#front open universal testing machine
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hsmleindia · 2 years ago
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Computerized Universal Testing Machine Front Open with Hydraulic Grip
Computerized universal testing machine with a front-open design and hydraulic grip is a versatile testing instrument used for evaluating the mechanical properties of various materials. This type of machine offers a front-opening configuration, allowing easy sample loading and positioning, while hydraulic grips provide secure and reliable clamping of the test specimens. Consider the maximum load capacity of the testing machine, which determines the range of materials and specimen sizes it can handle. Machines typically have load capacities ranging from a few kilonewtons to several hundred kilonewtons or more, depending on the application requirements.
Universal Testing Machines supplied completed with UTM Software. It has a wide range of applications. A number of materials and metals in different forms and shapes can be tested for a variety of tests like tension, Compression, Transverse, Bend, Shear, Brinell Hardness, etc. Special attachments are also available for testing of flat belts, chain links, wire ropes etc.
Universal Testing Machines have a wide range of applications and number of materials, metals in different form and shapes can be tested for variety of tests like Tension, Compression, Transverse, Bend, Shear, Brinell Hardness etc. Special attachments are also available for testing of Flat Belts, Chain Links, Wire Ropes etc.
Hydraulic grips provide a reliable clamping mechanism for securing the test specimen during testing. The hydraulic system allows for controlled and consistent gripping force application, ensuring accurate and repeatable results.
testing machine, universal testing machine, computerized universal testing machine, universal testing machine with hydraulic, computerized universal testing machine with hydraulic, universal testing machine with front open, universal testing machine with hydraulic front open
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malavera · 11 months ago
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Peaches: “Would you be so kind in lending a hand?” (18+) — Logan Howlett
summary: the friendly old man neighbor of yours is helping you with your wash day
warning: the setting of this one-shot is AU no correlation to Wolverine & Deadpool, SMUT! MDNI, fingering, female oral receiving, age gap (legal), no use of Y/N, the use of pet name peach, sir kink, squirting
wc: 3.5k (well it's a full shot not a drabble ehe)
creds: i forgot where the divider is from, creds to the creator!
dedicating this one to my favorite authors!
@velvrei @wolverinesleftclaw @stark-ironman @lovelybucky1 @cyber333angel @dollverine @joelsgoldrush
peaches masterlist
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The day had finally come when you decided enough was enough. The laundry had been sitting there for three days, staring at you from the corner of your room like a silent accusation. Today was the day you would conquer it. Armed with your resolve, you hauled the overflowing basket to the laundry room. But as fate would have it, the universe had other plans.
The washing machine, that steadfast appliance you’d trusted for years, chose this very moment to betray you. The once familiar hum was replaced by a groan, a sputter, and then—nothing. You stared at it, disbelief turning to frustration as you realized the mountain of clothes in your arms was going nowhere. Your favorite pair of undies, buried somewhere in the pile, would have to wait.
You let out a long sigh, leaning back against the machine, its cool surface doing little to soothe your annoyance. Arms crossed, you dialed your father’s number, hoping for some semblance of a solution.
“Dad, the washing machine broke,” you said, half hoping he’d have a quick fix, half dreading his response.
There was a pause before he spoke, his voice calm, almost too calm. “Ask Logan for help, he’s pretty handy with stuff. I won’t be back until 8 PM tonight, buttercup.”
You nearly dropped the phone. Logan. Of course, it had to be him. The very thought of knocking on his door, asking him for help, sent a thrill of anxiety coursing through you. Why did it have to be him?
Logan Howlett—the man who occupied your thoughts far too often, the man who was the face of your wildest dreams. Just the mention of his name made your heart race. And now, you were supposed to ask him for help? The universe certainly had a twisted sense of humor.
You ended the call, staring at the washing machine like it was some cruel joke. The burnt toast theory, they called it. Sometimes, when things went wrong, it was the universe’s way of steering you toward something better. But as you stood there, contemplating the inevitable encounter with Logan, you couldn’t help but wonder if this was a blessing in disguise—or a test you weren’t sure you could pass.
Logan Howlett had been a fixture in your mind for five long months, ever since he moved into the neighborhood. It wasn’t just his rugged good looks or the way he carried himself with that effortless confidence; it was the way he seemed to have slipped so seamlessly into your life. Your dad, always quick to befriend a fellow drinker, had taken to him immediately. They were practically inseparable, sharing beers on the front porch, watching games in the living room, and even lingering over meals in the dining room.
And there you were, sneaking glances every time Logan was around, feeling that unmistakable flutter in your chest whenever he caught your eye.
Today, though, was different. Somehow, you found yourself standing on his porch, heart pounding as your fist hovered in mid-air. What were you thinking? Asking Logan for help—it felt too forward, too direct. But here you were, ignoring every ounce of self-doubt, raising your hand to knock on his door.
You barely had time to second-guess yourself before the door swung open. And there he was, the embodiment of everything that had been haunting your thoughts for months: tall, effortlessly sexy, his dark hair tousled just right. He was wearing a white shirt that clung to his broad chest and shoulders, tucked into denim jeans that fit him perfectly. You couldn’t help but notice how the summer sun cast a warm glow on his skin, making the moment feel almost surreal.
“Hey,” Logan’s voice broke through your reverie, casual yet deep enough to send a shiver down your spine. He squinted against the sunlight, his expression shifting into one of familiarity. “I was about to come over. Your dad called and asked me to check on something.”
You swallowed, trying to keep your voice steady as your mind raced. “Yeah, the washing machine broke. Dad said you could help… Would you be so kind in lending a hand?”
You could hear your own voice, slightly strained as you tried to strike the perfect balance. Not too high-pitched, not too low. Not too eager, not too aloof. But before you could overthink it any further, Logan flashed you a small smile, one that made your heart do a little flip.
“Yeah, sure, Peach.”
And there it was—that damn nickname that never failed to turn your insides into mush. It started innocently enough, the day your dad brought home a bag full of peaches and peach-flavored drinks. Logan had been there, chuckling at the sight, and ever since, he’d called you “Peach” with that easy, teasing tone. Now, every time he said it, you couldn’t help but melt a little, even if you tried to play it cool.
As you turned to lead him to your house through the backyard, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this was the universe’s way of pushing you closer to the man who had taken up residence in your thoughts.
“It made a really loud noise and it was shaking really bad, the sound was a bit scary,” you admitted, your voice tinged with worry. “And also, can you check if my clothes are alright? Did it tear them off or something?”
Logan nodded thoughtfully, a low hum of consideration escaping him as he surveyed the situation. “Where did your dad put his tools?” he asked, his gaze already scanning the room.
“Oh, it’s right there,” you said, pointing towards the shelf against the wall. Determined to be helpful, you stood on your tippy toes, stretching to reach the toolbox. But before you could grasp it, Logan moved past you with ease, his hand already closing around the handle.
“Careful, Peach. It’s pretty heavy,” he murmured from behind you, his voice close enough to send a subtle shiver down your spine. His presence loomed over you as he reached up effortlessly, the scent of his cologne mingling with the warm summer air.
You stepped back, feeling a mix of flustered and grateful as he handled the heavy toolbox with ease, making you feel small and protected all at once.
“O-okay.” The stutter slipped out before you could stop it. Seriously? Get a grip, you scolded yourself internally. Trying to regain some composure, you quickly added, “I’m just—gonna… fix you something to drink.” You gestured awkwardly towards the kitchen, hoping to retreat before you embarrassed yourself further.
Logan nodded absentmindedly, his focus entirely on the washing machine that seemed to be on its last legs. He didn’t even glance your way, which was both a relief and a disappointment. You took a nervous step back, then another, finally turning and heading to the kitchen, hoping a moment away would help you steady your nerves.
Leaving his presence created an unfamiliar ache in your chest, a tug of reluctance you hadn’t anticipated. It was as if some part of you didn’t want to leave his side, didn’t want to be apart from the quiet strength that Logan exuded. The thought of retreating to the kitchen, of putting physical distance between you and him, felt wrong, almost unnatural.
You wanted to stay. You wanted to watch him work on the broken machine, to see those skilled hands in action, to listen to the steady, assured way he moved and spoke. But at the same time, you knew you couldn’t trust yourself around him. Not when your heart raced at every little interaction, not when just being near him made you feel so unsteady.
You didn’t have the confidence to be casual, to act like you weren’t hanging on his every word and gesture. And you certainly didn’t have the strength to face the feelings that threatened to overwhelm you every time you were close to him. So instead, you sought refuge in the kitchen, hoping the distance would help calm the storm inside you, even as it left you aching for more.
Twisting the faucet, you watched as the water streamed out, the steady flow almost hypnotic in its simplicity. The kitchen was quiet, the only sound the gentle rush of water hitting the sink. You leaned forward, letting the coolness soothe your heated skin, and splashed your face with the cold water, hoping it would bring some clarity to your muddled thoughts.
For a moment, the shock of the cold jolted you back to reality, away from the overwhelming thoughts of Logan that had been swirling in your mind. You closed your eyes, letting the droplets drip down your face, trying to steady your breathing and collect yourself. It was just a broken washing machine, just a neighbor doing a favor.
You swung open the fridge, your hand instinctively reaching for your favorite peach-flavored soda. The cool metal of the can felt reassuring against your palm as you pulled it from its place. With a satisfying hiss, you cracked it open, the sweet, fruity scent immediately filling the air.
Reaching for a tall glass, you filled it with ice, the cubes clinking softly as they settled. Then, you poured the bubbly soda over them, watching as the fizzy drink cascaded down, swirling and dancing around the ice. After inserting a straw into the glass, you carefully picked it up, the cool condensation forming on the outside of the glass. You took a deep breath, steadying yourself, and made your way back to where Logan was.
"Here you go," you announced, placing the glass on the nearby table. Logan turned his attention from the washing machine to you, his eyes briefly darting to the drink you’d set down. A smile curved on his lips, the warmth in his gaze making your heart skip a beat. “Thanks, Peach.”
“Ehe…” You offered a nervous smile in return, your cheeks heating up at the casual endearment. Trying to steady your fluttering nerves, you grabbed the straw and shoved it into your mouth with a little more force than intended. It was your way of silencing the awkwardness bubbling inside you, a desperate attempt to keep any embarrassing sounds from escaping.
“So, your dad’s going on a date later today, huh?” Logan’s voice was light, but he noticed the nervousness you were trying to mask. His intention was to ease the tension with casual conversation.
“Y-yeah, he’s working now, but that’s what I’ve heard,” you replied, nervously fiddling with the straw. You decided to sit on the edge of the table where Logan’s drink was, adjusting it carefully to avoid spills.
Logan glanced at you, then back at the washing machine, his smirk widening. “You okay with that?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” you responded, a bit defensively.
Logan chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling with curiosity. “From what I’ve heard, you’ve never been too thrilled about him dating. Is there something you’re not telling me?”
You hesitated for a moment, the weight of Logan’s question pressing on you. Taking a deep breath, you decided to let your guard down. “Well, it’s just… I’ve always felt like I have to compete for his attention. It’s silly, I know, but it’s hard when you’re used to being the center of someone’s world.”
Logan’s expression softened, and he gave you an understanding nod. The moment of connection hung between you as Logan turned his attention back to the washing machine. He worked with focused precision, his hands moving deftly as he made the final adjustments. The clinks and whirs of the machine were soon replaced by a steady, rhythmic hum.
“There we go,” Logan said with a satisfied grin, stepping back to admire his handiwork. The washing machine was back in action, its gentle whirl now a reassuring sound.
You let out a relieved sigh, watching the machine function smoothly. “Thank you so much, Mister Howlett. I really appreciate it.” you said, your gratitude sincere as you adjusted from your sitting position to stand up. You set down your now-empty glass on the table, the slight clink of the glass breaking the brief silence.
Hearing you address him as "Mister Howlett" sparked something within Logan—an unfamiliar, yet undeniable feeling. It was a sentiment he had been trying to avoid, one that stirred within him despite his best efforts to keep his distance. The formal address seemed to intensify the feelings he had been wrestling with, making them more pronounced.
You're not the only one who has a crush, he does too.
From the moment Logan had closed the trunk of his truck while moving into the neighborhood, you had been on his mind. He remembered the day vividly—watching you step out of your car in a beautiful white sundress that hugged your upper body and flowed gracefully. The way the dress accentuated your figure, combined with the ease of your movements, had captured his attention in a way he hadn’t anticipated. As you came knocking on his door with your dad beside you to welcome him into the neighborhood, those peach-flavored pie you brought had been lingering in his mind ever since. He wondered if you smell as good as that pie where he devoured in one full bite that night. And here you are, wearing the same white sundress that's gotten him obsessed with.
As Logan took a step forward, you instinctively stepped back, forgetting about the table behind you. Your hips brushed against it gently, causing a small jolt. Logan had intended to reach for the glass of your beverage, but his proximity brought him uncomfortably close.
With a casual yet deliberate movement, Logan took the glass from behind you, his body nearly brushing against yours. He lifted the glass in front of you, tilting his head slightly with a smirk. “Thanks, Peach,” he said, his voice low and warm.
Without breaking eye contact, he chugged down the drink, his gaze locked onto yours. The act was both confident and intimate, making the moment feel charged with unspoken tension. The shared space between you seemed to crackle with a newfound energy as you both stood there, the air thick with the lingering effects of the brief but intense connection.
You cleared your throat, feeling a flush of heat spread across your cheeks as you managed to wiggle your way out from the proximity of Logan. You made your way toward the washing machine, watching it work through the glass as your laundry tumbled inside.
“Tell me, Peach,” Logan’s voice came from behind, smooth and deliberate. “Is your taste as good as this peach soda?”
Your breath hitched, and your mind raced. Am I hearing this right? Is this a dream? You thought, trying to process his words. Despite the possibility of it being a dream, you couldn't bring yourself to face him. Instead, you leaned against the washing machine, the rhythmic vibrations grounding you.
“Um—W-what do you mean, s-sir?” you managed to stammer, your voice barely more than a whisper.
You could feel Logan’s presence closing in behind you, the air growing warmer and thicker as he approached. The vibrations from the washing machine seemed to pulse more intensely against your torso, amplifying the sensation of his proximity. Each step he took made your heartbeat quicken, your senses acutely aware of the space between you shrinking.
Logan’s shadow fell over you, and you could almost feel the heat radiating from his body. His breath, though not yet touching your skin, was close enough that you could sense its warmth. 
“You wanna know what ‘m thinking, Peach?” He mumbles behind your ear. You wished he didn’t hear your shuddered breath and the swallowed saliva down your throat from the way he makes you nervous.
“I don’t think so, Mister Howlett.” you managed to reply, your voice trembling slightly as you tried to maintain your composure.
“Naw, why? Afraid you might like it?” You could feel the smirk slowly forming in his face.
“I-”
“I’m thinking of bending you against this washing machine, lift up your very short sundress and get on my knees. Slowly taking my time smelling that scent… of arousal from your pussy, where I know, she’s dying to be touched, to be fingered, to be fucked, by me.” You gasp once you feel the bulge from his rough jeans, teasingly grinding against your ass earning a chuckle from him as he continues,
“Oh yes I know, Peach. I know how much you want to feel this cock inside you. Should’ve known better to close your blinds at night when your delicate… fingers desperately trying to reach that high, because I’m always watching you, Peach. Even though you’re such a pain in the ass with that, Peach flavored pie, and that fucking beautiful smile. I wanna turn those smiles into tears… Tears of pleasure from me, fucking this cunt.” You gasped loudly as Logan roughly thrust his bulge against your ass, hitting you against the washing machine.
“L-Logan,” you stammered, your voice trembling with a mix of nervousness and anticipation.
“Call me, Sir,” Logan’s tone was laced with full authority, each word deliberate and commanding. You choked back a swallow before you corrected yourself.
"Sir, I don't know what you're talking about." You stood on your ground.
"Yeah? Let me remind you how it feels then, this time, with me." Logan grunted in your ears before you felt a rush of cold air blowing against your damped panties resulted from Logan lifting your skirt up. You whimpered once you feel his fingers grazing against your soaking wet cunt, earning a mocking tut from Logan.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk... Your cunt says otherwise, Peach." He rubs you through the panties before ripping them off of you, the sound piercing through the room.
Logan crouched on his knees, proving his promise to you the one where he'd like to take his time smelling you from down your legs up to your thighs, dragging his warm tongue on your delicate skin upwards earning a moan from you. Logan hummed once he connected his lips to your glistening pussy lips, his tongue swirling and lapping your gushing juices.
