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rosierin · 2 months ago

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heat of the moment | atsumu miya

synopsis; it started with a massage. she’d had a long day, he offered, and she didn’t think twice. but then his hands slip under her shirt, his hands slowed, and suddenly they’re somewhere they were never meant to be.

warning; very suggestive!!! mature content

this fic is part of the off-season quartet™ series! for more, click here :)

The apartment was dark when she stepped in—just the faint glow of the hallway lamp left on, humming gently against the silence. The scent of fresh linen and something faintly sweet lingered in the air, a comfort she didn’t know she’d been craving.

Her shoes hit the wall with a dull thud as she kicked them off with little ceremony, limbs dragging like she was wading through molasses. Her legs were heavy. Her spine ached like it’d forgotten how to hold her upright. And her shoulders—tight as wire, wound so high they nearly brushed her ears.

She didn’t sigh. She groaned. The kind that came from deep in her soul, coaxed out by too many hissing steam wands, clattering mugs, toddler meltdowns, and customers who still couldn’t grasp the concept of boiling water.

And of course, it had to be Free Drink Day.

More like Free Mental Breakdown Day.

They say not to cry over spilled milk, but after the third oat latte incident of the day, she was ready to weep into the mop bucket.

Her bag dropped with a final, resentful thud. She muttered something obscene under her breath and shuffled toward the living room like the ghost of capitalism’s finest victim—burnt out, steamed dry, and foamed to death.

“Rough day?” came a familiar voice—low, lazy, and way too smug for someone who didn’t just spend eight hours on their feet dealing with entitled customers who kept insisting on speaking to her manager.

She didn’t look at him, just flopped face-first onto the couch with a grunt. “Don’t speak to me, Miya.”

Soft footsteps, then:

“‘Miya,’ huh?”

She could hear the grin in his voice.

“Don’t.”

“I’m just sayin’. You only call me that when you’re feelin’ a certain way.”

“Yeah, when I'm tired, cranky, or borderline murderous."

He snorted. “You sure it ain’t somethin’ else?”

Her only reply was a muffled groan into the couch cushion.

Normally, she’d have some kind of quip locked and loaded—something dry, vaguely threatening, maybe even flirty if she was in the mood. And sometimes she did use his last name with that teasing edge, just to get a rise out of him.

But not tonight.

Tonight there was no smirk behind it. No playful undertone. No provocative lilt that made it sound like something else.

When she said Miya, she meant it. Plain and simple. No code. No joke. Just: leave me alone before I bite.

She was tired. Everything hurt. And she wasn’t in the mood for verbal sparring or Atsumu’s usual theatrics—not even a little bit.

Not tonight.

Beside her, the floor creaked.

And then she felt it—his fingers, brushing the fabric of her hoodie aside, settling gently on her shoulder.

“Let me help.”

Her head lifted slightly and—ow. Even that took a great amount of effort. “What?”

“You're all wound up,” he murmured, thumbs circling slow against the knots in her back. “Let me fix it.”

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously, but god… the way his hands were already working over her hoodie—firm, warm, grounding—it was hard to protest.

“Take this off,” he said, tapping her back.

She shot him a glare over her shoulder. Everything?

He raised his eyebrows, amused. “The hoodie.”

“…Oh.”

Still grumbling, she pulled it over her head and tossed it aside, revealing the flimsy camisole beneath. She settled back onto her stomach, cheek pressed to the couch, breath leaving her in a long exhale.

Then his hands returned—bare, strong, and unfairly skilled.

Her eyes fluttered shut.

She hated how good he was at this. How steady his palms felt against her skin. How his fingers dug in deep enough to hurt, but just enough to make her feel relaxed. Like he knew exactly where the tension lived—exactly where to press, where to drag his thumbs to unravel her piece by piece.

“You’ve done this before,” she muttered, face still buried in the couch.

“Mmhm.”

“Who?”

“Not important.”

That annoyed her more than it should’ve. But the way his hands pressed into her lower back, dragging down, circling, gripping—god, it was hard to stay mad when her brain was slowly turning to soup.

A breath she hadn’t realized she was holding left her in a soft sigh.

“You know,” he said casually, “there’s a dangerous amount of trust involved in lettin’ me touch ya like this.”

“Don’t ruin it,” she mumbled.

