders with a newfound emotion. It’s almost unexpected, how the sadness wells up and hits you in your sinuses. He’d clearly been prepared for the worst when he you couldn’t recognize it until now. The degree of what happened… what is now going to happen with handling the Shadows and Shepard. Moments like these were few and far between, no wonder it’s happening all like this suddenly.
Who knew when there would be time to have another moment like this. Caresses and whispers and warmth. It’s all too fleeting, and before one of you can highlight that, there’s a call from a few feet away.
“Ghost.” It’s Soap, and as you turn to look at the man who’s tone resonates with you, the shorter Scottish man frowns further. “C’mon. Price got Shepard on the line. You should listen in.”
He doesn’t wait for a reply, instead walks back in the direction from which he came. Simon is still protectively wrapped around you, and evermore slowly he begins to unravel.
His accent utters your name softly, and you reach up to place a quiet hand reassuringly on his shoulder.
“I’ll still be here when all is said and done. We are going to make it out of this together. Okay?”
You’re holding his worrisome stare, and though he looks nervous, your words make sense to him. He softly nods, leaning in and managing to angle the tip of his chin so he could press his lips through the fabric of his ski mask and lightly kiss you on your forehead.
After a brief pause, he completely pulls away. Turning back in to the Special Force member he knew was expected of him. “Right, I’ll be off then. See what Shepard has to say for himself. In the meantime—“
Simon turns back towards you to which you hold out your hand. As if to pace him. “I’ll be right there as soon as your done. Don’t worry.”
He nods again, turning forward and marching on. “Yeah. You better be, otherwise it’ll really turn into a shit show around here too.”
You snicker softly at the man’s stubbornness, but don’t say anything more. You don’t need to imagine the result of his frustrations if that was how he was going to act as soon as he laid eyes on you just moments before.
Instead of waiting around, you pull out your phone. Opening your messages with Laswell, you give her the update…
Made it, safe and sound. You made a good point on why I should be here. Someone’s happy to see me.
Laswell: Good to hear. I knew he would be. I hate to say I told you so, but… well. I definitely told you so.
You don’t hate it.
Laswell: You’re right. I don’t :)
#fanfic#oneshot#writing#x reader#simon ghost riley#simon riley#ghost#ghost cod#ghost mw2#reader insert#ghost x reader#ghost call of duty#cod mw2#hand holding#sfw kinktober
95 notes
·
View notes
Text

Outtakes - Non-smut Vol 1
AO3 | Kofi | Main Masterlist | The Spreadsheet Masterlist | Vol 2

Hi friends! Sometimes we want fics that are SFW or we just want to make ourselves sad or we need a little pick me up. I'm here with a list of fics that have no (explicit) smut as of posting! They may have smutty thoughts or mild allusions to smut, but those are marked in the warnings!
I know, me, posting non-smut fics.... but they deserve love too! Note that while many of these are rated T, they are posted on blogs that are 18+ so MDNI <3
Summaries and tags are, in most cases, provided by the author - please be sure to read them as some of these fics may have content you do not wish to read.
Updated 5/24/2024

Whiskey, Dark and Deep - Jack - @prolix-yuy
Summary: In the short time you’ve known Jack Daniels, he’s disappointed you three times. Warnings: M, violence, blood, injuries, gunfights, so so so much yearning, full on cowboy tropes.
A bearable weight - Javi G - prolix-yuy
Summary: New Years Eve is the holiday of new beginnings, and you take a leap to see if Javi might be one of them. Story Warnings: T, plenty of sweetness, more ridiculousness because I can’t help myself, some lightly spicy kisses.
One Hundred and Fifty Seven - Din - @theidiotwhowritesthings
Summary: Din fakes his death for some reason. They leave reader behind thinking he’s dead. Months go by and he returns but reader is like super not okay. Say she’s been super into spice because then she can see Din when she’s high. Anyway, happy ending but loooots of angst please! Also, can it be a bit between him returning and reader being okay with him being back?” Warnings: angst with happy end, drug use, drug addiction, mentions of death, brief canon violence, self loathing, anxiety, self doubt, boba adopts reader b/c i couldn’t resist
In an instant - Joel - @mishasminion360
Summary: Happy Birthday, Joel Miller... Warnings: Um…..😳🙄 (ed. note: I hate to spoil the story, but since this list is intented to help people avoid triggers, I must; Major Character Death (reader), angst, loss of pregnancy)
It would be - Din - @fuckyeahdindjarin
Summary (aka prompt I gave myself): ‘It would be easier if you just married him.’ Warnings: angst, jealousy, fighting, pining, yearning, no use of Y/N
Just Keep Breathing - Javi P - @swiftispunk
Summary: javi finds it harder and harder to keep up with the more physical aspects of his job. reader offers him some love and words of comfort. warnings etc: BODY REPRESENTATION <3 (reader is described as having thicker thighs, a belly, and crow’s feet), smoking + smoking related health issues, hurt/comfort, back massages, fluff, angst, bein in ur 30s/40s, established relationship. probably bad spanish (please correct me). NO USE OF Y/N.