You feel like god had just granted you your wishes into doing this sinful things. You finally can experience the feeling of his tongue against your throbbing cunt that keeps on gushing. Logan moaned, while he laps your juices up like a dog. "You taste just as I imagined, peach-flavored cunt." He murmured against your pussy.
A rosy hue crept across your cheeks hearing his statement. "Come on, Peach. Gimme more." Logan breathed out, his two hands that were gripping your thighs pushed and lifted you upward attempting you to bend over more over the top of the washing machine. Spreading your legs wide, you moaned out loud once you feel his tongue crazily lap your pussy like a dog in thirst.
"S-sir.." You squeaked, feeling yourself close.
"Hmm, yeah, give it to me, Peach." Logan grunted, burying his face even more.
"Ngh, I'm gonna-" Before you could finish that sentence, you froze as you heard your dad's voice calls out to you.
"Buttercup! I'm home, have you managed with the laundry yet?" He hollers from the other room. You gasped while Logan didn't even budge, he kept resuming his action.
"Y-yes, Dad! Everything's good now!" You holler back, holding yourself back from moaning.
"Do you need any help, darling?" You heard the sound of footstep, your eyes widened and hurriedly answer, "No- No, Dad! Everything's good, I'll be coming in a second." Logan smirked.
"Okay darling, I'm gonna get some rest." Your dad holler back as his footsteps fading away. You sighed in relief before you gasped when you feel Logan entering two fingers inside your cunt.
"What a naughty little girl, she needs to make herself cum before she gets back to being the dotting daughter huh?" You whimper to his words.
"Please, sir. Don't stop, it feels so good.."
"Yeah? Wait till you feel my cock." Logan vowed. He curled his fingers inside you, effortlessly flicking your g-spot before he stood back up on his feet, leaning against your back. He gently guide you to stand on your feet even though it's impossible for you as you're still in daze from his fingers still working their magic.
Logan whispered all kinds of filthy things in your head to get you to reach your high. "Is this just like what you imagined, peach?" — "Feels so good yeah?" — "Yes it does. Are you gonna cum for me?" — "Yeah come on, almost there, I know," — "Make a mess on my fingers, baby."
As you choked a loud moan, Logan's other hand went to silenced you while you came gushing down on his fingers. Your whole body shook while Logan holds you in place as you're coming down your high.
"There you go, good girl." You panted once you've gained your strength to stand on your own, you turned around and to find him smirking, a notable wet droplet covered some parts of his jeans as you now just learned, that you squirted on him a little.
He brought his fingers up to his mouth, his gaze never leaving yours as he tasted what's remained of you on his fingers.
"Hmm, taste just like a peach."
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let me know if you want me to start the journey for Logan & Peach 😉
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seat-safety-switch · 3 months ago
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Perhaps so the universe has a way to make it up to us for everything else going on, there is currently an explosion in really neat laser-based tools. You can get a laser welder, or a laser CNC machine, or a laser engraver, or... a laser level. I swear I can almost afford that last one. They want like fifteen dollars for it at the Princess Auto. Sheesh. It's like they expect their core customer to be employed now.
Although lasers are probably centuries old, according to a drinking-machine summary of a wikipedia article I glanced at while trying to kill time in line at the parole office, it's only recently that humanity has figured out how to make them more affordable for the common, workaday asshole. What's the secret to this incredible advancement in inexpensive optical technology? Have a factory in China build them.
As a result of all this trans-national becheapening, the local "maker space" has acquired for themselves a thousand-watt laser welder. Any moron off the street can use it to stitch two pieces of metal together in a way that would make professional welders poop with envy. Which is perfect, if you're a moron off the street and your $89 Princess Auto "Li'l Don't Look Directly At The Spark Junior Welder's Kit" doesn't quite have the zoot to put those spring perches on a rusty, oily Ford 8.8 you got out of that big F150 crash on the side of the highway last winter.
Like you would expect, it (the welder, not the axle) cost about as much as a good used car used to cost, before used cars cost $20,000. Still, that's peanuts if you have several hundred members who are willing to pay to use it to make Star Wars pirate memorabilia and combat robots. I, however, am not willing to pay. In fact, I have to be forced to spend money on just about anything. So I decided to see if I could just walk in there, use the laser welder to do my daily welding, and then bounce without opening my wallet.
Friends: it worked great. After a couple minutes of pushing buttons and adjusting various screens that I wouldn't bothered to have read fully even if they weren't written in Chinese, I was able to fart on a pair of narrowed spring perches that were ideal for my Viscount.
Now, you might think it's suspicious that I was able to roll a 175-pound chunk of cast iron through the middle of a warehouse full of nerds without anyone asking me for my ID, but it's all thanks to another fancy new consumer of inexpensive lasers: the smoke alarm on the ceiling. I set that sucker off with a brick to the "test" button, before walking right in the front door while dressed as a firefighter. Sometimes, rock beats laser.
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cosmicalily · 7 months ago
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ʚɞ 'love (and caffeine) on the brain' - a 𝒔𝒆𝒖𝒏𝒈𝒎𝒊𝒏 mini series by @cosmicalily ★ view series 𝓷𝓪𝓿𝓲𝓰𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷 ʚɞ
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୨ৎ 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐡 𝟏𝟖: 'more than memory' with barista!kim seungmin ♡ 1kw
ʚɞ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆: i just needed to create another fic within my procedural memory universe (and be a psychology nerd). also i finally started a taglist !! please send me an ask if you'd like to be added xx
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The windowpane you sat by was frosted and cold, but the cafe was warm, especially the particularly cosy corner you’d always sneak yourself into. It was right by the heater, a soft blue coloured sofa with a low mahogany table in front of you. The cafe walls were dark green, and the space was dimly lit, inviting and familiar. For the past few months, you’d brought in a book to read, and would lounge on the sofa as if it was your own apartment, sporadically receiving honey chai in miniature teapots and oat matcha lattes from your sweet boyfriend, Seungmin. Other days, you’d sit yourself at a table near the barista counter, and he would test out new coffee blends and teas, giving you little samples and asking for your advice.
However, today was not a day for reading or tea-tasting. Your university had started back up a few weeks ago, and somehow you had been lucky enough to receive an assignment due by the end of the week. Which, you’d just realised upon waking up, was tonight. 
Throwing on a navy cable knit sweater and knotting a pale pink scarf around your neck, you’d sprinted, or rather stumbled, out of your apartment in your uggs after Seungmin, who was heading out to open up the cafe.
“It’s 7:30,” Seungmin had said to you, quickly reaching forward to catch your laptop before it slipped out of your grasp as you locked the door.
“I know. I have to get an essay done by tonight, so I’m heading into the office with you,” you replied, tucking your hair behind your ears and taking a quick breath to regain your composure.
Seungmin smiled. “And by office, you mean the blue sofa in my cafe?”
“You know I do, baby.”
The two of you walked along the route he always took to the cafe, fingers entwined. As per usual, Seungmin paused to pet every dog you met along the way, asking for names, ages, breed types and temperaments as he scratched ear after furry ear. As per usual, you would take a moment to glance into the little vintage store adjacent to the cafe, seeing if there was anything new in the window. 
As Seungmin began setting up the coffee machine for the day, you set up chairs, wiped tables and turned on lights. Felix, Seungmin’s best friend, stopped by to drop off the day’s delivery of pastries and cakes, and you helped him set them up in the little glass cabinet on the benchtop. Once everything was done, you and Seungmin took turns taking bites of an almond croissant, and you left him to serve his first customer with a kiss on the lips and a mug of hot chocolate.
With a stretch of your wrists and a deep breath, you put on your glasses and sat yourself down, periodically taking sips from your hot chocolate as you formulated research, cited sources and structured paragraphs. At ten-forty-five, he made you an iced latte with the vanilla flavoured oat milk he kept specifically for you, leaning down to meet your eyes and giving you a smile. At half past twelve, Seungmin brought you a sandwich from the deli next door and a chamomile tea, giving you a quick kiss on the forehead and rubbing your shoulders. At quarter past two, he swapped your plate and empty cup for a strawberry matcha latte, and you wrapped an arm around his waist, leaning into his chest for a moment as you took a breather. 
“Don’t work yourself too hard, yeah?” he said, more like a statement than a question.
“I promise,” you replied, kissing him lightly on the lips before resuming your work.
At three, when he shut off the coffee machine, he heard you sigh in relief and close your laptop, and turned around to see you stretch your shoulders and slide down the sofa. He approached you slowly, then threw himself onto you, wrapping his arms around your waist and shoving his face in your shoulder as you giggled.
“You big baby,” you chuckled, running a hand through his hair and sitting up, resting your head on his shoulder as he wrapped an arm around you. 
“Since when is it illegal for a guy to be proud of his girlfriend for smashing out an essay in a day?” he huffed, but leaned in closer. “What was it about?”
“A comparative analysis of two contemporary studies on the psychological process of memory,” you replied. “A lot of work, but it was really interesting. The whole concept is so fascinating.”
“Yeah? Tell me about it.” The same way you loved watching Seungmin make coffee, the love in his eyes and the subtle confidence in his work, he loved to listen to you talk about your study; there was something captivating about you in your element, so passionate about what you were learning and writing about. 
“Basically, the whole point I covered was implicit memory. The kind of stuff that we don’t consciously retrieve, it just comes back involuntarily. Like muscle memory and emotions. It’s so cool, and it’s so interesting when I can see it in real life. Like how now, you don’t even have to do the measurements properly when you make me a strawberry matcha, because it’s just natural. And like how I still get butterflies when I come here, because it’s where we first met. It’s honestly so beautiful.”
You loved the explanation behind normal human nature; learning why and how we did things, what made us who we are. How this complex little process occurring deep within your brains made up your love for each other.
“That really is.”
“Yeah. I really hope my amygdala keeps encoding the feelings I have when I’m around you,” you smiled up at him.
“I sure as fuck hope my basal ganglia doesn’t let me down someday and I forget how to make your strawberry matchas. I don’t think you’d forgive me.”
“It’s okay, because if my neocortex somehow loses the information, I won’t remember it even happened,” you giggled. “And how did you know that?”
“I know you. You think I don’t read your notes and your essays? It’s so interesting, especially seeing it all from your eyes and reading all of your raw thoughts.” he replied casually, although his cheeks tinged pink. “I hope that’s not like, an invasion of your privacy. But whenever I see your notebooks out with all your little diagrams and comments, I just want to see what’s going on in your head. And know what you’re talking about half the time.”
You squealed and stood up, shifting yourself onto his lap and pressing your forehead to his. “Kim Seungmin, you are the love of my life.”
“Even when your hippocampus starts to deteriorate with age and you forget our old memories together?” he asked, eyes sparkling.
“Even when,” you confirmed. “Although I hope it never does.”
“Me neither.”
You brought your lips to his.
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taglist: @hyunjiiza @zelinkcrossing @velvetmoonlght - send an ask to be added :)
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riricitaa · 1 month ago
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In the Margins | Part 7
[Part 1 ] [Part 2 ] [ Part 3 ] [ Part 4 ] [ Part 5 ] [ Part 6 ]
*Late night, shared office*
It was nearly ten when Steve finally looked up from his papers and realized how long they’d been there.
The office was quiet, the kind of quiet that only happened after hours, lights dimmed to save energy, hallway silent except for the distant hum of an old vent system. He rubbed at the back of his neck, blinked hard, and glanced across the room.
Bucky was still perched on the edge of the window ledge, his legs stretched out, a red pen loose in his fingers. His jacket was folded beside him, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and there was a small furrow between his brows as he stared down at the open folder in his lap. He looked tired. Not unusually so. Just… worn-in.
They hadn’t spoken in a while. Maybe an hour. Maybe more. But it wasn’t uncomfortable. It rarely was, these days.
Steve sat back in his chair and exhaled quietly. His eyes lingered.
He hadn’t meant to keep staying late like this. But Bucky had shown up just after six, complaining about a backlog of ungraded midterms, and somehow Steve had ended up staying too. A refill of coffee, some shared groaning over their students' chaotic formatting choices, and now here they were, not exactly talking, not exactly avoiding it either.
Bucky flipped a page, glanced up, and caught Steve looking.
Steve didn’t look away fast enough.
“You ever think we give them too much?” Bucky asked, his voice low but easy. He tapped his pen once against the folder. “Like, maybe we’re the problem?”
Steve gave a half-smile. “Every semester.”
Bucky nodded like that made sense. “Kid cited a meme as a supporting argument earlier.”
Steve raised an eyebrow. “Was it… relevant?”
“That’s the worst part,” Bucky muttered. “It kind of was.”
Steve chuckled. He let the sound fade into the stillness, then leaned forward again, reaching for another paper. But the words on the page were blurry. He blinked again, read the same sentence three times, and still couldn’t make it stick.
He could feel Bucky watching him.        
“Can’t focus?” Bucky asked, soft but not unkind.
“Long day,” Steve said.
“Yeah,” Bucky agreed, and didn’t press.
Minutes passed. Steve thought about calling it a night, he should have, ages ago. But Bucky was still there. The room was still quiet. And leaving felt like giving something up, even if he didn’t know what.
Eventually, Bucky stood, stretching his arms above his head. The hem of his shirt lifted slightly, and Steve looked away without meaning to.
“I’m making another cup of coffee,” Bucky said. “Want one?”
“Sure,” Steve said, voice too even.
Bucky moved toward the kitchenette at the back of the office, filling the silence with the soft clink of mugs and the rush of the ancient machine sputtering to life.
Steve leaned back again and closed his eyes. Just for a second.
The air smelled like burnt coffee and paper. The kind of smell you only get when you stay too long. When the day had worn itself out and left only the edges of things, half-graded tests, half-finished thoughts.
Bucky came back with two mugs. He set one down next to Steve without a word. Their fingers didn’t touch. Not quite.
“Thanks,” Steve said.
“Yeah.”
They went back to reading.
But every now and then, Steve’s eyes drifted sideways. Just a glance. Just long enough to see Bucky sipping from his mug, his brow still furrowed, eyes tired but focused.
And every now and then, Bucky looked back.
Neither said anything about it.
They just kept working, like it meant nothing.
Like it wasn’t everything.
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*Steve’s kitchen, 11:48 p.m.*
The apartment was silent except for the occasional crack from the radiator and the slow drip of the tap Steve hadn’t fixed yet.
He stood in the kitchen, hands braced on the counter, staring down at the mug in front of him. Half-full. Gone cold. He didn’t even remember making it.
The night at the university had felt normal, almost. They’d sat close, papers and red pens and tired jokes passed between them. The office light flickering like it always did.
But underneath it all was that something. That heavy, humming something Steve couldn’t name. Or wouldn’t.
He told himself it was the long hours. The stress. The quiet. He told himself the way his eyes kept drifting to Bucky’s hands, to the crease in his brow when he read, to the way he shifted in his seat like he was holding something in, that it was just habit. Familiarity.
Not longing.
Not that.
Steve had caught himself staring more than once.
He closed the fridge. Walked to the sink. Turned on the tap just to hear something other than his own heartbeat.
He told himself he liked this version of them, civil, even friendly. Working well together. Balanced.
That it was better than the years of arguing, the distance, the sharp words.
But it wasn’t easier.
It just hurt quieter.
He wiped his hands on a towel, put it away, sighed through his nose, flexed his fingers against the edge of the counter, then let go. He paced a few steps, then came back. The room felt too small. Too still.
He hadn’t said anything when they packed up. Just a quiet “night, Buck” and a smile that felt wrong on his face.
And Bucky had smiled back. Easy. Casual. Like nothing in the world had shifted.
Steve hadn’t asked if he was lying.
He picked up the mug, didn’t drink from it, and set it down again.
He was too awake. Too full of things he wouldn’t let himself want.
*Bucky’s home office, 11:50 p.m.*
The lamp cast a warm pool of light over the desk. The rest of the room was dim. Quiet. Still.
Bucky had changed into more comfortable clothes. He hadn’t planned on doing more work, but he couldn’t sit still. Couldn’t lie down. Couldn’t shut his brain off.
He stared at the open folder in front of him. Student paper, midterm comments, some terrible paragraph about post-war realism, none of it registered.
He tapped his pen once. Twice. Stopped.
Steve had laughed earlier, soft, tired, eyes crinkling at the corners. It was nothing. It was everything.