“M’not. Just sayin’. One minute I’m bein’ nice and helpful, the next…”

She didn't let him finish his sentence.

“Atsumu?”

“Yeah?”

“Be quiet.”

He laughed—quiet, smug—and kept going, kneading along the tight lines of her shoulders, down the dip of her spine, slow enough to make her toes curl.

The kind of slow that made her forget things. Like how tired she was. How annoyed she’d been walking through the door. How many hours she’d spent on her feet.

Each pass of his hands pulled her deeper into the couch, deeper into herself. Her thoughts blurred into a soft haze. And for a moment, it didn’t feel suggestive or flirty or like something to overthink.

It just felt good.

Safe. Easy. Blissful.

Until he shifted.

Straddled her hips.

The weight of him was gentle, careful—not overwhelming. But it still took her by surprise.

“Wh—what are you—?”

“Better angle,” he said, offhand. Like it was nothing.

Somehow, it wasn’t very convincing.

His hands returned, slipping beneath her shirt. The change in temperature made her shiver, but his palms were warm—gliding lazy, deliberate lines along the soft skin of her back. Steady. Measured. Too measured. Like he was focusing too hard on not making it something else.

“You’re tense here,” he murmured, thumbs pressing slow circles just beneath her shoulder blades.

That’s when she heard it. The dip in his voice—the subtle, sultry shift she’d learned to recognize. Rare, but unmistakable. The tone he only used when his thoughts wandered somewhere they shouldn’t. The kind that meant trouble.

(Y/n) tried not to react. Tried not to read into it—keep it casual. But her skin was too aware of his hands. Her breath, too shallow. Her thoughts, not nearly as neutral as she wanted them to be.

“Mhmm,” she hummed, noncommittal. A deflection. Weak, but it was all she had.

His thumbs slid lower.

“And here.”

His fingers fanned at her waist, dragging down her sides with a softness that didn’t feel so clinical anymore. It felt…curious. Attentive. Too much like a question.

Her breath caught. Not loud. Just a flicker—a stutter of air through parted lips. But he caught it. Of course he did.

He chuckled—low, quiet, maddeningly pleased.

“I can feel your heart racin’, y’know.”

She didn’t answer right away. It was difficult to when she was now hyperaware of every point of contact.

“I’m—tired,” she mumbled weakly. “...Not turned on.”

A pause.

Then—

“Liar.”

It wasn’t a tease. Not really. Barely a whisper, but it landed like a spark to dry leaves.

(Y/n) stiffened. Her brain scrambled for something—logic, protest, retreat—but her body had already gone still. Listening. Waiting.

Because suddenly, the room felt smaller.

The couch felt warmer.

The line between playful bickering and something dangerous blurring far too fast.

And Atsumu—still perched on her hips, hands firm and steady at her waist—felt like something more than a friend doing her a favour.

His hands never stopped moving in those slow, rhythmic circles. Not rushed. Not forceful. But no longer innocent, either.

And then—he moved.

Just a small shift of his hips. Barely there. But it was unmistakable.

Intentional.

She sucked in a breath. Her body tightened instinctively, unsure, unprepared—but she didn’t pull away. Not yet.

Atsumu exhaled—quiet, shaky, like he hadn’t meant to do it in the first place. Like her reaction had knocked something loose in him.

“Shit,” he muttered, almost to himself.

He rocked his hips again—slower this time. More tentative. Deeper. Lower.

Her lips parted.

She didn’t mean to make a sound, but it slipped out anyway—a soft little breath, something between a sigh and a gasp, too quiet for full embarrassment but loud enough that he heard it.

Felt it.

His hands tightened at her waist.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he breathed, voice frayed and mildly stunned. “You keep makin’ noises like that and I’m gonna lose every bit of sense I’ve got left.”

She didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Because somewhere between the first touch and now, her resistance had started to unravel. Not all at once. Just enough to let him in.

Her body betrayed her—arching, pliant, already so far gone.

Her eyes were shut tight, pulse hammering in her throat as he ground against her again—slow, controlled, like he was savouring every second of it.

“You feel that?” he murmured, hips moving just enough to make her thighs tense. “That’s what you do to me. You come home all tired and soft and whiny and y'expect me to behave?"

He leaned down, mouth at her neck, hot breath tickling her skin.

“All those little sounds you’re makin’. The way you're meltin' under my hands. You gotta know what you’re doin’ to me.”