Every Pilot Needs a Wingman - Frankie - @kikis-writing-world
Summary: You have been pining quietly over your neighbor for months. He hasn’t noticed, but apparently his friend has… Warnings: Smutty thoughts - grey sweatpants should be their own warning. Fleeting mentions of masturbation and sex toys. Swearing. Santi gives the reader tips on how to impress/pick up Frankie, I don’t know if that might come off as shady or triggering to people so I want to mention that.
A girl walks into a bookshop - Ezra - @oonajaeadira
Summary: Set a couple of years after the events of the film. Ezra owns a bookshop. You walk in. Warnings: The coziest, softest romance. They do work up to intimacy, but it is sequestered in it’s own chapter–the “Interlude”–which can be skipped without losing any of the story.
Breathe Through It - Joel - @tommysversion
Summary: you have a panic attack. Joel helps. Warnings: Descriptions of mental health conditions (namely PTSD, but can be read as any anxiety based disorder with panic attacks) / graphic description of a panic attack / some adult language/ references to past trauma (nothing explicitly described but inferred).
A kiss before dying and in death we combine - Joel - oonajaeadira
Summary: When Joel becomes infected, you make the decision not to leave him alone. Warnings: Blood and wounds. Bodily character death. Loss. Love that hurts. Sex of course, but blurred to the edges. Playing fast and loose with the cordyceps and how fast it grows.
102 - Frankie - @tieronecrush
summary: every week, you and frankie meet up at the same spot at the same time to catch-up and share a coffee. you’ve been his best friend for years. through thick and thin, always there. thing is, frankie’s been in love with you for nearly as long as he’s known you and hasn’t worked up the courage to tell you. warnings: no use of Y/N, post-film timeline, au where frankie doesn’t have a kid, use of pet names (solecita, mi mejor), high school level spanish (mostly swear words), unrequited love, self deprecation, alcohol use/drunkenness, smoking
Safe in my arms - Ezra - mishasminion360
Summary: Ezra harbors a secret hatred for his absent arm, but his feelings come to a head when his newly acquired handicap fails to do the one task he vowed never to fail in: keep you safe from harm. Warnings: Language; light angst; feelings of insecurity; body dysmorphia; brief allusions to smut; hurt/comfort; fluff.
Leave Off Your Wandering - Joel - oonajaeadira
Summary: An area native, long-term resident and shepherd in Jackson, you prefer quiet and isolation and the company of sheep. It seems this new resident Joel Miller and his young ward might share your interests. Warnings: M (possible canon violence and language. most likely non-explicit sex further down the line.) (ed. note; no smut as of chapter 2)
Peace - Joel - swiftispunk
summary: jackson era, post-tlou. you and joel discuss what it means to die. warnings: angst and fluff, discussions of death and dying, discussions of sex but nothing too explicit, age difference implied but not specified (joel is older than you but the number of years is not relevant), established relationship. NO USE OF Y/N.
This is me trying - Joel/Ellie platonic!! - swiftispunk
summary: jackson. a flashback on a film reel sparks a memory. joel tells ellie how it feels. warnings: angst, discussions of child loss, discussions of grief and death, ig fluff
Epiphany - Joel - @jksprincess10
Summary: Your new neighbor is a war veteran with a lot of scars. (1k words) Warnings: AU where Joel is in the military, age gap, PTSD, anxiety, insomnia, allusions to smut, suicidal thoughts, sad ending. Beware!!
Significant - Din - softlyspector
Summary: Din has been calling you riduur for months. You finally find out what it means, and get a little more than you bargained for. Warnings: pining, absolute FOOLS in love, bit of grumpy x sunshine, lil angsty, possibly incorrect lore, fluff, lots of Mando'a (translations for the Mando'a at the end
A pile of cards - Javi P - @undercoverpena
summary: it’s become a tradition. he presents you with a birthday card so you can collect his words, while he collects the expressions you share as you read them. warnings: javi through the seasons, narcos season two/three spoilers. cute, fluff. happy ending.