There’d been a stretch of silence in that office tonight where Bucky had looked at him — really looked — and Steve had felt it. Bucky knew he had. Could see it in the way Steve shifted, cleared his throat, changed the subject like the air wasn’t suddenly too thick.
They’d let it pass. Like always.
He wasn’t sure how many more times he could let it. Keep it safe.
But there were moments , flashes, that didn’t feel safe at all.
Like Steve’s eyes lingering too long.
Like Bucky almost leaning in without thinking.
Like tonight, when they’d sat in a room together for hours and said almost nothing, and somehow that had been louder than any argument they’d ever had.
Bucky let out a breath through his nose. Shook his head.
“This is stupid,” he muttered.
But he didn’t move.
He just stood there.
And didn’t sleep.
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actuallysaiyan · 1 year ago
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The First Time(Aka How Nanami Kento Lost His Virginity)Chapter Four: The Honeypot
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Chapter Four: The Honeypot
warnings: fluff, oral sex(fem and male receiving), general cuteness, mentions of porn, mentions of male masturbation pairings: Emo!Nanami Kento x Fem!Reader summary: it's been a while since you and Kento hung out, and you as him to dinner one night. he reminds you of the thing he promised he would do the next time you two were to hang out.
taglist: @beneathstarryskies @seireiteihellbutterfly @kenpachisbrat
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Masterlist
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A couple of weeks have gone by since the last time you and Kento have hung out. You two keep in contact in class and through texting. Lately your conversations have been a lot more flirty than usual. Safe to say that the two of you see each other more than just friends who have fooled around a bit.
Your heart races every time you see him. His knees feel weak whenever you laugh at his jokes. The two of you are becoming quite smitten for one another. It was becoming harder and harder to deny the attraction that was building there.
The more you two spent time together, the more you found yourselves making up something to ensure you'll have more time together. Even in class, you two partner up for every project. You find yourself wondering when you’ll finally go on that date you two spoke of the last time you were intimate together.
And Kento finds himself too nervous to bring it up again. He thinks it was some sort of pipe dream that will never come to fruition. Still, he holds onto hope that maybe you’ll ask him out one day.
That day does come. It’s a Friday and classes are about to be let out for the day. You’re giddy to spend some time not studying and not worrying about any upcoming tests. It’s just going to be you, your couch and a bunch of junk food. But that’s when you spot Kento on your way towards the dorms. You then realize it’s the perfect time to ask him out on that date.
He sits by the vending machines. You sit next to him, noticing the adorable half-smile on his face. He looks at you and his smile spreads across his face.
“Hey are you busy tonight?” you ask him.
He shakes his head. “Nothing planned for this evening. Why?”
“Would you like to go get dinner together? I think we did talk about this the last time we hung out.”
His cheeks and tops of his ears go pink. “S-sure! Yeah, that sounds good.”
You two make plans to meet at the front entrance in about an hour. Kento mentions a cute noodle shop that opened up near campus a few months ago that he’s been dying to try. And with your plans made, you part ways.
Your heart is fluttering in your chest as you walk back to your dorm room. Kento spends a long time debating what he’s going to wear. You take a quick shower and spend time doing a little makeup.
Finally it's time to meet up. You walk towards the front entrance of the university. Your heart is racing as you try to calm yourself. You find Kento in the entryway, doing the same. He’s trying so desperately to take deep breaths and he’s pacing the floor. You smirk as you walk over to him.
“Hey cutie,” you call out. He whips around to face you. 
“H-hey! Ready?”
“Yes, I’m ready.”
You look stunning. He doesn’t quite understand why you want to spend time with him like this. He doesn’t find himself to be anything special. The coolest thing about him happens to be the one thing he has to hide from you. If you found out that he was a Jujutsu Sorcerer, he’s sure you’d probably shun him and never speak to him again.
“Earth to Kento!” You wave your hand in his face, breaking him from the spell of being zoned out.
He chuckles softly, “S-sorry! Let’s go.”
He takes your hand in his, intertwining your fingers together. It feels natural but there’s a nervous feeling with each action you two do that makes you feel like a real couple. 
The conversation starts off small. Just little tidbits about class and the homework. He guides you towards the noodle shop. He’s excited to spend this evening with you. The bigger prospect of it all is if he can finally return the favor.
Since the last time you went down on him, Kento has been watching lots of videos on how to go down on a girl. He’s been jerking off to videos of girls getting their pussies licked, wishing he could be the one doing it to you. Even just thinking about it, he has to push all these dirty thoughts away,
You two arrive at the shop, and he finds you both a cute booth in the back. A waitress arrives to take some drink orders and then gives you a few moments to peruse their menu. Kento looks over at you from across the table and the minute your eyes lock, you notice just how much he’s smitten about you. You feel the same way about him.
The waitress returns with your drinks, and you take Kento’s recommendation on some yakisoba noodles with pork cutlets. He orders the same for himself. The two of you wait in anticipation for the delicious food that’s about to be served.
“It smells so good in here,” you comment.
Kento nods. “Yeah, I knew I really wanted to come try it. One of my friends recommended this place.”
Something about this comment makes you feel jealous. You know you shouldn’t be jealous of someone you don’t know, but this is a friend that Kento has never mentioned to you. And though you two aren’t that close, you two have become closer than before. Close enough to call you good friends. Good friends who like to fool around and give each other oral sex.
You manage to change the subject to something else. The topic turns to anime, homework and music. You and Kento have an easy time talking about the things you love. It never really occurs to you that you two enjoy infodumping on one another. It’s sweet in its own way.
The food is delicious. The sauce in the noodles is spicy and the pork cutlets are tender and juicy. Kento orders some dessert afterwards to go. He’s excited to maybe be able to wrap this up nicely back at your place.
Once the bill has been taken care of thanks to your gentleman of a date, he asks if you’d like to split the dessert back at your place. You agree happily, almost oblivious to what he promised you the last time he was over at your place.
The walk back is filled with jokes, laughter and soft flirting. Kento has you in tears from laughing so hard agt his silly jokes. Despite his usual stoic and sullen manner, he is quite funny when he comes out of his shell.
“You know,” he chuckles. “With the way this evening has gone, one might think we’re dating now.”
Your cheeks redden, “Who’s to say we aren’t?”
You tug him closer to you, kissing him softly. He smiles and the butterflies erupt in his tummy. He finally gains a little courage and he leans in to whisper in your ear.
“When we get back to your place, I’d like to return the favor from last time.”
Your knees buckle a little at the husky tone of his voice. You look into his eyes and see how they’ve darkened. You nod your head, taking him by the hand and leading him back to the dorms.
Kento doesn’t remember the last time he was this excited for something. He knows he’s prepared well, but nothing can fully prepare him for what’s to come. He wants to make sure you are so comfortable and happy.
Once inside your dorm, Kento doesn’t hesitate to kiss you. He leads you to the couch, pushing you back gently. His hands are gentle but eager as he pushes up your skirt. His eyes widen a little when he notices the cute little wet patch on your panties.
With the dessert long forgotten, Kento reaches up to hook two fingers into the waistband of your panties. You’re trying not to pant too much, but you don’t even remember the last time a guy went down on you.
“I…I obviously have never done this before.” Kento confesses, though he knows you won’t judge him. “So please, guide me. Tell me what feels good and what I’m doing wrong.”
You look down at him and nod your head, promising to guide him to the best of your capabilities. He pulls down your underwear, and he gets a small whiff of your scent. A low moan rumbles from his chest before he spreads your thighs. Without thinking too much, he pockets your panties.
He’s analyzing you for a moment. You squirm under his gaze before he leans in. His lips are soft as he presses kisses to your inner thighs. Kento slowly makes his way towards your pussy. He’s watched the videos. He’s studied them closely. Now he can do his best, just for you.
What catches him off guard is how good you taste the minute his tongue presses against your folds. You taste musky and tangy, but there’s a sweetness hidden there. He grunts as the flavor takes over anything else. His cock hardens quickly before he can do anything else.
You reach down to gently play with his hair. You’re ready to give advice. Much to your surprise, Kento seems very proficient in what he’s doing. He laps at you slowly, softly. He avoids the clit for a bit, preferring to circle around it to tease you.
“Kento,” you whine. “D-don’t tease me.”
But he’s determined to make you feel so good. He wants you to come undone so beautifully just for him. His eyes snap up to watch you, making sure you’re still doing alright. That’s when he wraps his lips around your swollen nub, and you let out the cutest little whine.
Grunting softly, Kento suckles on your clit with a pressure you never even knew could exist for this activity. He flicks his tongue over the bud in his mouth, noticing what patterns you enjoy the most. Your thighs are already shaking, and his cock is throbbing painfully in his skinny jeans.
Your fingers tug on his hair a little, and he smirks when he feels you grinding against his tongue. He lets go of your clit; he takes a few long, languid licks through your folds before dipping down to taste you straight from the source.
This is what sets Kento off. Your tangy nectar is like an aphrodisiac to him. It’s making his brain all fuzzy with lust. His tongue plunges into you; moans are rumbling from his chest. He’s growing even more aroused than he thought he would from the simple act of tasting you and making you feel good.
His thumb comes up to begin rubbing your clit slowly. He remembers what he saw in all those videos. And then he begins to feel your thighs clenching around him, and this makes him even more excited. His eyes snap up to watch you come undone on his tongue.
“Kento,” you moan loudly. “I’m really close.”
He doesn’t even need to hear more. His tongue laps up to your clit where he pulls it between his lips and sucks on it like before. His fingers come down to your hole and he pushes one of them into you. Your eyes roll back as the pleasure just keeps building.
The room is filled with your breathy moans, the wet sounds of him sucking on your clit and the squelching of your wet pussy. It takes just a few more pumps of his fingers and a stroke of his tongue for you to fall off the edge with a loud cry of his name.
He doesn’t stop; instead he focuses on pulling the most pleasure from you. His mind is so dizzy, his eyes heavy with lust as he continues to pleasure you. Kento then begins to lap at your hole once he pulls his fingers from it. You’re dribbling pure honey to him. 
Your thighs are shaking and you shudder as you’re trying to come down from the best orgasm you’ve ever had. You reach down to push him away gently and he whines at the loss of contact. He looks up at you with a feral look in his eyes, wiping away the juices from his lips. You notice just how hard he is.
This is when you maneuver him to lay back on the couch, and you unbuckle his belt. Kento’s eyes widen when you pull his cock out and wrap your lips around him.
“Just relax,” you say in a husky tone. “Let me show you just how much I appreciated every moment of that.”
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nyoomfruits · 1 year ago
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blush 💖💗🩷💕💘💖💓💗🩷💖🥹🥹🥹 for the kisses prompts
blush: a kiss on the cheek set in the love you with the lights on universe, many many years in the future!!!!
Lando gets awoken by the sounds of a door slamming, followed by an immediate ‘Liv!’. He blearily blinks his eyes open, rubs a hand over his face. He didn’t even drink any alcohol at last night’s gig, and still he feels like he got runover by a fucking truck. Doesn’t help that he didn’t get into bed until 4 and it is now – he glances at the clock on Oscar’s bedside table – 7 in the morning.
Fucking hell. Maybe he’s getting too old for this shit.
He can hear Oscar and Olivia puttering around downstairs, the sounds of pots and pans and a coffee machine brewing, the hushed chattering of voices. That, combined with the delicious smell of coffee drifting up the stairs, is ultimately what pulls him out of bed instead of attempting to sleep some more. He slips on a pair of jogging pants and a hoodie he is pretty sure belongs to Oscar, and makes his way down the stairs, rubbing at his eyes as he steps into the kitchen.
Olivia is sitting at the kitchen island, book propped open against a vase in front of her, radiating a brand of morning temper that seems particularly prevalent in 14 year old teenagers, absentmindedly munching on a piece of toast as she flips the pages. Oscar’s at the stove, poking at his eggs with a sleepy, grumpy look on his face, proving that even while Olivia’s morning temper might mostly be a teenager thing, the apple never truly falls far from the tree.
“Morning,” Lando says, puttering over to Oscar, whose face breaks into a beaming smile when he spots Lando.
“Hey,” Oscar says, sliding an arm around Lando’s waist and pulling him close, pressing a kiss to his cheek before letting him go again. “Morning. Did we wake you?”
“Nah,” Lando says, making his way over to the coffee machine and pouring himself a cup. “Woke up naturally. Morning Ollie,” he says, to where Olivia is still grumpily flipping through her book. “You ready for your big test today?”
He gets a mumbled morning and a shrug in response, and hides his grin behind his mug as he shares a knowing look with Oscar, who’s gone back to poking at his eggs.
“How was the gig?” Oscar asks, apparently deciding the eggs are good enough and sliding them onto a plate along with a piece of toast. Lando follows him to the kitchen island, leaning on one side while Oscar sits down next to Olivia on the other.
“Good,” Lando says, smiles. “Tried some new stuff, the song me and Ollie were working on last week? Went over really well.”
“Does that mean I can come, next time?” Olivia asks hopefully, sticking hear head over the vase to look at Lando, pleading look on her face.
“When you’re sixteen,” Lando and Oscar say in unison. They glance at each other, trying very hard not to laugh, while Olivia lets out a loud ‘UGH’ and disappears in her book again.
When it’s time to leave Lando actually manages to coax a half hearted hug out of Olivia, gets a proper hug and another kiss on the cheek from Oscar and then they disappear through the front door in a flurry of bye’s and I love you’s.
Lando walks back to the kitchen, puts his mug in the sick, wanders back upstairs for a nap. The house is eerily quiet, without his little family in it. He misses them already.
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shoyosh · 9 months ago
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i love you like the sun. h.s
general audiences | hinata / reader | 2.4k words — post-timeskip, childhood friends, reader is a university student, reader's mother owns a bakery, reunion :), sun/moon motifs perchance, not proofread! — read on SqWA
summary: while consumed in a blind race against the world, a comfortable beam of light returned to your life to guide your path forward.
author's note: for the fellow hinata stans out there shoveling through life, i suppose this is what a character like hinata would want to remind us :) happy belated birthday hinata... sob, sob. this is so late lol. title taken from the moon will sing by the crane wives (youtube).
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Your short trip to the convenience store for a midnight snack is a growing nightmare as the machine rejects your payment. You don't have cash so on your second try, you close your eyes and wish for the best.
You're hungry and tired, the worse combination to deal with the pathetic 'loading…' screen. It's the ultimate test of patience as seconds tick by, and you're about to lose it…
Beep!
You sigh, reining your head from dropping on the counter top. The tech menace flaunts a large, bold 'ERROR!' It proceeds to shut down. While it feasted on your fear and patience, you got the short end of the stick. Seems like you'll be starting your all-nighter with an empty stomach.
Ding! The store bell rings. A customer has entered just in time to see your plight. What a happening night of unfortunate circumstances.
"I am so sorry for the trouble," you mutter, grabbing your item off the counter. The cashier takes a marker from a drawer underneath, swirls to the cabinet behind for a piece of paper, and writes "Cash Only" before finding a metal stand to prop the notice. Then, he calls the next customer.
It's just a fluffy, yellow, and warm melon bread. You can survive this deepening lonely night without it as you've done before.
This convenience store has served you diligently since your youth. Today is an outlier, not the end of the world. You're low on energy hence you shouldn't waste it on strong emotions, especially not tears.
You shake your head and leave the queue to place your item back on the shelf.
"Wait! I'll pay for you!" a voice says. Your eyes brighten. Who is this stranger whom you owe? Your saviour who will help you plough through this empty, blue and bleak night?
When you spin around, you stare straight at the sun.
Short yet tousled orange hair, tanned skin, and intense brown eyes. The man in front of you is more happy than surprised to see you.
"Hinata-san?" You sputter, pointing at him as he points back at you with a complementary wide grin. He seems to want to say your name but a question leaps from your tightening throat: "You're back in Japan?"
Just as he's about to reply, the cashier coughs and Hinata returns his attention to paying. He shares he wants to pay for your item, so you hand it to the cashier for another round of scanning. You also use the opportunity of his back against you to wipe any stray water at the corner of your eye.
Once he makes the purchase, both of you walk out of the convenience store. Warm summer air blows on your face the moment the glass doors slide open.
"What are you doing awake at this time?" Hinata asks while you're preoccupied with opening the plastic of your anticipated snack. It seems he did not buy anything.
"I should say the same for you!" Your mouth is filled with bread, muffling your pronunciation but unable to cushion the excitement in your voice. "Did you not tell anyone you are back?"