Another roll of his hips—harder this time.

Her mouth opened.

A sound escaped her—quiet, shamefully honest. Just enough to make his breath catch this time.

He stilled.

Then groaned. “Jesus.”

Something cracked open after that.

He braced himself over her—slow and heavy—elbows caging her in, breath rasping as his hips ground down again, rougher now, less restrained. Over and over.

His mouth brushed her shoulder blade—hot and barely contained—and then he kissed her there. Once. Then again. Then a third time, slower now, lips dragging over her skin like he couldn’t help it.

(Y/n)’s eyes squeezed shut.

And that’s when it hit her—really hit her. The weight of his body. The heat of his skin. The way his hips pressed into hers like it was instinct, and the way her body arched into him like it had a will of its own.

Her mind screamed at her to push him off. To tell him to stop.

This was too much.

Too intense. Too close.

They didn’t do this.

This wasn’t banter. This wasn’t teasing. This wasn’t some flirty game they’d forget by morning.

This was heat. This was need.

This was her—on her stomach, panting into the couch cushion—while Atsumu Miya kissed down her spine like he was about to lose his goddamn mind.

She should’ve told him to stop.

But she didn’t. Couldn't. Not when her every nerve in her body was screaming for his touch.

“Atsumu,” she breathed.

His movements stuttered—just a fraction. One word. Just his name.

But fuck—did that turn him on.

He groaned softly into her skin, hips still locked against hers, grinding like he needed the friction. Like it physically hurt not to move.

“...What are you doing?” she managed, voice hoarse, thin with disbelief.

“Losin' it,” he whispered, like it wasn’t obvious.

His hand slid up her back, fingers tangling in her hair—then tugged. Lightly. Just enough to lift her face from the cushions, just enough to bare the sound that slipped out of her—something between a wince and a moan, sharp and breathy.

His mouth found her shoulder again—open-mouthed this time, breath hot, tongue brushing slowly over her skin like he was trying to memorize the way she tasted.

“I shouldn’t be doin’ this,” he muttered, more to himself than her, like he was trying to convince his body to back off.

He didn’t.

And she didn’t stop him.

Her fingers dug into the cushion. Her breath caught in her throat. Her body burned in places she didn’t know could ache like this.

Every roll of his hips sent a shockwave through her spine, and every kiss on her skin made her forget why this was a bad idea in the first place.

She felt his breath by her ear.

Felt the restraint in the way his hand clenched at her waist, like he was holding himself together with threads.

And then his mouth was at her neck—warm, open, hungry—before his teeth sank in just enough to make her gasp.

He exhaled hard, barely catching himself as he pressed his forehead to her shoulder, like he needed the anchor—like staying close was the only way to keep from falling apart completely.

“You’re lettin’ me,” he said hoarsely, disbelief threaded between his words. “You’re not tellin’ me to stop.”

She didn’t answer.

Couldn’t.

Because if she spoke, she’d confess something they couldn’t take back.

And maybe he knew that—because his hand slid from her hair, tracing along her cheek before curling around her jaw. Gentle, but firm. He tilted her face toward him, made her look at him.

And god, he looked ruined.

Eyes blown wide. Lips parted and pink. Expression completely wrecked.

And still, he moved.

Hard. Needy.

Her moan slipped out—quiet, involuntary, the kind that tore straight from her chest.

It was all he needed.

“Fuck, baby—” he breathed, voice shredded and barely holding together. His hips stuttered, movements turning messy, desperate—like he couldn’t slow down even if he tried.

His mouth found her skin again. Kissed whatever he could reach. Sloppy. Starved. Every kiss less precise than the last.

He was close.

Too close.

A deep, broken sound tore from his throat as his hand locked tighter at her waist—his other still cupping her jaw like he needed to see her. And for one breathless, blinding second, the world narrowed to this:

Heat.

Friction.

Sweat.

His hips snapped into hers, too drunk on her to stop. Like she was the only thing keeping him grounded.

They were right at the edge of something they weren’t supposed to reach.

So close to—

CRASH.

A loud, metallic clang. Something hit the floor in the kitchen.

They both froze. (Y/n) almost whined.

A beat of stunned silence—

Then:

“For fuck's sake—My ramen!”

Suna’s voice cut through the moment like a slap.

A second later—

“YOU’RE CLEANIN’ THAT!”