Fire - Din - jksprincess10
Summary: None Warnings: fluff fluff fluff, mutual pining, idiots in love, this is pretty short, mando still has the crest, canon divergent.
Honeyed - Joel - softlyspector
Summary: You hate being touched, but you might be willing to put aside your discomfort for a tattoo from Joel. Warnings: slow build, no outbreak tattoo!au, reader has issues with touch and is mostly touch adverse, tattoos and getting tattooed (the reader only has one tattoo that is described in any detail), description of a past abusive relationship and a bad experience getting tattooed, insecurity, anxiety, loneliness, implied undefined past trauma with men, Joel gets to have both his daughters in this, you can decide if this is game joel or show joel
The Art of Healing - Marcus Pike - @northernbluess
Summary: Marcus Pike was feeling lost—unfulfilled and unmoored. After a failed marriage, heartbreak courtesy of his ex-fiancée and relocating to D.C., Marcus knew that he needed more than the FBI. Seven years later, Marcus has traded in Special Agent for Doctor and is now a clinical psychologist specialising in art therapy. He combines his two loves of art and psychology, spurred on by his experience in art crimes, FBI psych courses and his own time in therapy. Josephine is referred to Dr Pike, having just been discharged from treatment for an eating disorder. While Dr Pike is fresh to his new career, he is knowledgeable, warm, kind and attentive. Over time, as she bares her soul to him, he falls for her and the bond between them ties both their heads in knots. As her therapist he knows it’s wrong but he begins to feel incapable of separating his feelings from his work. Before long neither can truly live without the other — if only she knew that. Warnings: (warnings will be specified in each individual chapter, however, please read these carefully) Art Therapist!Marcus Pike, eating disorder, therapy, mentions of disordered eating patterns, hurt/comfort, slow burn, lots of pining and tension, angst, age gap, strained familial relationships, so much softness and feelings, eventual smut (ed. note: no smut as of chapter 5 and worth the read up to that point)
The Man That I Love - Joel - @lumoverheaven
Summary: None (ed. note: Joel is an idiot who doesn't know what he has until he almost loses it). Warnings: None (ed. note: angst)
Not Strong Enough - Joel - @beskarandblasters
Summary: Fem!Reader and Joel are in an established relationship, having met shortly after the events in Kansas City. They’re living in Jackson, Wyoming together, post Salt Lake City with Ellie. Things are going well until an incident happens during patrol and Joel questions whether or not he’s good enough. Written in third person. Warnings: angst, feeling inadequate, canon types of violence, swearing, bar fight, Joel is an asshole :/
Do You Love Me - Dieter - me
Summary: here is a fluffy (by my standards) little drabble in the A Ghost of You universe. Can be read standalone Warnings: There's just some kissing and no mentions of anything bad because I'd never do anything bad to D, would I?
Thunder Buddies - Joel - me
Summary: Joel comforting reader who is scared of thunderstorms Warnings: descriptions of a panic attack, Joel being adorable, cuddling, cuteness, a distinct lack of angst or smut - which is really weird coming from me.
Wash Day - Marcus P - @secretelephanttattoo
Summary: Some completely self-indulgent romantic fluff about Marcus Pike washing your hair. Warnings: none
Personal Best - Marcus P - secretelephanttattoo
Summary: This picture of Pedro holding a dog inspired me to write a fluffy meet-cute for Marcus Pike & Reader. I'm feeling 90s romantic comedy vibes, I don't know if I'll write anything more on this but we'll see if people like it. Warnings: none
Context and Perspective - Marcus M - @elvenmother
Summary: The newest member of the Heroics has gone missing and as one of the better-known Villains on the scene, you are blamed. Then your sidekick goes missing. You must go after the Heroic’s leader to try to get them back and clear your name. Warnings: Swearing, mentions of injuries, mentions of blood
A Very Furby Christmas - Joel - @proxima-writes
Summary: it’s christmas eve 1998 and joel miller thinks everything is perfect. well, until his brother admits he didn’t get sarah the one present she wanted - the furby. now, joel has to go out on christmas eve to find the year’s hottest toy that’s been sold out for months. turns out, you’re on the same mission. and you’ve both found the last furby in town. Warnings: pre-outbreak, no use of y/n, holiday/christmas fic, the last toy trope, no smut, age gap - not explicitly specified but joel is 31 and reader is mid-20s, the great miller gingerbread construction competition, operation get sarah miller a furby, some kissing.