"Only my family knows for now." Hinata watches you carefully as you chow your mini-meal. "I landed a few hours ago and will be leaving in a few days. I don't think I have time to catch up with everyone... This trip was unplanned."
You press your lips together at the thought he didn't contact you for something as big as his a return.
Only after rumination, ensuring none of the hurt spills, do you speak.
"It's been so long since we last saw each other."
"I'm back to celebrate my birthday with my family. I believe the last we saw each other was on my birthday too."
You cough to readjust a lump of chewed bread that almost went down wrongly.
Birthday?
You tilt your phone's screen to see the date.
21st June.
Memories of a near distant past return, rearing you speechless as it plays in front of you like a film.
You remember Hinata, on his way to celebrate his last birthday as a high school student, riding his bicycle to your mother's neighbourhood bakery; You rejecting his invitation to go out so you can study for an upcoming test; The impromptu picnic at the park disrupted by your silent outburst; Him calmly convincing you to rest, not cram your head with revision.
"How embarrassing…" you mutter, wrestling with a sudden and strong desire to run to your apartment and never see the light of day. "I wish you'd forget that. I know I did."
"How can I forget! You were so stressed and I was so worried. But you did sleep and texted me the next day that you were feeling better. You were the top scorer for your test too! Isn't that the best birthday present?"
Your face heats up. Surely it is the summer night that is causing such a reaction. Did he know the effect he had on people? Shining smile and all. Does he know what effect he has on you? How unwavering it is despite the time and distance apart.
"I'm full," you declare, passing him your half-bitten melon bread. He didn't say it but you know he probably wants a bite of it too. It is his favourite. "You haven't tasted this in a while right? They don't sell this in Brazil, do they?"
"It's not as delicious." He takes the food, fingers brushing yours. You try to keep your hands to your side as naturally as possible, as if contact with his skin didn't inject a thousand chills into your system, blood rushing to your face.
"Why are awake at this hour though?" He asks.
"I'm just hungry." You shrug.
He chows down the melon bread. Then, he narrows his eyes.
"You wouldn't be if you were asleep though…"
"Obviously," you tease, trying to steer the conversation away from your tendency to sleep late. "Now it's your turn to share what you're doing here."
The convenience store is far behind as you and Hinata stroll down the street at a familiar leisurely pace. You walked this path with him every day up till high school, when he went to a school beyond the mountains, Karasuno. You didn't stay in the neighbourhood either. You were awarded a scholarship for a school in the city.
It pained you to realise how far apart you were from your best friend then. But he was always nearby. Although infrequent throughout high school, he would peer through the glass windows of the bakery looking for you. Sometimes you'll visit his house for dinner when your mother had deliveries out of town. Moments you spent with him were sun-drenched. Without him, you easily receded into long, gloomy nights of revising. There was no other option if you wanted to hold your scholarship among a pool of talented people. You even decided against staying at the University dorms to have his shade of orange in your life.
You can't say you took the news of him traveling to Brazil well.
It was easy to drown in the deep blues of the night since. Burning your memories in exchange for output, so there were less things to painfully hold on to.
"I'm still following Brazil's clock." Hinata laughs, then points at the moon but you look at him. "It's bright in Brazil. I would be at the beach hitting some drills."
As you pass the lamplight, you observe his new physique. He has an uneven tan around his shoulders and thighs that are larger and more formed. You try to tear your eyes away from it, but they linger even as both of you enter a shadowed area of the road. If you knew you would bump into him, you would wear something presentable. You are in your loose pajamas, and unlike Hinata who is in a sleeveless top and sports shorts, you aren't prepared for the warm weather. The trip to the convenience store was supposed to be quick.
"Let's drop by my place, if you don't mind," you offer.
"Sure! I was planning to walk you back anyways, and there's nothing to do at home."
"Do you not have plans for your birthday?"
"Not until tomorrow." He shakes his head and hesitates. He glances at you innocently which signals he's far from innocent but your desire to question him is swept away with his large sigh. "The cake my parents bought will only come then."
"It's a custom cake? I can't think of any other reason why it can't be fulfilled on the day of the—wait… My mum was busy making an order for a special cake, and she said it was something I'll look forward to… Is that your cake?"
Hinata rubs the back of his head as he looks at everything but you, eyes frantically jumping from lamppost to the ground to the roof of houses.
"I…" He pouts like a dog with its tail between its legs. "My return was supposed to be a surprise…" His voice tapers to a whisper, but Hinata has the lungs of a beast. He roars the next few words. "I was supposed to send you a surprise invite to my birthday party tomorrow, but I really wanted to see you!"
You stand at the sidewalk, limbs limp and eyes wide. If you were still eating, you would have dropped your snack.
He wanted… to see you?
But you have more important things to stress about!
Tomorrow? After your all-nighter to finish your work, you'll crash! You might need a drink for that extra energy boost throughout the night…
"Is something wrong?" Hinata asks, his eyes now steadily on you. "I heard from your mum you have been working hard. That's why your replies are so sparse, isn't it?"
"I wasn't… ignoring you," you mumble, remembering how he'll send you a text and you'll reply a month later. "Yeah, things have been getting really busy."
He crosses his arms, puffing his chest out.
"I knew you'd be at the convenience store."
"Eh?" A second blow of surprise. Maybe you've overworked yourself. This is a dream, isn't it? You pinch your cheeks and flinch at the pain.
"You haven't changed, have you? Do I need to be here to take care of you?" He leans, eyes sharp and focused, as if you'll be able to see yourself through his irises. You'll never know in the dimness, but it does feel he's caged you in his sight.
"E-Eh!!" You stumble back, chains of embarrassment are latched on your shoulders and calling you to the floor. "Please don't say such stuff so abruptly. I can't take it."
Hinata chortles, filling your chest with a warmth that coddles your heart battered by his absence. You missed this laugh of his. An aunty turns on the lights in her room and opens her window to scold both of you, and her incessant insults about being lovesick birds causes that feeling to climb to your face.
After apologising, the short distance to your house is awkward, but he invites himself in like old times once he's reached, as if the summer he left was a fever dream.
"Sorry, everything is all over the place," you warn as you flick your room's lights on. Stacks of books overflow from your shelf while stationary and miscellaneous items sprawl on your desk, your laptop the epicentre of the mess. You dump yourself in your chair and instinctively start working as Hinata makes himself comfortable sitting at the edge of your bed. But it's not enough to please him as he gets up and observes over your shoulder.
"That's a lot of words."
"It's a report I've got to finish by tomorrow." Your fingers fly across the keyboard. Seconds later, they are deleted. "It's a pain in the ass."
Hinata giggles. "I've never heard you say that."
"Everyone says worse stuff in University. It really wrings you dry." You get up to pull a stool from under your bed for him to sit on. His name written in cheap red marker across the seat is faded and smeared.
"Have you been living like this? Your bed feels almost new while your chair looks worn." His fingers ghost over some scratch marks on the backrest.
Do I need to be here to take care of you?
"It feels like I don't really have a choice."
"Well, since neither of us can sleep, let's go through this night together."
With Hinata's presence, the night is less blue.
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When you wake, it is late morning. Your alarm has been ringing for hours, and you turn to your side after shutting it off. With your head resting on your soft pillow, blanket over your figure, and the air conditioning gently buzzing to cool your room to a comfortable temperature, it’s the perfect equation for staying in bed. However, hazy memories of your report jolts you to your feet.
What happened last night? Where did you stop? Where's Hinata? You dash towards your screen—
There is a post-it-note at the corner with a message written in neat yet uneven handwriting.
You check your phone out of habit, surprised to find a notification. Hinata sent a text.
I went back home to sleep. You worked hard so I tucked you in bed ☆~(ゝ。∂)Hope to see you at the party tomorrow!
Another attack of summer—your face warms and you hide behind your hands. He tucked you in bed? That's so embarrassing. How are you going to face him during the party?
Once again, his words repeat in your mind.
Do I need to be here to take care of you?
If you can be selfish, the answer is yes.
But you know better than that. The sun is a distant star that shines out of reach.
You try to ignore the clock and its ticking numbers, and once your anxiousness surrenders to a calm, you pester your mother downstairs to make your favourite childhood drink. Her not-so-special spciality: hot chocolate. You haven't drank it in years. Taking the cup up, you settle in your chair and do some stretches.
You close your eyes facing your window. The sun's rays seep through your eyelids, a splash of unforgettable orange paints your view.
Even if Hinata can't be with you as often as you'll like, you'll always have traces of him to guide you through the endless night.
You take a deep, big breath and read the reminder he left on your laptop.
Take it easy.
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author's note: this story was inspired by this video by lessons from anime (youtube). started this fic on 24th june and tried to finish it before the month ended only to fail, but i picked myself up and somehow managed to squeeze this out. thanks for making it until the end! till my next hq fanfic :)
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missamyrisa2 · 7 months ago
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Hey miss Amy! I had a dream (maybe more of a nightmare) of you as a sci fi type tickle queen, in a futuristic world. In the dream I broke a rule and was captured by robots and brought to your infamous tickle chamber where I was strapped down to a table. Then you stand above me and order your tickle AIs to activate the tickle torture 💀❣️
The harsh overhead lights clanking on above the theater illuminate both your writhing helpless body and my cold smirking visage. The table's surface is padded yet adorned in an alien material which continuously shifts to both emit a cool touch and a cascade of fuzziness to keep your skin from getting comfortable. "This is the one." Not a question, a confirmation from my flat tone. My deep purple space jumpsuit seems to twinkle like a galaxy, the front gently unzipped to allow me access to pull a long fluffy feather from within. My shining nails rest on my oversized waistbelt, the silver buckle glinting in the light. The feather is something ceremonial, waving to begin procedure. An organic cue to an inorganic attack, as the surge of energy in the machinery of the chamber rises and you find yourself surrounded with the clinking and clacking and humming and buzzing of endless bots assuming their positions. "Hmph." My voice cuts through the sounds, the elegant butterfly charm on my uniform almost glowing to signify my position on this space kingdom. And my minions go to work to do my bidding in playing this tickly instrument.
The wave of probing starts first, with curtains of light crawling up from your feet. You can't contain your body's secrets, the machine works easily to scan and catalog and beep and confirm. Behind the scanners, the spidery second wave follows eagerly, spindly robotic hands poking, prodding, stroking to verify everything fed from the beams. I expect your resistance and smile knowingly as I see you trying to hide it, trying to stifle sounds, and trying not to let your body betray your sensitivities. "Struggle." I command down, holding my power position and pointing my feather at you. The beams are reaching your face as the spidery tickles criss-cross over your belly and up your chest, testing each rib and tapping your nipples mercilessly. The tickle spots on your face are carefully examined, with the fingers opening to extend tiny brushes exploring your jawline, neck, cheeks, ears, nose, and eyebrows with swishy touches. "Whine~" I muse, seeing your reactions to this overload all around your face.
An army of spinning orbital brushes are already taunting at your soles. Robotic fingers snatch your big toes to hold them and open a gap so smaller tools can work in between. To one side, the royal examiner is firing up. Your most private areas are being scheduled for repeated examinations while the tickling swirls around your face and up from your feet. I extend my hand to hold out my feather and a claw takes it, reading my bidding. "Giggle." I command as it is taken down to swish over your tummy catching each bounce and elicit those sounds I want to hear between your gasping and laughing and moaning. The exam hands lubricate themselves and begin working your royal area, giving it feather-light strokes and adoring touches against the relentless buzzing orbital brushes working under your toes along your soles and up your legs. The spindly ticklers are reversing course, going back to where they are most needed, playing your ribs like a keyboard in the universe's biggest typing contest. The tiny brushes have spread to dip into your ears and play at your jawline, catching you in every struggle. And all the while my feather dips into that bellybutton carefully.
From above I grin and watch your progress on the monitors with my team ensuring I'm pleased with the results, adjusting the AI as needed to keep your sounds high to my satisfaction. "What rule did they break, anyway?" My second in command with the poof of spacey green hair remarks. I snicker and shrug my shoulders with a squeak, extending a nail to point down to you right when I catch you looking up. I wiggle my single finger tauntingly back and forth in the naughty, naughty motion and mouth a tsk tsk tsk.
(I hope that's in line with what you dreamt my darling ~ I've had mmmh ~ thoughts about similar visionsss so I was soo excited to work on your prompt~)
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wazzappp · 10 months ago
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@rokhal okay so you see heres the problem. You asked too many good questions so I opened a google doc to answer them and then things just got going and then I ended up with an entire summary of the story I have so far.
ALSO thank you @moosemonstrous for helping me puzzle through my fugnking ramblings
Also it is IMPORTANT that you know I had this song on repeat the entire time I was plotting my nefarious schemes
OKAY SO. I’m thinking Robbie is some sort of specialized stealth unit. He was originally designed for high level infiltration but was repurposed by the human resistance in the future. He has skin with a metal endoskeleton just like the usual terminators but he ALSO has those nanobots that allow him to heal at the same pace as a normal human. They also would help with repairing any damage to internal systems like wiring. They could also be what repurposes food to grow his metal endoskeleton. I’m debating on whether he can manually speed that up for an accelerated healing process because that would require a level of control over his machinery that I’m not sure it would make sense for him to have right after figuring out he’s a machine. Maybe with some practice he could do it. OHHHHH OR IF HES IN SOME SORT OF ‘EMERGENCY DEFENSE’ MODE IT ACCELERATES AUTOMATICALLY THAT COULD BE FUN!!! 
Also I really like the idea of him being able to heal with those nanobots but like. SPECIFICALLY for Gabe. They’re programmed to create synthetic flesh and skin but only for certain genomes. His and Gabes are similar enough that they can help repair tissue if he’s injured. Like being a blood donor for matching blood types.
STORY WISE HERE’S WHAT IM THINKING: Eli still exists in this universe and he’s still a massive shithead. Still pushes Mama Reyes down a flight of stairs while pregnant with Gabe (their soon to be first child), still a serial killer and still involved with the mob. But shortly after Gabe is born, Eli is caught and sentenced to prison for life. The mob figures he told his brother’s family so that makes them a liability. They kill Alberto and Julianna, but leave Gabe alone in his crib. This happens when he’s about 6 months old.
While this is happening, Robbie is time traveled into the back yard of their house. He goes inside and puts on whatever clothes he can find. When police show up to check after getting a noise complaint from the neighbors, they find what looks to be a 5 year old boy soothing a crying baby and a massive burned hole in the backyard they think is just some sort of already detonated explosive. Everyone just assumes this kid is his brother and they try to get him out of the house without letting him see his dead ‘parents’. He doesn't talk much but does answer that his name is Robbie when asked. 
Things get REALLY weird when they go to the police station and find… absolutely nothing about him. No birth certificate, no social security number, no history of schooling, not even their notoriously nosy neighbors know anything about him. The Reyes’s had not marked down a dependent on their tax forms until Gabe.  Even when they look at the possibility of him being an undocumented immigrant; NOTHING. Half the guys think he’s an illegal alien that slipped through the cracks of.. EVERY country and the other half think he’s an ACTUAL alien For all intents and purposes the kid in front of them does not exist. Eli isn’t much help when asked, he just assumes ‘that bitch of his turned him against me didn’t even tell me that I had a nephew already here god DAMN her’. 
They quickly start questioning whether they're actually brothers, but genetic tests determine that they are. That, and the absolute INSISTENCE of the boy that ‘This is my brother. I HAVE to keep him safe’.
So they do what just about anyone might do. Decide this weird magically appearing child is someone else’s problem, and put them into foster care. From there the story stays about the same for a while. They know Eli exists but they honestly couldn't give less of a shit about him. That guy is never getting out on parole lmao. Robbie catches up with social development and for the most part fits in pretty good (he never gets sick. Like ever. Never gets so injured he has to go to the doctor for emergencies. Just regular checkups, which he passes through with a few raised eyebrows but still good). He’s still a GENIUS with cars and works at Canelos. He understands them in a way that usually takes years of experience way beyond what Robbie has. Things are going.. Not GREAT but they’re okay. And then AMADEUS FUCKIGN SHOWS UP.
Skynet of the future has sent back a Terminator to kill Gabe. No one is really sure WHY but they figure if skynet is going to such lengths to kill this kid then he must be worth protecting. So the human resistance sends back Amadeus to find Gabe and keep him safe from this Terminator. 