Osamu’s voice, furious and far too loud.

Just like that, the spell shattered.

Atsumu collapsed onto her back with a guttural groan, his entire weight slumping down like the wind had been knocked out of him.

“…I’m gonna kill 'im.”

(Y/n) didn’t move. Just whimpered into the cushion. “...Why are they like this?"

He slid off her slowly, like he wasn’t sure how his limbs worked anymore. His breath was still uneven, his cheeks flushed. He flopped onto the floor beside the couch like he’d just fought for his life.

For a moment, neither of them said anything.

A long, awful silence stretched between them.

Her heart still pounded in her chest like it hadn’t gotten the memo.

Then—

“…Three more seconds and I'd have bust.”

She blinked. Then let out a broken, exhausted snort. “Miya.”

He covered his face with both hands and dragged them down his face. “Don’t say my name like that right now.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Bonus:

The next morning...

The apartment smelled like eggs and impending doom.

(Y/n) sat stiffly at the dining table, fingers curled around her mug like it was the only thing tethering her to reality. She hadn’t spoken more than four words since she entered the kitchen. Not because she was mad. Not because she was tired.

Because Atsumu was in the room.

Leaning against the counter.

Hair messy. Shirt slightly wrinkled. Cheeks still flushed from whatever godless dreams he probably had last night. Arms crossed over his chest like they hadn't just been gripping her hips twelve hours ago while whispering pure filth and sin into her shoulder blades.

She took a long sip of coffee.

Don’t look at him. Don’t think about it. Don’t clench your thighs.

“You’re bein’ real quiet this mornin’,” Osamu said, setting down a plate of toast in front of her.

She blinked. “Hmm? No, I’m fine. Just a bit tired is all."

Suna, across the table, didn’t look up from his phone.

“Someone’s tense,” he muttered. “Again.”

Her soul left her body.

“I’m not tense,” she snapped a little too fast.

Atsumu made a small choking sound behind her. She didn’t turn around.

Osamu raised an eyebrow, glancing between them. “Did you two fight or somethin’?”

“No,” she said.

“No,” Atsumu echoed.

Osamu squinted. “Weird. Yer both lookin' a lil guilty."

Suna finally looked up, eyes slow and calculating. “Did something happen?”

“No,” she said quickly.

“Nah,” Atsumu added, voice a little too casual.

A long silence.

Suna’s eyes narrowed. “Y’know, the couch is looking kinda... dented this morning.”

(Y/n) stared at her mug. “Rin, please stop speaking.”

“And there was a hoodie on the floor. Yours, I think,” Suna added.

Osamu frowned. “Weren’t you wearin’ that last night?”

Suna turned fully in his seat. “Don’t tell me.” Seconds passed. Then—

“No way. Did you guys fu—”

Atsumu broke into the broadest grin.

(Y/n) turned bright red.

“NO!”

Osamu almost spit out his orange juice.

Suna's jaw actually went slack. “Holy shit.”

Osamu looked offended. “On the couch? Seriously?!”

Atsumu leaned forward, elbows on the counter, smirk straight out of a rated-R movie. “All I’m sayin’ is… ya leave a man alone with a pretty girl complainin’ about her back and—”

“It was JUST a massage!” (y/n) yelled, utterly mortified.

The room went silent.

Suna slowly pushed his plate away, crinkling his nose.

Osamu looked like he needed years worth of therapy. “I eat on that couch.”

"Okay," she blurted, pushing her chair back with the grace of a dying goose. "I’m going back to bed. None of you speak to me.”

“You didn’t finish your toast,” Suna called.

“You didn’t finish your massage, either,” Atsumu added.

(Y/n) stormed off, narrowly missing the doorframe on the way out.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Her door slammed shut.

Her body hit the mattress.

Her soul left her body.

She face-planted into her pillow with a strangled groan—the same noise people make when they think they’ve beaten a final boss, only for it to regenerate full health and announce a hidden phase two.

Her brain felt like the scrambled eggs she'd left behind.

Because it was replaying everything—every. single. second.

The massage.

The way his fingers dug into her back like he knew where she was most vulnerable.

The phantom warmth of his hands still lingered on her skin, like her body couldn’t quite let go of his touch. And the weight of him—solid, hot, heavy—still pressed against the back of her hips like muscle memory. Like her body remembered what her mind was trying to erase.