The Haunting of Dieter Bravo - Dieter - @idolatrybarbie Summary: "ghosts aren't real, except when they are." Warnings: referenced substance abuse, mentions of alcohol, dieter is sober, one song-based joke (please get it plsplspls), reader is gender neutral, a good ol' haunting tale.
The Locksmith - The Thief - oonajaeadira
Summary: A Thief you’ve known for years and have conflicting feelings for brings you a gift. The gift is a not only a puzzle in itself, but part of a larger mystery, one only you can crack. Warnings: reader is an adult, reader is AFAB, no physical descriptions of reader
A Piece of Cake - Frankie - idolatrybarbie
Summary: It's been a long time since you've seen Frankie Morales. Warnings: Angst, discussion of addiction, mentions of cocaine, alcohol consumption, bowling
The Parents That Are Left - Joel - @frenchiereading
Summary: There weren't many patrol partners Joel Miller tolerated: his brother and Iris. On a cold January day, Joel pays her mother a visit and finds out you can bond over anything. Unfortunately. Warnings: canon-typical violence and language, heavy angst, talks/mentions/descriptions of death and dead bodies, heavy discussions/thoughts of feelings/grief/guilt, suicidal thoughts, alcohol consumption, Jackson-era Joel, no reader, no y/n, OFC, not a single ounce of romance
For the Love of Horror - Dieter - @coulsons-fullmetal-cellist
Summary: Dieter and you watch a scary movie. Warnings: No use of y/n, horror movies, euphemisms, fluff, suggestive language
Stages of Grief - Joel - @bonezone44
Summary: After a tense interaction with a family member who raised you when you were little, you spiral. Joel talks you through it. Warnings: Gender neutral reader, familial trauma, angst, grief, neglect, trauma, childhood emotional/physical abuse
The Riding Lesson - Jack - @bluestar22x
Summary: When you are hired at a ranch as a trail guide, the owner asks the foreman to teach you how to ride Western style. Warnings: Suggestive thoughts, sexual tension, equestrian terms
Frankie and Din - Frankie/Din - @avastrasposts
Summary: a one-shot with our favourite pilot, sweet Frankie and our favourite space boy, broody Din based on the line; "Go on then, space boy, fly this.” Warnings: none
Light Only Shows You Where the Shadow Are - Max Phillips - oonajaeadira
Summary: The only thing that can get rid of a minor jerk is a major jerk. Warnings: Non-consensual attention (not Max), stalker behavior (when there’s trouble, Max always seems to be watching from nearby), vampire violence.
It's always been you - Dieter - @alwaysmicado
Summary: After a year of dating Dieter Bravo, you are forced to face reality. All good things must come to an end, right? Warnings: angst, age gap (unspecified), swearing, brief mention of p in v sex, brief mention of disordered eating and suicide, mention of black eye, toxic relationship, drug use, reader's coping mechanisms are unhealthy
John Wayne - Joel - @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin
Summary: twenty years after the world ended, you find yourself face to face with Tommy Miller. The brother of the man who was your boyfriend at the time of the outbreak. Warnings: talk of attempted suicide, child loss, grief, angst
illicit affairs - Joel @chaotic-mystery
Summary: it’s my take on what illicit affairs means. Every time I listened to it I imagined Joel, specifically dbf Joel. I hope the swifties go *easy* on me and pls don’t say anything if you didn’t like it. Warnings: angst. And more angst. Swearing, forbidden relationship, arguing, fwb, alluded age gap but not specified. Use of nicknames (kid, baby……don’t look at me ok I didn’t do IT), reader is not physically described, no use of y/n.
Stay Close to Me - Jack - @alwaysbethewest
Summary: You're a rookie agent sent to work undercover with Jack as a married couple!Fake/undercover marriage! Statesman casefic! Warnings: A little romance, kissing, coarse language, very mild peril and hurt/comfort, and a splash of alcohol. Reader is a junior agent and has some muscle but otherwise no physical/age descriptions. As with any good Kingsman fic, my first step was to disregard half of canon, so this is either pre-movie or an AU.
To Know the Light - Din - @burntheedges
Summary: to go in the dark with a light is to know the light. Warnings: fluff, a teensy bit of angst, introspection, winter, food mention, reader has no description, gn!reader
O, Christmas Tree - Dieter - @covetyou
Summary: As PA to Dieter Bravo, you were used to the strange, unusual and downright weird. What you weren't used to was taking in a shipment of - what? And how many? Warnings: sex toys (so many butt plugs), Dieter being a menace to his PA, no smut, pure silliness.