He steals some clothes, a gun and a car(not like hes really planning on settling down here anyway who cares about a few broken laws)  shows up at the Reyes residence, meets Gabe.. and basically all his plans blow up. This is absolutely NOT the type of person he was expecting and he sure as shit doesn't want to go anywhere with this random stranger. So naturally he kidnaps Gabe and starts getting the fuck out of the city (while also starting work on an electromagnetic field reader that he thinks can help detect terminators).
Robbie shows up back home after grocery shopping and uhhhhh Gabes NOT THERE theres BROKEN SHIT IN HIS HOUSE and the neighbors keep talking about a STOLEN CAR and some maniac who stole from a GUN SHOP. So he does the only reasonable thing he can think of, checks Life 360 hoping that Gabe still has his phone on him (he does) gets into his car and starts hunting them down. Between his crazy driving skills and freakish persistence, Amadeus can only conclude that Robbie is the terminator sent to kill Gabe.
When Robbie finally heads them off at an abandoned warehouse Amadeus tries to pull Gabe along with him and run away. But when Robbie steps out of his car, Gabe recognizes him and starts trying to get there. Amadeus is panicked, pointing his gun at Robbie to try and keep him away and, at this point, VERY confused. Because he’s pulled out his EMF reader and is getting some absolutely WACK readings off Robbie but hes also very much so being deterred by the gun (terminators couldnt gibe two shits about guns thlse metal fuckheads eat bullets for breakfast). The readings shortly get even more wack when the ACTUAL Terminator sent to kill Gabe shows up. Amadeus fires a couple of shots into the Terminator to confirm what he already knew (subsequently freaking both Robbie and Gabe out sufficiently enough to confirm that at least Amadeus isn’t entirely crazy). They pile into the Reyes-mobile and peel off shortly before the terminator gets into Amadeus’ abandoned stolen car and starts going after them.
Robbie is doing his best to ask what the FUCK is actually going on while getting away but Amadeus is still double checking his EMF readings because Robbie is DEFINETLY not human but also clearly isn’t here to kill Gabe. Quickly puts two and two together that for SOME reason SOMEhow Robbie is here to PROTECT Gabe from this other Terminator. Amadeus is. A little distracted because of this and keeps asking Robbie about his ‘Programming’ (sort of a “WOW your programming must be good you REALLY think he’s your brother and thats WHY you have to protect him!” “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT WHO WAS THAT GUY HOW DID HE KEEP WALKING AFTER YOU SHOT HIM” “It was a terminator keep up. Hey did you even TRY to call the police or did you just start coming after me because you knew it would be faster? Cause damnnnnn again. PROGRAMMING!”)
After finally losing the terminator that’s been on their tail, they find the police are not too happy about their reckless driving, arrest them and take them to the station to keep in a holding cell. While Robbie is in said holding cell with Amadeus (Gabe is presently being asked questions) there’s a police officer who recognizes him as that weird little kid who just appeared out of nowhere.
“Yeah we had absolutely NOTHING on you. It was like you hadn't existed until the day we found you!” So Robbie has to sit and listen to this while Amadeus is just confirming in his head what he already figured out. Being stuck in that cell trying to stay in denial with the guy whose favorite thing to say in the world is ‘I Told You So’ is not great. (un)Fortunately this is when the actual terminator shows up again.
This time, being faced with both the Terminator AND police trying to stop him from leaving, Robbies defense systems activate. He goes absolutely HAM on everyone in his way. He’s extremely default Terminator-like (Emotionless, distant, empty, quiet) in this state because all of his infiltration protocols have been halted. He even manages to fight off the other terminator decently well, but not before getting blasted in the arm with a shotgun shell. It goes deep enough that his metal endoskeleton is revealed. I also had this idea of like. His arm getting caught in something and he just stares at whoever trapped it there. Looks them dead in the eyes as he degloves his entire hand then beats the shit out of whoever got in his way with his metal fist. He stays in this state until they steal ANOTHER car, and he finally snaps out of it. And sees his hands covered in blood. And glimmers of his metal skeleton. And his brother looking at him in fear.
AND THATS WHAT IVE GOT RN I CAN'T WRITE LIKE YALL CAN I DON'T HAVE THE PATIENCE FOR IT I HAVE TO GET ALL OF THIS OUT LIKE RIGHT NOW SO YEAH UHHHHHHH ENJOY
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bloody-bee-tea · 10 months ago
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Beetober 2024 Day 3 - Oh brother
Hitoshi is only half awake as he shuffles over to the kitchen, where the tantalizing smell of coffee is calling to him. He grunts when he makes out two shapes in front of him, too tired to really open his eyes fully, and he throws himself into his chair to the sound of light chuckling.
“There you go,” Yamada’s annoyingly chipper voice informs him and Hitoshi immediately hones in on the pot of coffee being slid towards him.
Sweet, sweet liquid of life.
He cradles the cup close, inhaling the sweet aroma for a moment before he takes a big gulp, effectively burning his mouth and not caring one bit.
It’s only when Yamada lets out a considering hum that Hitoshi finally blinks his eyes open for real.
Yamada is seated across from Hitoshi, his eyes darting from Hitoshi to his left and when he follows Yamada’s gaze, he’s not really surprised to find Aizawa slumped right next to him, cup of coffee equally cradled in his hands.
“I think I want a paternity test,” Yamada says out of the blue and Hitoshi startles badly enough to make the coffee slosh over the rim.
“What?” he stutters out because he doesn’t think he heard that quite right.
“A paternity test. For you and Shou. I think that’s something we’ll have to do at one point,” Yamada goes on, as if his words aren’t completely and utterly insane and Hitoshi looks over to Aizawa, silently pleading for the other man to say something.
“Irrational,” Aizawa grunts out, because of course he would and Hitoshi and Yamada let out the same amused snort.
“I don’t think so,” Yamada says, after winking at Hitoshi before he motions for him to drink more. “I mean, look at you two. You’re practically mirror images of each other. Zombies in the morning. Eyebags for days. Gravity defying hair. Mental quirk that scares the shit out of other people. Absolute adoration for cats. No time for bullshit in the mornings and only marginally more time for bullshit any other time of the day. I think we really need to get that tested.”
“We’re not related,” Hitoshi and Aizawa say at the same time and then share a brief, amused glance.
Yamada wildly gestures with his hands as if to underline his point and Hitoshi rolls his eyes as Aizawa narrows his own at Yamada.
“I’ve only ever been with you. There’s no reason to get a paternity test.”
“Yeah, well, indulge me, huh?” Yamada says without missing a beat. “And besides. If it says negative I get to harass you of literally having a soulmate in son form, because there’s no way the universe created Hitoshi and made him like this without the express intent to bring him to us.”
It makes Hitoshi’s face burn, but for once it’s not out of shame. His previous foster parents would have meant that to hurt, would have hidden barbs and insults in a statement like that, but Yamada simply means it.
He thinks Hitoshi was made to be fostered by Aizawa and him and it makes warmth unfurl in Hitoshi’s chest.
“Fine,” Aizawa says, much to the surprise of everyone at the table. “But you’ll do one, too.”
“Me?” Yamada asks, pointing a finger at himself, as if Aizawa could mean anyone else and Yamada and Hitoshi share a confused look.
“But we’re nothing alike?” Hitoshi also offers now, because he can kind of see why Yamada would ask this of Aizawa.
Hell, Todoroki is still insisting that Hitoshi has to be Aizawa’s secret love child and by now he has at least half the class convinced, too. Hitoshi has to admit that there are some similarities between them but with Yamada? They have nothing in common at all.
“Prowess in the kitchen. The way you drink your coffee. Voice-activated quirk. Uncanny observational skills. The ability to play a room to your liking. If I have to do a paternity test based on what you said then you have to do one as well.”
Hitoshi stares into his coffee, as black as the machine spits it out, before he looks over to Yamada, who also drinks his coffee black. Aizawa on the other hand has milk and sugar at the ready, because he despises the bitter taste if he has another chance.
It’s one point in his favour but—
“I can’t cook nearly half as good as Yamada,” Hitoshi complaints and Aizawa snorts into his cup.
“Maybe, but your cookies are to die for,” he easily gives back and now even Yamada nods.
“He’s kind of right, kiddo,” Yamada slowly says, clearly still thinking Aizawa’s words over. “And I mean it’s only fair, right?”
“And like this we can be sure that he was made to be both our soulmate-son,” Aizawa says as if that makes any sense at all and still, Hitoshi ducks his head in embarrassment when his cheeks go yet again hot to the touch.
“Alright,” Yamada cheerily says and claps his hands together, clearly done with that topic for today and Hitoshi briefly wonders just how fast this entire thing will be forgotten by the two adults.
~*~*~
It turns out that nothing ever gets forgotten in the Aizawa-Yamada household because three days later Yamada sets two small boxes down on the kitchen table.
“What’s that?” Aizawa asks, eyeing the boxes with distaste and Yamada gasps as if he mortally offended him.
“The paternity tests we talked about,” Yamada says just before Aizawa can reach out for the box and it makes him freeze.
“You were serious,” he mutters after a moment and Hitoshi is left staring between the two, because he doesn’t quite know what to say to any of this.
He thought Yamada was joking, too.
“Of course I was. Imagine, Shou, just imagine, the test results come back negative. We hang them on the fridge and then put the adoption paper right over them!”
Hitoshi jerks at the reminder of the still ongoing adoption process, because there’s a small part of him that still can’t believe they really, truly want to adopt him.
But the necessary files have been filled out, all the required visits and talks have been done and now it’s just a waiting game.
And Hitoshi has to admit that it would be a little bit funny, to do what Yamada just said.
Aizawa must think so too, because his face goes all soft in that way that still surprises Hitoshi even after almost a year of living with them, and when Aizawa briefly glances over at him, Hitoshi knows that they are going to do it.
And really, what’s the harm in a silly, little thing like that, right?
~*~*~
Hitoshi is almost ashamed to admit it, but when Yamada comes in with two identical letters, nerves settle in his stomach.
It’s stupid, because they all know what they are going to say but Hitoshi still can’t shake the slight feeling of dread running through him.
He knows Aizawa and Yamada care for him, it’s more than obvious in their behaviour and even more so in their wish to properly adopt him but he still can’t help but to think that maybe the results of this one stupid test will change everything.
Maybe they will read that they are not his father’s and then it will suddenly dawn on them that they want nothing to do with him.
“Hey, kid, you okay?” Aizawa asks, pressing into his side for a moment, effectively grounding Hitoshi who comes back to himself at that.
“I’m fine,” he says and he can tell just how believable it is by the raised eyebrow he receives from Yamada.
“Sure you are. You want us to open this, or burn it?” he asks and it’s not an empty offer.
Hitoshi knows that they would do it without hesitation should he even so much as hint at wanting that and so he shakes his head.
“We’re opening them,” he decides and sits down at the kitchen table, expectantly looking at Aizawa and Yamada to join him.
They do almost immediately but when Yamada slides Aizawa’s letter over to him, he shakes his head.
“You open them both, and then just tell us,” he grumbles, leaning slightly to the side, just enough to be able to brush his shoulder against Hitoshi’s and he’s so grateful for this that he presses further into the contact.
“Alright, fine, fine, leave all the work to me then,” Yamada grumbles good-naturedly as he tears the letters open, though he doesn’t immediately read what they say.
He puts both of them on the table, face down, before he grins at them.
“Here it goes,” he then laughs out, flipping both letters over and eyes quickly scanning over them.
Hitoshi knows that something must be horribly wrong when all the colour drains from Yamada’s face and his eyes roam over the pages more quickly, more desperately.
Aizawa must notice it, too, because he leans forward, no longer pretending to be disinterested.
“What’s wrong? What do they say?”
“We’re his uncles,” Yamada’s trembling voice announces and the words are accompanied by a faint ringing in Hitoshi’s ears.
“What?” he breathes out and Yamada reads over the letters again.
“It says, right here—” he accusingly stabs the relevant part “—that we’re his uncles. Both of us. He is our nephew.”
For a moment nothing happens, everything feels suspended in air and then Aizawa jerks away from the table so violently that his chair topples over before he runs out on them.
“What the fuck,” Hitoshi mutters, because nothing about this makes any sense at all, but when he looks at Yamada, he is only met with a watery smile.
“You’re our nephew,” Yamada says again and Hitoshi doesn’t understand how that is possible.
“What is going on?” he demands to know because Yamada is crying and Aizawa left and he supposedly has family and nothing makes sense.
“It’s—fuck,” Yamada mutters and scrubs a hand over his face, before he comes around the table, taking a seat in Aizawa’s previously toppled chair. “So, this wasn’t quite how we wanted to bring up the topic of family to you,” he mutters, even as he tries to give Hitoshi a smile.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means, that neither Shou nor I had a very good family,” Yamada admits and reaches out to take Hitoshi’s hand. “I mean, you already know I’m adopted, but I never told you why.”
“And you don’t have to,” Hitoshi blurts out because no matter what those stupid letters say, he doesn’t want to force them to tell him about something they don’t want to talk about.
“It’s fine, kiddo. It’s doesn’t bother me, not anymore. It did for a long time, but—” Yamada trails off with a  shrug. “I was born with my quirk, you know. And my very first scream deafened my birth parents and the staff in the room. From what I’ve gathered, they decided then and there to give me up. I never even learned their names.”
“That’s such a shitty thing to do,” Hitoshi mutters, because it’s hardly Yamada’s fault that he had no control over his quirk as a literal new-born.
Yamada shrugs again.
“It happened and my moms are great so it all turned out fine for me in the end.”
Hitoshi worries his lip for a moment, because even though Yamada seems to be fine with things, the same can’t be said for Aizawa. Who is still hiding away in their bedroom.
“Aizawa—” Hitoshi hesitantly starts and Yamada sighs.
“It’s a bit more complicated for him,” he admits, looking over his shoulder to the bedroom. “His family was—absent. Neglectful. They were barely at home, and from what I’ve gathered it’s been like that since he was around four. He mentioned having a sister once, but I’m not even sure he remembers her name. He—was just always alone.”
“Until he found you.”
“Hey, excuse me, I found him,” Yamada corrects him with a small smile and he reaches out to ruffle Hitoshi’s hair. “But yeah. He hasn’t talked to his family in almost twenty years now I think and he pretends that he doesn’t care, but we know him better than that, right?”
“We do,” Hitoshi nods and stands up. “Which is why we can’t let him be alone right now,” he decides and starts to march off towards the bedroom, only to be halted by a hand on his wrist.
“Kiddo—”
“I get my overthinking from him,” Hitoshi plainly says. “If we leave him alone with his thoughts for too long it’s going to be bad.”
He speaks from experience on this, because Hitoshi overthinks like it’s his goddamn job and he knows Aizawa is prone to do the same, even though he pretends he isn’t.
Yamada must realise that he’s right because he nods once, letting go of Hitoshi’s hand and then following him silently to the bedroom.
Hitoshi doesn’t dare to hesitate because if he does then he will start to overthink this, so instead he only pushes in. Aizawa is seated at the edge of the bed, slumped over, hair hanging in front of his face, the picture of misery and Hitoshi doesn’t think, he just acts.
He sits down right next to Aizawa, leaning heavily into his side, impatiently patting the bed when Yamada lingers in the doorway for a moment too long.
It’s only when Yamada is seated as well, that Hitoshi speaks.
“As far as I’m concerned, this is a downgrade,” Hitoshi states and he can just make out the faint “Oh, brother,” from Yamada.
He clearly spends too much time around Class 1A, if that is his go to curse, Hitoshi thinks but then pushes straight on.
“Let’s look at it like this, okay? Our families—” he does not stumble over that, he does not “—managed to screw all three of us over. Our two families managed to let all three of us down at one point, they abandoned all of us, and I for one, do not want them in my life. I know Yamada doesn’t either, because he could have looked for his birth parents and never did and clearly you don’t want your family anywhere near your life as well. Right or wrong?” Hitoshi demands and Aizawa lets out a harsh breath.
“Right,” he eventually mutters and Hitoshi nods because this is about what he expected.
“Okay. So, look. Just a few days ago you joked that the universe literally made me to be your son. It’s just—it’s all just a little to the left, right?” he tries because it kind of is.
He wasn’t made to be their son, he was made to be their nephew, which explains all the strange similarities but ultimately doesn’t matter.
Because fuck the universe, Hitoshi thinks and takes a deep breath, bracing himself for what he’s going to say next.
“And like I said, I think it’s a downgrade, anyway,” he repeats, before he reaches out for Aizawa’s hand and then Yamada’s. “Because you’re my dads. It doesn’t matter what that stupid paper says. I don’t care if you’re my uncles, because you’re not. You’re my dads.”
It’s the first time he calls them that out loud and it’s less terrifying than he would have expected it to be. It mostly just feels right.
Hitoshi is not surprised to hear a sob from his right, because of course Yamada would cry at that, but he was not at all prepared for the same sound to come from Aizawa.
Hitoshi has just enough time to send a panicked look at Yamada before Aizawa pulls him in for a rough hug, cradling his head close.
“You’re the best son I could wish for,” Aizawa breathes out and it makes Hitoshi’s eyes burn as he clutches at Aizawa’s shirt.
Yamada drapes himself over Hitoshi’s back, breathing just as unsteadily as Hitoshi and Aizawa, and even though Hitoshi’s eyes burn, he still thinks this is a pretty good moment.
“These letters do not go up on the fridge, I don’t want them there,” Hitoshi decides after a long moment and Yamada laughs wetly.
“Okay, kiddo,” he agrees and Aizawa hums.
“The adoption papers, though—”
“Those definitely go up!” Hitoshi is quick to agree and Aizawa hugs him closer for a moment before he moves away.
“Thanks, kid,” he mutters, his voice a little bit scratchy and Hitoshi gives him a little grin.
“I got my overthinking abilities from you, I know how to deal with his,” he admits and it makes Aizawa huff out a laugh.
“Clearly,” he says as he ruffles Hitoshi’s hair, much like Yamada did earlier and Hitoshi leans into it.
He knows that they will need to talk about this some more, and in all honesty it doesn’t yet feel quite real to Hitoshi that these two are related to him, but all of that doesn’t matter.
What matters is that he has his dads here with him and Hitoshi knows that that is never going to change.
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gumballavocadoharry · 3 months ago
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You break it, I'll fix it!
Yn's thoughts seemed to drag on the more the teacher's lips moved 50 words a minute. Mr. Walcurst, didn't really seem to know how to entertain his students with his long lectures of mechanics and engineering in the same way he would demonstrate techniques with different machines he had brought in.
Yn's head was seated on top of her her crossed arms that were neatly settled on her desk; barricading her opened notebook that had only a few scribbled notes and sketches that she claimed helped with her memory in tests and assignments. "Yn?" Her head shot up to the piercing eyes of the bygone teacher. "Can you tell us what the answer to number four is?"
"Yn?"
Her head shot up, the sudden sound cutting through the droning monologue. Mr. Walcurst stood at the front of the lecture hall, his bald head gleaming under the fluorescent lights, his eyes, sharp and unforgiving, fixed directly on her. He was a walking paradox – brilliant in his field, a master of the machine, yet utterly devoid of the ability to translate that passion into engaging instruction. Lectures were a marathon of technical jargon, delivered at a pace that left most students gasping for air, or, in Yn's case, using her arms as a makeshift pillow.
"Can you tell us what the answer to number four is?" His voice was flat, devoid of warmth, the kind of tone that could curdle milk.
Yn’s mind scrambled. Number four? The only numbers she’d processed in the last ten minutes were the ones marking her growing boredom. She glanced down at her notebook, the few scattered notes offering no salvation. A faint flush crept up her neck. "I… I'm sorry, Mr. Walcurst. I seem to have missed that part."
A collective ripple went through the class – a mix of pity and silent commiseration. Mr. Walcurst merely sighed, a theatrical sound of weary disappointment that felt disproportionately heavy. "Perhaps if you were paying attention, Ms. Yn, you wouldn't miss crucial information," he stated, the implication hanging heavy in the air. He turned away before she could stammer another apology, calling on someone else.
Yn sank back into her seat, mortification burning in her cheeks. It wasn't that she didn't want to learn. She did. Engineering was fascinating, a puzzle of physics and ingenuity. But Mr. Walcurst's method felt less like learning and more like enduring a verbal battering ram.
The rest of the lecture was a blur of technical terms and diagrams she couldn't follow. The only thing that solidified in her mind was the announcement of the next major assignment: designing and building a working pulley system capable of lifting a specific weight. It had to be physically demonstrated and submitted next week. A knot of dread formed in her stomach. Pulleys. Simple in concept, maybe, but the mechanics and structural integrity felt like a mountain she was ill-equipped to climb.
After class, Yn hurried out, the air cool on her flushed face. The university grounds were bustling, a stark contrast to the suffocating atmosphere of the lecture hall. She needed coffee, and she needed to wrap her head around this pulley, and more importantly, around Mr. Walcurst's palpable disapproval.
Back in her cozy, meticulously organized apartment, the dread intensified. Textbooks lay open on her desk, diagrams of levers and ropes staring back at her like cryptic runes. She gathered materials – a few scraps of wood, some string, various potential wheels she’d repurposed from old toys and appliances. Hours bled into one another. Her apartment, usually a haven of calm, became a workshop of frustration.
Attempt one: The wheel wobbled precariously, the string slipping off. Attempt two: The frame buckled under the slightest tension. Attempt three: The whole contraption collapsed spectacularly, sending pieces scattering across the floor.
With each failure, Walcurst’s disappointed sigh echoed in her mind. She wasn't stupid; she was intelligent, methodical, and usually capable. But this… this felt insurmountable. Tears of frustration pricked at her eyes. Why couldn't she grasp this? Why did it feel so endlessly complicated?
She slumped onto her couch, staring at the scattered remnants of her failed attempts. Her gaze fell upon her laptop, still open to the class forum. Scrolling through, she saw a few posts about the assignment, mostly complaints about the difficulty. Then, a name caught her eye: Harry.
She remembered the ease with which he seemed to grasp everything, the way his eyes lit up when talking about mechanics, even in the dry confines of Walcurst’s class. He was the class genius, effortlessly navigating the very concepts that were drowning her.
Asking for help went against every fiber of her independent, cautious nature. And asking him? The eccentric inventor who seemed to live on a different plane of existence. The idea felt awkward, maybe even embarrassing. What if he thought she was stupid? What if he was as dismissive as Walcurst, just in a different, perhaps kinder, way?
But the deadline loomed, a guillotine poised over her academic standing. Swallowing her pride, and the last reserves of her self-reliance on this issue, Yn pulled out her laptop. She found the class roster, located his name – Harry Styles– and his university email address.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. What to write? "Help, I'm an idiot and can't make a pulley?" She finally settled on something simple, direct, and hopefully not too revealing of her utter helplessness.
Subject: Engineering 201 - Pulley Assignment
Hi Harry,
We're in Mr. Walcurst's engineering class together. I'm really struggling with the pulley system assignment. I've spent hours on it, but I can't seem to get it to work or fully understand the practical mechanics.
I was wondering, since you seem to have a good handle on this stuff, if you might possibly be willing to spare a little time to help me out? No worries at all if you're busy, I completely understand.
Thanks, Yn Ln
She hit send before she could second-guess herself. Relief warred with anxiety. Now she just had to wait.
The reply came surprisingly fast, pinging into her inbox less than ten minutes later.
Subject: Re: Engineering 201 - Pulley Assignment
Hi Yn,
Absolutely! I'd be delighted to try and help. Pulley systems are quite elegant once you see how the forces distribute. Sometimes wrestling with the materials helps more than diagrams alone.
Are you free sometime tomorrow? I have a workshop setup at my place that might be easier to work in than an apartment desk. Lots of bits and bobs if we need them.
Let me know what time works for you!
Best, Harry
His response was just as she expected – warm, kind, and slightly… unique. "Bits and bobs." A workshop setup? It sounded less like a student's room and more like a real inventor's lair. Despite her nervousness, a spark of hope ignited.
Across the room, she saw him. Harry. The guy everyone privately (and sometimes not-so-privately) referred to as ‘the eccentric genius.’ He had a mane of dark brown hair that brushed his neck, often slightly disheveled, and striking green eyes that seemed to hold a perpetual flicker of curiosity. While others wrestled with equations, Harry would be sketching fantastical contraptions in his notebook or humming softly to himself, oblivious to the classroom tension.
He answered Mr. Walcurst’s most challenging questions with an almost casual insight, often offering alternative, elegant solutions that left the professor momentarily speechless before he’d gruffly acknowledge their validity. He felt utterly out of place in the rigid structure of the lecture hall, a free spirit bottled in a room of precise calculations. Yn had always found him… intriguing, yes, but also a little perplexing, like a complex equation she hadn't bothered to solve.
He wore mismatched clothes sometimes and had a habit of fiddling with strange gadgets in his hands. He rarely spoke unless directly addressed, and even then, his responses were often unexpected, bordering on brilliant yet delivered with an almost childlike enthusiasm that sometimes threw people off.
He was definitely eccentric, maybe even socially awkward, but Mr. Walcurst, for all his harshness, seemed to treat Harry with a degree of grudging respect when he did contribute, which was usually to offer a surprisingly insightful solution to a complex problem the rest of the class floundered with.
***********************************
Harry's 'place' turned out to be a small, slightly cluttered house with a surprisingly large toolshed in the backyard. This, she quickly realized, was the legendary 'workshop'. Stepping inside was like entering another dimension. Tools hung on every available surface, shelves overflowed with wires, gears, screws, and components she couldn't even name. A half-finished contraption involving springs and copper tubing sat on a workbench. The air smelled of metal, oil, and a faint, pleasant scent of sawdust. It was chaos, but a vibrant, organized chaos that spoke of constant creation.
He led her through a house that was indeed "lived-in" – stacks of books and papers covered surfaces, but everything felt intentional, like a mind in constant motion. The air was thick with the faint scent of coffee and something metallic she couldn't place.
The workshop was a revelation. It was a detached garage transformed into a vibrant, organized chaos. Tools hung neatly on pegboards, workbenches were covered in various projects in different stages of completion, and shelves overflowed with components, wires, and peculiar gadgets. It smelled of metal, wood, and something that reminded her faintly of burnt sugar. It was Harry’s world, a physical manifestation of the brilliant, free-spirited mind she’d only glimpsed in class.
"Wow," Yn breathed, genuinely impressed. "This is… amazing."
Harry himself was exactly as she remembered, only perhaps a little more vibrant in his own space. His green eyes lit up when he saw her. "Yn! Come in, come in! Mind the pile of solenoid here, almost broke my neck on it yesterday. So, the pulley!" He gestured excitedly towards a clear space on the main workbench. "Show me what you've tried, tell me about the issues."
Yn, feeling a little awkward but disarmed by his immediate warmth, laid out her dismantled attempts and explained her struggles. As she spoke, Harry didn't interrupt or judge. He listened intently, nodding, his brow furrowed in thought. He picked up a piece of her failed structure, examining it with a thoughtful hum.
"Ah, I see," he said gently. "The stress point here… you've got a shearing force on the axle; it needs more lateral support. And for the wheel material, cardboard will compress too much under load. You need something rigid, something that won't deform."
He didn't make her feel stupid. He simply pointed out technical details, explaining the physics behind them in a way that was clear, concise, and somehow, genuinely interesting. As they started working together, picking out materials from his vast collection – sturdy wood, a smooth metal rod for the axle, a solid plastic wheel – Yn began to relax.
Harry worked with a quiet, focused intensity, but his movements were gentle and precise. He patiently guided her hands, showing her how to measure, how to cut, how to join pieces securely. He explained the principles of mechanical advantage not like a dry textbook, but like revealing a fascinating secret about how the world worked.
"It's easy to get caught up in the equations and forget the simple physics. Think of it like this…"
He didn’t just tell her. He showed her. He used a sturdy beam in the workshop ceiling and a length of rope. He created a single fixed pulley, demonstrating how it only changed direction. Then he added a movable pulley, explaining the concept of sharing the load, the ropes supporting the weight. His explanations were clear, interspersed with quirky analogies that suddenly made perfect sense. He spoke of forces "holding hands" and mechanical advantage as "getting the ropes to do the heavy lifting for you."
As they worked, side-by-side at the workbench, Harry was incredibly patient. When Yn fumbled with a knot, he gently guided her hands, his touch brief and warm. When she looked confused, he’d pause, rephrase, or draw a quick, simple sketch on a scrap of wood with a pencil. He celebrated her small victories – a knot tied correctly, a wheel spinning freely on its axle – with genuine enthusiasm.
"See? You've got it!" he’d say, his smile infectious. "Just needed a little hands-on wrestling match."
Yn, initially tense and embarrassed by her lack of understanding, found herself relaxing. Harry’s kindness was disarming. His genius wasn’t intimidating; it was generous. He wasn’t just helping her pass an assignment; he was sharing his passion, inviting her into his world of mechanical wonders.
As the pulley system began to take shape under their combined efforts, Yn started seeing Harry in a new light. Beyond the kind eyes and gentle hands, she noticed the way his brow furrowed in concentration, the almost artistic way he handled the tools, the subtle enthusiasm that radiated from him when a concept clicked for her. He was more than just the 'weird genius' from class; he was warm, understanding, and incredibly sweet. The afternoon sun filtered through the dusty workshop windows, illuminating the motes dancing in the air around them, creating an almost magical atmosphere.
They talked as they worked. He asked about her interests outside of engineering, listened attentively to her answers, and shared stories about his own projects, his eyes sparkling with excitement. He talked about his dream of inventing things that made life easier, his optimistic belief in the power of ingenuity. Yn found herself laughing easily, drawn in by his free-spirited nature and genuine warmth.
With Harry's guidance, piece by piece, the pulley system came together. They tested it, lifting a small weight. It worked perfectly, the wheels turning smoothly, the rope running freely, reducing the effort required exactly as the calculations predicted.
"We did it!" Harry exclaimed, sounding as pleased as if it were his own project. He looked at Yn, his green eyes full of warmth and pride for her effort. "You figured it out."
Looking at him in that moment, flushed with the success of their creation and the unexpected joy of his company, Yn felt a different kind of mechanism click into place within her. It wasn't just gratitude she felt. It was admiration for his mind, affection for his gentle nature, and a undeniable pull, a sweet, burgeoning romantic feeling that had blossomed in the sawdust-filled air of his workshop. The 'weird' guy had transformed into something entirely wonderful.
Harry’s smile lingered, his gaze holding hers for a beat longer than necessary. There was something in his eyes, a flicker of vulnerability, a hint of unspoken feeling that mirrored her own sudden revelation. He seemed just as affected by the shared experience as she was. But then, almost imperceptibly, a familiar caution seemed to cloud his expression, and he gently released her gaze, turning to begin tidying up a few tools.
"So," he said, his voice returning to its easy gentleness, though perhaps with a faint tremor, "you should be all set for Walcurst now."
"Yes," Yn managed, her voice a little breathless. "Harry, thank you. Honestly, I don't know what I would have done."
"Anytime, Yn," he said, meeting her eyes again, his smile soft. "Seriously. Don't hesitate to ask if you ever get stuck again. It's easier to build things together."
Walking home that evening, the finished pulley system felt incredibly light in her bag compared to the complex, heavy emotions swirling inside her. She had gone to Harry’s house seeking help with a technical problem and had left having discovered a connection she hadn’t anticipated. She was undeniably, surprisingly, falling for the eccentric genius.
The next day in class, presenting her working pulley system to Mr. Walcurst felt anticlimactic after the profound shift in her personal world. Mr. Walcurst examined her work thoroughly, testing the mechanism with the weight. He checked her calculations, tugged on the rope.
"Satisfactory, Ms. Ln" he finally stated, his tone neutral, offering no praise but no further criticism either. "Meets the specified requirements."
A quiet wave of relief washed over Yn. She had passed. Thanks to Harry.
She glanced across the room. Harry was sketching quietly in his notebook, a faint, knowing smile playing on his lips as Mr. Walcurst dismissed her. When her eyes met his, his smile widened slightly, a silent acknowledgment of their shared victory and the secret connection forged in his workshop.
They continued to see each other in class, the sterile air of Walcurst's lecture hall now humming with an unspoken awareness between them. Harry remained his kind, gentle, eccentric self, occasionally offering Yn a subtle smile across the room or a quiet word about the lecture after class. Yn, usually cautious and reserved, found herself gravitating towards him, lingering after class, asking him questions about the material she now understood, just to have an excuse to talk.