In Fiction - Dieter - @sin-djarin
Summary: Dieter comes to bed. Warnings: Established relationship, mentions of self doubt, no physical description of reader, no dialogue, no use of y/n.
The Serpent Under It - Dave York - @brandyllyn
Summary: Dave is very good at his job Warnings: Canon typical violence. kinda dark yo, soulmate AU
I'll Leave a Light On For You - Max Phillips - oonajaeadira
Summary: Max has reservations when it comes to love, and for very good reasons. Warnings: Angst. Character death. Allusions to the atrocities of war and its lasting effects. Max is a vampire. Traumatic soul memory. Me assuming I know anything about French culture of the 1930s.
Cocoon - Joel - secretelephanttattoo
Summary: A short ode to Joel's coat. / a bath with Joel Warnings: Angst and intimacy. 1 reference to blood and allusion to canon typical violence (nothing is described)
Home - Frankie - @dancingtotuyo
Summary: Frankie always comes home to you. Warnings: fluff, angst, girl dad!frankie, recovering!Frankie, references to drug use, references to violence, trauma, healing.
Negotiations - Max Phillips - prolix-yuy
Summary: Max Phillips never found marketing to be all that helpful. Hell, running an ad on Facebook was easy enough. But then you walked in the door and he knew he had to have you, in all the ways he could. Warnings: T, descriptions of male and female bodies, some fantasizing and suggestive themes.
sweets for my sweet; sweets from my sweet - Ezra - @tinytinymenace
Summary: you are a cook at an exploration camp and one of the miners asks you about Earth and brings you a treat Warnings: Brief mentions of planet death (RIP Earth) and strained family dynamics but on balance this is soft.
Caught Kissing Santa - Dave York - @wildemaven
Summary: Alice saw you kissing Santa Claus Warnings: reader is married to Dave and stepmom to his kids, mentions of food and drinks, non-religious Christmas celebrations and Santa beliefs, alluding to sexy time but no smut, kissing, mentions reader is wearing pajama pants, fluff, soft Dave, one use of ‘good girl’.
Unwind - Dieter - @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin
Summary: Dieter helps you unwind when you get your period after an already long day. Warnings: established relationship, reader menstruates, drug use (marijuana), reference to past drug use, reference to bad horror movies, Dieter being our favorite trash panda, sweet, fluff, domesticity
One Night - Marcus P - secretelephantattoo
Summary: You get one night with Marcus Pike. Warnings: Implied/referenced smut but nothing is explicitly described. Smoking and alcohol. Angst because they only have one night together. Marcus is a flirty menace. House party nostalgia. Heavy petting in a stairwell
Lovesick - Joel - prolix-yuy
Summary: You've been greedy for Joel for too long. Warnings: descriptions of wound care and blood, allusions to dubcon due to drinking and drug use, no actual smut
---------------------------------
Happy Reading!
#fic recs#the spreadsheet digest#fanfiction recommendations#pedro pascal#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro fics#pedro pascal character fanfiction#The spreadsheet Digest Outtakes
124 notes
·
View notes
Text
RBBTOBER DAY 13 - 14: ANGELS & DEMONS
Or: What if Tanqr made a different choice of ally in Season 3?
So like, I'm cheating in more than one way here. Firstly, the prompt says angels and demons, not angels and devils. Therefore, Pink and Tanqr still apply despite Tanqr not being a devil in my headcanons.
Secondly, the drabble for this prompt is an edited draft of a fic from...almost exactly a year ago, actually! I'd intended to write it into a full fic for Halloween, but then Nerdy Prudes Must Die came out and suddenly all I could think about what what eventually became Antithesis. I only got to the first 2 scenes. I'm super busy at the moment, so I decided to repurpose that draft to make the drabble, with some changes to give it an actual ending.
Said drabble under the cut!
Somewhere in the RB Battles universe, PinkLeaf is practising his parkour.
It’s tranquil here in the lobby, with no one else around. The hosts made a private server for the finalists to practise on, and he’s been getting as much use out of it as possible. Apparently he’s the only one of the finalists with a somewhat healthy sleep schedule, because it’s early morning, and no one’s here. He was under the impression that Kreek and Bella and Denis were also training a lot, so clearly they prefer to train late in the day.
He doesn’t mind that at all. It’s so much easier to focus when no one’s around, when no one’s yelling at him, when no one can disturb his thought process. Plus, he’d rather not have to talk to people in general. Instead all he can hear is the whistle of the wind flowing past him as he leaps through the air from building to building, getting ready to head into some minigames.