The romantic feelings she had developed for Harry pulsed beneath the surface of her interactions with him. She saw the subtle signs of his reciprocal interest – the way his eyes lingered on her, the slight blush that sometimes dusted his cheeks when she paid him a compliment, the genuine pleasure he took in her company. Yet, neither of them acted on it. Yn, mature and cautious, was hesitant to potentially complicate their academic lives or risk the warmth of their newfound friendship.
The rest of Mr. Walcurst's lectures still felt like a challenge, but now, Yn had something new to look forward to. Glancing back at Harry, she realized that the path of engineering had just become infinitely more interesting, illuminated by the quiet brilliance and unexpected warmth of the 'weird' guy with the kind green eyes.
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unholyhelbig · 2 years ago
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Um?? Keep going
[A/n: So demanding! I'm kidding, obviously, I'm going to keep going. The reception to this little story brings me immense joy. Though, the next part will be the last!]
Title: Magnetic
Ship: Kate Bishop x gn!reader
Disclaimer: I did not proofread, if there are mistakes, I'm sorry!
Trigger warnings: Blood, Some brief mentions of physical abuse.
Main Masterlist | Ao3 | Request Prompts | Join my Taglist!
Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five]
Summary: Reader is a spider!person from earth-2099 and Kate Bishop is curious about why she's so drawn to them.
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The suit was hidden behind the back panel of your closet, a small piece of faux wood that had been glued down, but then dampened away. It was easy to pop away from the rest of the structure.
You used the light of your phone, the small circle catching the vibrant colors, the blacks and the poisonous red, the deep silvers that reflected with the green of your inhuman eyes. You were content to leave it here, in this universe, when just two days ago you were going to rip a hole into the space-time continuum.
“Your place is…”
“Sad. It’s sad.” You pulled the suit the rest of the way out, rising to your feet. Kate was leaning by the window, looking at the view of the rain-damp street. Her features were shaded with a flashing green sign, then a dark orange. “You can say it.”
“Yeah, it’s sad. You need some like, houseplants or something.”
You couldn’t help the smile that bloomed against your lips. Decorating had never been your forte. Your Kate had a designer’s eye, and by the way this universe’s Kate scrunched up her nose and tracked the wall space with her grey stare, you knew this one did too.
She took the edge of the suit into her hands when you got close enough for her to do so. You both held the fabric, her fingers tracing the horizontal lines that wicked electroplate. Your breath mingled with hers, eyes moving from the suit, lingering for just a moment on her lips before you thought better of it and focused on the large spider emblem in the center.
“You know I don’t-“
“Can we talk?”
You both spoke at the same time, heat moving to your cheeks. You shook your head, chuckling nervously “You go.”
Kate took a deep breath and squeezed the fabric, letting out a small, tepid breath. You had never seen her nervous before. There was always a confidence to her actions and her words. There was a pinkness to her skin, moving up past the collar of her shirt.
“Things are complicated, and I understand that. You’re from another universe, your homicidal father could be here any minute with your brother who also really, really wants to kill you.”
“Kate,” 
“Right, sorry. That’s not the point. Do you remember the day that you moved in?”
Of course, you did. You were wet, and cold and had placed your clothes on the radiator to dry off. Once they had, you wandered down to the lower part of the building. There were a few damp dollars in your pocket and it was just a short walk to the bodega. Your stomach clenched in hunger.
Kate was pushing every button on the directory, soft beeps moving through the lobby. You glanced around, looking up the stairway, down the hall where a room full of washing machines lumbered in a near-silent hum.
Eventually, you opened the door, staring at the woman in front of you. Rain dripped from her hood, loose strands of hair saturated. Her eyes were gray, something you noticed under the light positioned above the door. Her breath was puffing in front of her. Kate would leave you slack-jawed in every universe, you decided in that moment.
“I… forgot my key.” She smiled weakly.
You couldn’t manage words, instead you stepped aside, watching as she lugged a few bags in with her, a few drops hitting her jacket after sliding across her nose. This was a cruel joke. You’d entered this world without permission and now karma was testing you as it always had. There was no way to avoid her.
“You know, you shouldn’t go barefoot in here. This building is not up to code.”
You croaked out “Shoes are wet,”
Kate smiled and it made your knees feel weak. You shoved your hands into your dampened pockets. Where were your manners? Buried under the pure shock that came with the ringing in your ears, was your natural instinct to cater to not only Kate, but every single person you came across.
After learning how to play the piano when you were six years old, your mother ushered you into the cello, and then the violin. Anything she could get her hands on. You’d play at family gatherings, and at charity events. Your music became guilt, and that guilt became the need to please.
In this case, it manifested in offering to help Kate upstairs with her bags. Anything was better than the out of order sign on the elevator, and even if it was in working order, you wouldn’t trust it with your life- unnaturally fast healing or not.
Your fingers brushed against hers and the both of you pulled back as electricity danced across your skin and ended at your elbow. It pulsed, something of undeniable warmth that was replaced with a deep cold. The only way to quell it would be to press your fingers against hers, to touch her once more.
“Sorry,” You apologized quickly, filling the awkward space by grabbing half of her bags and sprinting up the stairs. You smiled “Race you.”
Kate seemed disoriented, blinked a few times. “You don’t even know where I live!”
You had feigned being out of breath when you got to the top of the stairs and Kate thanked you profusely for helping her with the groceries. Your heart beat a little faster knowing that she lived across the hall. And naively you believed you could form a friendship.
“Of course, I remember.”
“It’s all I thought about for days.” Kate scoffed, shaking her head. “There were so many times when I just stood in front of your door, waiting to knock before I realized I had no good reason to talk to you. And the thing is, Y/n, I knew that you felt it too that day. And I know that you’ve felt it everyday since.”
“Kate, there are-“
“Circumstances, I know. What happened to your Kate, and so many Kate’s in-between is… I can’t even imagine what you’ve gone through. But maybe after all of this time, the universe is doing something for you”
You swallowed hard, trying to quell the dryness in your mouth. Weak light is cast against her features and her expression is hopeful. The two of you had stepped closer, inadvertently through recall of memories. Her exhale was warm against your collarbone, you closed your eyes and whimpered.
Kate’s hand softly cupped your cheek, and you leaned into it, her thumb gently tracing the contours of your face. “Sometimes, you have to do something for yourself. Sometimes, you have to take what you deserve.”
You opened your eyes, stared into Kate’s. They had the same gold flecks, the same rings of emotion that bloomed from the iris. You leaned forward and took what you wanted, pressed your lips against Kate’s and melted into the kiss. She hummed against your lips, dropping the suit and using the collar of your shirt to pull herself closer.
Your hands were on her hips, squeezing mildly to assure that she was there. Kate tasted honey-sweet, her tongue moving against your bottom lip, begging for entrance. The kiss was slow and deliberate. You never wanted to pull away.
That same electric feeling was dancing across your throat, filling your body with tendrils of fate. Kate’s fingers were smoothed across your jaw. She pulled back, drew in a sloppy breath. Her forehead was against yours, both of you panting.
Kate’s voice was a mulled whisper “There’s no way I’m letting you leave now.”
“I wasn’t planning on it.”
That was easier said than done, you realized, not fifteen minutes later when your apartment was brimming with people you had yet to meet in this world. All of whom had explicit opinions about your decorating skills (lack thereof) and you as a person.
You felt uncomfortable and exposed, your suit hugging your body, mask in hand, arms crossed over your midsection. Kate’s eyes lingered on you, the tightness of the mesh not leaving too much to the imagination. You felt your cheeks heat up, clearing your throat. 
Kate really had rallied the troupes. You had to hand it to her. This felt like an odd meeting of a group of superheroes that had a higher body count than the Avengers themselves. And still, you waited awkwardly for the last few people to straggle in.
“So let me get this straight,” Yelena said, leaning against your empty kitchen counter. “You are Spiderman, but Peter is also Spiderman?”
“Yes,” You both answered at the same time, shooting each other a quiet look. You cleared your throat and continued. “I’m from Earth-2099, I’m that worlds Spiderman.”
Cassie raised her hand in a small wave, calling attention to herself “Did you also get bitten by a radioactive spider?”
“My father, he spliced my DNA with a spider. It was the first time he had done so successfully. Hence why he’s so determined to get me back.”
“Huh,” Clint lilted his head to the side “creepy.”
You couldn’t agree more, nodding felt like an understatement of the obsessive tracking. There was still an apprehension lurking just beneath the surface, but watching the five people that surrounded you, so willing to help, some of the weight had been lifted.
Yelena Belova eyed you nervously, she was slow to trust, and it seemed even slower in this world. You could hardly blame her. She was a spy, after all. There had been worlds where she never broke free from her widow hold. There were others where she was never inducted in the first place.
There was one in particular that you remembered where Yelena had been a wedding caterer. That freaked you out more than anything you had seen likewise. Right now, she had her arms crossed over her chest, eyes flitting from you, back to Kate.
“Have the two of you had sex?” she asked bluntly.
“What?”
Kate’s voice was six octaves too high. You made a startled noise and put your head in your hands. Clint made a disgusted noise that mirrored exactly how you felt. You said “Maybe we should come up with some type of strategy,”
“We should wait for the others, no?” Yelena said, shrugging her shoulders with disinterest. “There is a weird energy between the two of you. We should address it before putting ourselves into a risky situation. It can change the dynamics of the fight.”
“She has a point,” Peter said, “have you?”
Kate grits her teeth, had settled back into her place next to you. Your shoulders were against one another, and even the subtly of that touch sent currents to your fingertips. “No, we haven’t.”
Cassie asked, “but there is something there, right?”
You glanced at Kate, who had pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, chewed on it. “It’s… complicated. But I believe so.”
“There is a wedding ring on the chain around your neck.”
“Lena.” Kate warned.
“It’s alright, I get it. I’m practically a stranger. I’ve given you no reason to trust me, much-less fight beside me. In 2099, I was just a musician, and more than that, I was a wife. Kate was my wife.” You swallowed back the thickness in your throat, the metal taste in your mouth, the memories. “My father killed her.”
“That’s all I need to know.”
Rain had started to fall generously by the time you had descended the stairs in the apartment building. There were spots that you knew to avoid; a sliver at the top of the third-floor landing that wasn’t sealed against the weather. A bucket on the stretch between doors 207 and 205.
Normally, these areas would be something you took note of in passing. But today, you lingered. The warmth had slowly left your bones the closer you got to the lobby. You craved Kate’s touch, her reassurance. This was the first time you had been alone in the last few days.
There was anger there, too, mixed cruelly with the fear. It made the suit hugging your body hot and sticky. Your father had always pushed you to the side, had moved you to the very edge of the family photos as a power trip. He’d entertain your one-minute of stage time between tentative bites of mashed potatoes and pot roast.
The darkness in his eyes lingered each time you closed your own. There were small bursts of rage that would escape him. He’d snap at your mother in a hushed voice. Your father’s receptionist would sob quietly into wadded up tissues as you waited to be buzzed in. His hand would move fast, reddening the skin of your cheek.
You knew better than to lift your gaze. The one time that you did, he delivered another open-palmed smack to the face. There was a time to stand, and a time to fall. As you walked down the final flight of steps, you knew that if you wanted to stay in this universe, in the timeline that delivered you a second chance, you’d have to not only stand- but you’d also have to hit back.
The streets were nearly empty, a broken fishbone moon cracked against the sky. Dark gray clouds enveloped it, plunging you into darkness and then welcoming the pale light once more. You could hear the buzz of the neon signs over your own breathing, your mask slipping silently over your features.
Carefully, you made your way between your apartment building and one that had long since been condemned. Your eyes darted to each side, idling over bags of trash, sour and pungent as their rotted scent mixed with fallen rain. The coast was clear, and you scaled the wall with ease, slipping into a high window that had long ago been hollowed out.
You had the pocket watch. You had a plan.
Deep flashes of colors in the most vibrant of blues, and whites, and reds flashed as you removed your mask, strands of damp hair falling into your gaze. Broken beams of wood, dust and shattered glass started to hum around you, your finger on the ribbed button of the watch.
Dozens of times, had you hit this button. You’d watch as the air in front of you solidified and then tore in half, much like a piece of sheet music. Objects in the room danced around in stilted notes, a concerto of sharps and flats. You breathed in the electricity of the room. The composition threatened to pull you in, begged you to let its tendrils grip onto your fingers, weave into your veins.
This time, you wouldn’t let it. Your finger moved from the switch, and everything went dark. The room baked in silence, your chest heaving up and down. Glass, nails, and insulation slammed to the unsteady floor of what was once an office, or a home. Dust had been kicked up, caught in the porcelain light.
“The light,” you explained, circling the poorly drawn building with the black marker “It’ll let you know where I am. Once you see it flashing, you need to get ready. I’m almost certain that he’ll pick up on the signal and be there within five minutes.”
“Almost?” Cassie asked, her ankles were crossed, fingers dancing strangely on your empty counter. “I don’t like almost. What if he’s faster?”
“Or slower. Are you sure that’s erasable?” Peter said.
Kate frowned at the one piece of art that you purchased. It wasn’t important, a mock copy of sunflowers by Vincent Van Gogh. The colors had faded, and the glass cracked where the wood met glass. She used her sleeve and squeaked it against the front. Erasable, it was not.
“It doesn’t matter. I’m 99.9% certain that it will take at least that long for them to get to me. Fifteen seconds for the signal to reach them, 45 seconds for the Lyla to get my exact coordinates. Three minutes for the machine to boot up, and one minute for them to travel through space and time.”
Yelena was pacing back and forth, watching each part of the map that you drew. You’d expertly rendered the stairways in the abandoned building, the entry point of each window. She chewed on her bottom lip, stopped behind Clint- who sat cross legged on the floor.
“Theoretically, there should be a weak spot in the unit above this window, correct?”
You nodded, pushing down on the cap of the marker. “The whole building will be weak. It looks like it’s been rotting since the early 2000’s.”
“I will take Cassie with me, and we will be above you. That way, we can hear if they are in that .1%. Kate and Clint, it makes sense if the two of you stay on the rooftop of this building. Range will not be an issue.”
“And me?” Peter asked.
“Outside the door,” you directed, “There’s an entry point on the west side of the building that will give you access to the hallway. You’ll have to be careful, I’m not sure how sturdy the floor is. But I want you nearby. You know how Miguel fights, what his default is. Spider-senses and all.”
Kate shook her head. “I want to be closer.”
A cacophony of voices interrupted her suggestion, yours included. Different degrees of objection. Clint shook his head, mumbling a “No way, kid” and Yelena said something in Russian that you couldn’t’ quite grasp.
“Absolutely not.”
 Kate frowned, and the same fire that you had seen since you were six years old burned deep within her. You didn’t tell a Bishop what to do once they made up their mind. Not without the right type of authority, the right type of conviction.
Gently, you guided her eyes to yours, nudging her chin with the edge of your hand. “Kate, listen to me. I know you want to be there, but you simply cannot. Your blood has been on my hands once, and I swear that it’ll never be again. There is a fate worse than death at stake here.”
Your thumb moved over the smoothness of the gold ring around your throat, tucked neatly into your suit. It was a good luck charm, you supposed. Though, after slipping it from Kate’s finger, easy to do with the wetness of her wounds, before gliding into another universe, it hardly felt as such.
There were flashes as you pressed your lips to the inscription of the date propositions were made in the rain. When you clenched your eyes shut, you could see the way she held you close on prom night. Her hand was steady on the small of your back during your fathers speech. Her words were soaked in remorse as blood blossomed past cracked lips.
Your grip tightened around the ring, cold and hard. Anger welled in your chest like cracking waves against a rocky shore. It never went out to sea; however, each rush was stronger than the last. Mere seconds now, you could feel it in the air.
Kate told you that she didn’t feel any pain as she clung to your shirt that fateful night. Red swipes of blood were left against your cheek as you held her hand there, clammy and half-dead. You would do anything to take away the pain that she claimed didn’t exist.
Now, as the world around you swarmed with particles of energy and you took a small step back to avoid the ripping of space, and time, you knew that pain had been saved. It had been embedded deep within you until the moment presented itself.
You were quite unceremonious about your entries into different universes. There was typically a force that pushed you through instead of guiding you. But as you made out the two silhouettes between the flashing atoms, there was a chill that settled over you.
He was taller than you remembered, though, the last time you had seen him, he’d been dwarfed in a lab coat. His facial hair was unkempt and there were deep gray bags under his eyes. Your father had since shaved, held his shoulders back with a certain type of power that made you nauseous.
Still, you stood strong, breath coming in faster rhythm’s until you willed it to still entirely as the universe patched itself back up. Miguel postured by his side, smiling wickedly, teeth glinting against the bleached moonlight.
“I see you’ve embraced the gift I’ve given you.” His voice was gravel, his smile half-feral, half-charming as he lilted his head to the side with the slowness of a man anticipating this moment for centuries. “Spiderman.”
Taglist 💜: @lovelyy-moonlight
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hexguardheart · 19 days ago
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"The Price of Remembering"
HexguardHeart
Chapter 9: Fractured Crown
Cassandra Kiramman's office occupied the highest floor of Kiramman Tower, all glass and steel and calculated intimidation. Caitlyn had always thought it looked like a throne room. Now it felt more like a cage.
Her mother stood at the window, silhouetted against morning light, every inch the corporate queen. Perfect posture. Perfect suit. Perfect front.
"Darling," Cassandra didn't turn. "Rather early for a visit."
"I know about London."
Three words. Simple. Sharp. They hit like bullets.
Cassandra's shoulders tightened, it was a micro-movement most would miss. But Caitlyn had been trained since birth to read power, to understand its language.
"What exactly do you think you know?"
"Everything." Caitlyn moved forward, the data crystal heavy in her palm. "The trials. The 'volunteers.' What you did to them. What you're still doing."
Now Cassandra turned, her face a masterpiece of controlled concern. "Whatever you think you've found-"
"Stop." Caitlyn's voice cracked like a whip. "No more lies. No more perfect bloody explanations. I have proof. All of it."
She connected the crystal to the office's holo-system. Data bloomed around them: medical records, failed trials, covered-up deaths. Vi's face appeared among them, before they'd broken her ability to remember.
Something shifted in Cassandra's expression. Something like... relief?
"You have no idea," her mother whispered, "how long I've waited for someone to finally uncover the truth."
"What?"
"This was never supposed to be about profit." Cassandra's perfect facade cracked. "Your father... his research... it was meant to help people. To preserve memories for those losing them to illness, trauma..."
"What happened?"
"Marcus Shaw happened." The name fell like poison. "Your father's university friend. The 'silent partner' who funded everything." Cassandra laughed bitterly. "We needed his money. The Kiramman name opened doors, but the fortune was gone generations ago. Shaw knew that."
Caitlyn watched her mother move to the desk, fingers tracing invisible patterns on its surface. "Dad trusted him."
"We all did. But while Charles saw a way to help humanity, Shaw saw an empire waiting to be built." Cassandra's accent, usually so controlled, grew sharper with emotion. "He began pushing for faster development, broader applications. Memory enhancement. Modification. Transfer."
"The patents," Caitlyn said suddenly. "They're in Shaw's name."
"Everything is. The technology. The research. The corporations." Cassandra's laugh was hollow. "We're just the pretty faces he puts in front of his machine. The distinguished Kiramman family, lending legitimacy to his empire while he stays hidden in the shadows."
"Why didn't Dad stop him? Why didn't we-"
"Because Shaw owns us!" The words exploded from Cassandra. "Every account, every property, every piece of research, it all belongs to him. If we step out of line, he doesn't just destroy us. He destroys your father's legacy completely. Takes the technology private. Removes all ethical oversight. And then?" She met Caitlyn's eyes. "Then there's no one left to even try to control how it's used."
"Dad tried anyway, didn't he?" Caitlyn's voice was soft. "Before the accident."
Cassandra’s face crumpled. “He found proof of memory manipulation and enhancement testing. What they did to that poor girl with the pink hair, one of the first to suffer for that cupid monster’s greed, and countless others like her. He was going to expose everything.”
"And Shaw had him killed."
"So elegantly arranged." Cassandra's voice dripped acid. "A tragic accident. A grieving widow taking over the company. A daughter to groom as heir. All very neat. Very clean." Her hands clenched. "Shaw's specialty."
"You've been protecting me," Caitlyn realized. "Keeping me in authentication, away from the enhancement division..."
"I couldn't save Charles. But I could try to keep you from seeing how deep the corruption went." Cassandra finally broke, tears cutting through her perfect makeup. "I've spent seven years playing my part. The ruthless CEO. The corporate ice queen. Hoping that if I pleased Shaw enough, if I proved useful enough, I might find a way to..."
"To what?"
"To finish what your father started. But I'm not strong enough. Not brave enough. I never was." She looked at Caitlyn, really looked at her. "But you are. You're exactly like him."
"Help me," Caitlyn said. "Help me expose Shaw. All of it."
"He'll destroy everything."
"No." Caitlyn's voice hardened. "He'll try. But he's not the only one who's been gathering proof." She gestured to the data crystal. "We have evidence. Allies. A way to protect the technology's original purpose."
Cassandra studied her daughter, seeing Charles in every line of her face. "Who?," she asked.
"Vi, The pink-haired girl."
"The one they hurt. You trust her?"
"With my life."
"Shaw will come for us. All of us."
"Let him." Caitlyn straightened, her father's daughter to her core.
Cassandra stood, steel returning to her spine. "Tell me what you need."
"Everything. Every record. Every transaction. Every piece of evidence you've hidden away, hoping someday to use it."
"It won't be clean. Or safe."
"It's not meant to be." Caitlyn touched her mother's face, feeling years of hidden battle beneath her skin. "It's meant to be true."
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shizzlepianist · 2 years ago
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“so, how has your day been, sweetheart?”
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(gif not mine!)
a/n: i saw this idea of an egon x daughter!reader on @multi-fandombetty’s page and i thought it was too cute NOT to do - this is written in the daughter’s perspective, and it’s set during you coming home from school/college/university and hanging around in egon’s lab.
(as usual, (Y/N) means Your Name, and (Y/A) means Your Age.)
enjoy!!
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You hesitantly knocked on the door of your father (Egon Spengler)’s lab, hoping he was in there working on something.
You had just finished your work for the day and decided to take a walk down to the lab to visit your dad.
“Just a second!” you heard your father’s voice from the inside, making you sigh with relief.
The door opened and your dad smiled immediately when he saw you. “Oh, hello, (Y/N)! Come in,” he said lovingly, closing the door behind you.
“A-are you busy, Dad?” you asked, not wanting to disturb his tests.
“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t, but I always have time for my beautiful daughter,” he smiled, getting some of his laboratory devices out of a drawer and pressing a few buttons on a big metal machine.
You beamed back at him, before responding, “…good, I didn’t want to interrupt whatever you’re working on this time.”
“You’re not interrupting, honest. So, how has your day been, sweetheart?” asked Egon, turning away for a second to pour some bright liquid into a test tube before placing it into a rack.
“It’s been… eventful,” you said, explaining to him that you had been given a load of work to do by the end of the semester, which was only a few weeks away, and that you had gotten into an argument over, coincidentally, your father.
He listened intently to your ranting as you went on about how someone in your class had said he was a smartass and that he only mattered to the Ghostbusters because he was intelligent, which made you spit back at them almost within a millisecond. Your dad chuckled at you when you told him each of your very detailed responses.
“Well, that definitely sounds like a tiring day, honey. Have you eaten today too?” He looked over the top of his glasses, “…you better have done,” he grinned, walking towards you and putting his hands on his hips. He kept looking at you, waiting for you to respond.
“Yes, Dad, I’ve eaten. I had a sandwich at lunchtime.”
“Good.” He smiled again and re-adjusted his glasses with his finger, pushing them back up his nose, “I trust you’ve drank something today, too?”
“Jeez, Dad, who are you? The food and drink police?” You laughed.
“No, but for your information, (Y/N), I am Dr. Egon Spengler, PhDs in both Parapsychology and Psychology,” your father snickered, “..and I want to know if my little girl has eaten and had something to drink.”
“Dad, I’m not little. I’m (Y/A). I’m barely little anymore.” You rolled your eyes.
“Alright, true. BUT that doesn’t mean I can’t call you that, because no matter how old you are, you always will be that same little girl to me, who ran around in sparkly princess dresses and forced me to have tea parties with you.”
You flashed a warm smile at your dad again, and he smiled back. For about ten seconds it was just you and your dad, smiling at each other. Father and daughter. Spengler and mini Spengler.
“So what are you actually working on?” you asked, getting up from the chair your dad had given you and walking over to where he was working.
‘Well, this here,” he pointed to a cuboid-shaped device that was flashing with different colours, “is an emotion-sensing device. I’m studying the effect of different things on emotion regulation, and the ultimate reactions we have to things. If you look over here…”
He gestured to a glass screen, through which you could see a kid, who looked about 6 or 7, playing with some toys.
“Can we bring in the puppy now, please?” Your father asked one of the women who was working in his lab.
“Of course, Dr. Spengler,” she replied, leaving the room and appearing in the other one in front of you. She had brought in a fluffy spotted Dalmatian puppy, and given it to the child.
Egon lifted his emotion device and it beeped. “See? The metre has gone from Moderately Happy to Ecstatic. The effect a cute puppy has on a little kid,” he showed you.
“That’s cool. That is SO cool,” you said, in awe of your father’s intelligence.
“Now let’s see what happens when we take it away,” your father said, asking his assistant to go back in and take the puppy.
She did so, and your father passed you the device. “You try it, just press this button here and you’re good.”
Slowly, you pressed the red button to scan the little girl’s emotions and held it up to the glass screen. The metre dropped almost right to the bottom.
“Oh my..” you gasped, “Dad, look, it’s gone almost to the bottom! From Ecstatic to… Distraught? Oh jeez, I feel so bad now.”
You felt your dad’s arm wrap around your shoulder, and he kissed your head, “…she’ll be alright, there’s nothing to worry about. Honestly. We’re bringing her out in a minute anyway,” he reassured you.
You watched as the crying little girl was brought out of the room by your dad’s assistant, and you didn’t see her after that, which meant she had gone back home.
The watch on Egon’s wrist beeped, indicating it was 4 p.m.
“Well, it’s time to leave the lab now, so let me just turn everything off and we’ll be on our way,” your father claimed, switching off all the machines wired up to the wall.
He thanked his assistants for all their help today, and they all smiled back at him and waved at you. You introduced yourself to them as Dr. Spengler’s daughter, and they welcomed you to the lab. They hadn’t been in there when you first came, so upon their entry you were shocked your dad had so many helpers.
Grabbing his coat and his briefcase filled with paranormal related documents and his lighter science equipment, Egon held the lab door open for you and led you out, before placing the key on a little hook next to the door so his assistants could get out.
On the way to your dad’s car, he had his arm around your shoulders for the whole journey. From the lab to the elevator, as you went down four floors in the elevator, from the elevator to the car. The whole way.
“I’m so lucky to have a daughter as incredible as you, (Y/N). I couldn’t have asked for a better mini-me,” he smiled, kissing your head again.
You looked up at your dad, full of love and admiration for the man that you adored so much. The man that had held your hair every time you were ill, that had you sat on his shoulders every time you went to a science fair, that beamed with pride when “Dada” was your first word.
Sure, you had your mother, who was just as caring and compassionate, but you and your dad had such a bond that couldn’t be broken with even the strongest force.
“I love you so, so much, my precious daughter.”
“I love you too, Dad.”
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ending a/n: lmao not me actually having a lump in my throat after reading this 🥹🥹 dad egon is something i never knew i needed until now tbh, i have never seen it in a fanfic/imagine so i thought now is the time 😭
i hope you enjoyed it 😚😚
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ascendantking · 1 year ago
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;; The Royal Roast
Pairing: Jaron/Tobias, Amarinda of Bultain/Imogen Words: 1045 Chapter: 1/? Summary: A modern college au set in a coffee shop between two rival universities. While the Carthyan Patriots and the Avenian Dragons clash, a quiet courtship begins between Tobias, an overworked med student, and Jaron, a young entrepreneur with a penchant for trouble.
Baggy eyes and a hunched back marked the man who came in every morning like clockwork, stealing a table hidden away in the recesses of the cafe–barely lit by the only window that wasn’t taking it upon itself to blind the patrons at this hour. His order was always the same: a coffee with way too many shots of espresso, a cream cheese bagel, and, if he was feeling daring, an eclair that they had to assume he took with him to whatever classes were breaking his back because he definitely didn’t touch it when he was here.
The red eye staff had their bets placed on if he actually ate it after it had, inevitably, been squished in his bag or if he only ordered it to prove to himself that he could order something else. Most of them were leaning towards the latter, of course, with the way he stumbled through his words whenever he did decide to vary it.
But Jaron had thrown his hat in the ring on another, more far-fetched idea–one Imogen and Roden hadn’t cared for much at all. He was of the notion that since he had happened to be the only one to convince him to try something different then it was only logical to assume that he liked him. 
Continue reading below or on AO3! ( Link on blog. )
Right. That’s what this was. Imogen couldn’t let this fantasy go on any longer as she rolled her eyes. “Or you make him nervous.”
“Because he likes me,” Jaron insisted as he emphasized his teasing with a smolder.
”Or, get this,” she said, smiling as she shook her hands in front of herself, her grin immediately falling, “he may not like being put on the spot.”
Jaron laughed, stacking the cups off to the side. “I dunno, I think you’re just jealous that–” Imogen cocked her hip, putting her hand on her side, snorting herself. “Sure. If that’s the rabbit you want to chase today, just make sure it doesn’t get in the way of your job. Why don’t you help organize the back once you’re done there?”
“You don’t want my pretty face up front today?”
Imogen tilted her head at him, fluttering her eyelashes innocently. “Are you asking me if I want customers today?” She paused, putting a finger on her lip. “Hm.” She let a moment pass as if her question held any of the significance that warranted such a lengthy pause. “You know, Jaron,” she said, nodding slowly, “you should be up front. Give the door your best smile.”
He snorted, waving her off. “It’s like you have no faith in me.”
“Is it that obvious?” Imogen asked with a grin. She nudged him as she passed. “Just make sure you’re ready to go. We open in five.”
Jaron rolled his eyes. “I know, I know. It can’t be any worse than yesterday, can it?”
Imogen stopped abruptly. Her eyes flicked back to him with faux seriousness. “Do you like testing god?”
“When it suits me,” he said with a wink. Imogen took in a breath, shaking her head as she finished cleaning off one of the machines on the back wall. Jaron leaned down on the counter, crossing his legs behind him as he watched the streets slowly come to life, cars lazily drifting by as the street lights went off one by one, each one taking a bow as the morning sun took its rightful place on stage.
“Do you think he’ll be here today?” he asked barely above a whisper.
Imogen looked back at him, raising an eyebrow. She rolled her eyes. “I’m beginning to think you’re the one that likes him. Careful, wouldn’t want people thinking you can catch feelings.” She held her nose as if the concept itself stunk before snickering to herself. 
Jaron snorted, looking back out towards the door, a slight tinge of red on his face. Sure, maybe he wanted to get to know the guy, but that was all it was. He let out a sigh, pushing himself up off the counter to flip the sign to Open. He wasn’t one to pine over someone, he thought to himself as he peeked his head out to look down the sidewalk. No sign of him–oh, no, he meant anyone yet, yeah.
He closed the door again, brushing off his hands before he cracked them in front of himself. “Time to get down to business,” Jaron said to no one in particular as he hopped the counter.
Just because he had noticed that Tobias had come in almost every day for the past two weeks since he started working these early shifts meant nothing. He had a unique look to him! Wiry and tall, with perceptively kind eyes, as if he could read someone like a book but without even a crease or dog-ear on the pages as he went through their life story. It seemed silly now, Jaron realized, comparing him to an old librarian type when Jaron was the one attempting to judge a book by a cover himself. 
But he just couldn’t help it! Tobias carried himself like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders–like if he stopped for one minute, it would all collapse in a messy heap at his feet. Jaron sighed, furrowing his brows as he leaned against the counter again. It wasn’t fair for a man to carry the world alone–what a lonely thing that was, the heaviness of a responsibility only one man knows. If only he could do something to help–then maybe Tobias’ face might not wrinkle up as much as it did in the few moments Jaron saw of him a day. Jaron stood back, looking up at the ceiling with a sigh–maybe he’d get him that eclair for free today. Sure, it wasn’t much, but sometimes even little things could make a big deal, even if they seemed insignificant in the grand scheme of things.
A nervous energy ate at him as he rocked back and forth on his heels. God, he hoped he came in today–maybe they could say more than just the usual pleasantries, maybe he could even get a how’s the weather out there started.
A guy could dream, couldn’t he?
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