He heads back to the centre, not paying attention to anything around him, when a voice cuts through the silence.
“Morning, PinkLeaf. You’re up early.”
Pink turns to the direction of the sound to see Tanqr leaning up against a pillar near the centre of the map. They make eye contact and Tanqr waves, waiting for a response. PinkLeaf waves back and tries to ignore him, but it doesn’t work.
“Where are you going? C’mere, let’s chat.”
Pink sighs and jumps down to a tree that’s a little bit taller than where Tanqr is standing, trying to keep the high ground, ensuring Tanqr has to look up to talk to him. Tanqr accepts that’s the best he’s going to get.
“What do you want?” he asks.
“Listen, uh…” Tanqr walks up to the tree and hushes his voice. “Denis and Kreek are making an alliance in the run up to the finals. Don’t blame ‘em, they’re going to need some help to do any good.” he explains, laughing at his own taunts. Pink just finds it annoying.
“I suppose so.” He’s not really surprised. Kreek’s probably going to try to get all the help he can get to try to beat Tanqr.
“Those two - and, Bella, I guess - are very much a threat. To both of us.”
“Don’t…imply Bella’s not that good. She is.” Pink interrupts, much to his own surprise. When since did I care about Bella that much?
“Oh? Didn’t know you two were friendly.” Tanqr raises an eyebrow.
“...We’re not. I’m just saying, don’t…don’t put the others down.”
“Not trying to, just that she’s not who I’m worried might beat us. Kreek’s been gunning for my title, and I’ve seen Denis honing his parkour skills and he’s good at it - he knows that’s your strong point.”
“I think most people know that’s my strong point.” Pink responds. He didn’t mean it as an insult, but Tanqr takes it like one, and he purses his lips.
“Well- anyway-” Tanqr grits his teeth before he puts himself back on track. “Seeing that, I had a thought. Why don’t we get ahead of the game?”
“What do you mean?”
“Here’s my offer. An alliance, of sorts. We work together in the finals to crush the others. You’ll be the speed, I’ll be the manpower. Together we can make up the brains.”
PinkLeaf pauses in shock at the offer, waiting for Tanqr to start laughing and teasing him. It takes a second to realise Tanqr’s being totally serious.
“Are you…asking me to team up?”
“Yeah, obviously.” Tanqr snarks. “I’m going to admit something here, so don’t mock me over it, but you scare me, y’know? Not that much, of course, but…enough. You’re powerful. Where I fail in speed, you make up for it. If I’m not careful, you could beat me. And vice versa. So instead of that…” Tanqr holds his hand out. “Let’s work together. Just you and me against the world, what’dya say?”
Pink doesn’t know what to do. On the one hand, he doesn’t trust anyone easily, let alone Tanqr. He would not be surprised if Tanqr was just using him. But on the other hand, allying with Tanqr would give him a much needed edge, a little confidence boost if someone has his back during the finals. And then again, if Tanqr’s using him to win, surely he can do the same?
Pink weighs his options. He either risks having Tanqr as a direct enemy, have Tanqr’s sheer strength and brutality poised against him, or he gets to use it to his advantage even if Tanqr turns on him. And if he does, at least he’ll expect it.
Ah, what the hell.
“Okay. Sure. I’ll do it.” Pink replies, finally settling on a decision.
“Sweet.” Tanqr smiles widely, in a way that Pink can’t tell if it’s sinister or not. “Uh, take the handshake, make it official.”
Pink does as he’s told, shaking Tanqr’s hand as quickly as possible. Tanqr chuckles a bit at his reluctance before outlining his plan.
“You’re free for the next few hours, right?”
“...Yeah.”
“Okay, cool. We can train together then. Stay here, I’ll join you in about fifteen minutes - I need to grab a bite to eat. Haven’t had breakfast yet.” Tanqr turns away from Pink, giving him a wave. “See ya.”
“Oh, uh, bye.”
Tanqr pulls out his phone, types something in, and he’s gone.
Pink’s alone once again. The call of the wind blows in his ears and he shivers. He hops down from the tree and sits on a railing, contemplating.
Did he make the right decision?
#rb battles#roblox battles#rbbblr#yandan draws#roblox#rbbtober#rbbtober 2024#rbbtober2024#pinkleaf#tanqr#canon divergence#rb battles season 3#rbb s3#rb battles s3#and yes i did redesign pinkleaf#he was basic!! he needed some flavour so i redesigned him lol
13 notes
·
View notes