His mouth on her shoulders, her neck.

His voice—needy, breathless—almost desperate.

Her whole body flushed so violently she was surprised she hadn’t burst into flames on the spot.

What the hell was that?!

They didn’t do that. They never did that. Sure, Atsumu flirted—he flirted with everyone. She was used to it. Used to rolling her eyes and brushing it off, calling him insufferable while secretly liking the attention.

But this?

This was not harmless.

This was him, grinding into her like he was trying to memorize the shape of her body. This was her, moaning into a cushion like she was part of some kinky romance novel. This was—

“I should’ve pushed him off,” she muttered into the pillow.

But she didn’t.

She let it happen.

Worse—she wanted it to happen.

Oh my god.

The doorframe she almost walked into? Deserved.

The toast she didn’t eat? Deserved.

The ghost of his voice still echoing in her ears, haunting her?

Absolutely deserved.

She flopped onto her back, stared at the ceiling, and whispered:

“What have I done."

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Meanwhile in the kitchen...

Atsumu wasn’t proud of himself.

Okay, maybe a little. But also not really. Not when Suna was staring at him like he was one word away from committing a crime, and Osamu looked ready to throw up in the sink.

“You touched her where?”

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I already told ya,” he said, sinking deeper into the kitchen chair. “It was a massage. She was tired. I was bein’ helpful.”

“Helpful?” Osamu echoed, crossing his arms, his expression somewhere between offended and utterly gobsmacked. Probably both.

Atsumu winced. Yeah, maybe that hadn’t been the best word.

“What happened to runnin’ her a bath? Or—I dunno—cookin' her dinner like a normal person?”

Atsumu just shrugged.

Not defensively. Not exactly confident, either.

Just that lazy, noncommittal lift of his shoulders—the kind he pulled when he didn’t have a good answer and hoped no one would call him out for it. Sheepish. A little guilty. Mostly trying not to squirm under the look Osamu was giving him.

Suna, meanwhile, hadn’t blinked once. Didn’t even flinch. Just stared at him, jaw tight. “You’re genuinely insane.”

Atsumu threw his arms up. “Whaaat? (Y/n) didn't seem to mind."

Osamu made a noise. Something resigned, possibly a little traumatised.

“Keep it to yourself,” Suna muttered, voice low, sharp.

“You asked!” Atsumu protested, slouching into the kitchen chair like he was halfway through a trial he was absolutely guilty of. “It wasn’t supposed to go that far.”

“But it did,” Osamu snapped, gesturing dramatically. “On the couch. Where I eat.”

That earned him a grimace. “Okay, ya don’t gotta say it like that.”

He slouched further. Rested his chin in one hand. “It wasn’t even a thing. She came home all cranky and— I dunno. I just wanted to make 'er feel better.”

That was the truth, wasn’t it? At the time, it was innocent. Mostly. He hadn’t planned to grind on her like a man starved.

But then she'd moaned, and the rest was history.

“Right,” Suna said, and something in his voice made Atsumu look up.

The usual flat deadpan wasn’t there. Something sharper had taken its place.

“Are you sure she was okay with it?” Suna asked, meeting his eyes at last. “She didn’t look like she was in a good mood this morning.”

Atsumu blinked. His heart stumbled over itself.

“What? She’s probably just—embarrassed,” he said, a little too quickly. Then, bristling, “Are you sayin’ I did somethin’ she didn’t want?”

Suna didn’t back down. “No. I’m saying you didn't think." A beat passed. "'Least not with your head."

The kitchen got quiet. That kind of quiet that made Atsumu want to throw something just to fill it.

His nostrils flared. He straightened in his seat, bracing his hands on the table like he was ready to stand.

Suna just stared.

Unflinching.

Judging.

Calm and lethal as always.

And yeah, okay, maybe Atsumu hadn’t thought it through. Maybe he had gotten carried away. But he wasn’t some creep.

“She didn’t stop me,” he muttered, then immediately winced because wow, what a terrible sentence.

Osamu, to his credit, jumped in before the stare-down turned into an actual fight. “Alright, both of ya, enough.” He slapped a palm to Atsumu’s shoulder, forcing him back down when he’d started to rise. “I’m sure (y/n)’s fine. She probably is just embarrassed. But, 'Tsumu—” He gave his brother a look. “Make sure ya check in on 'er."

The tension thinned. Barely.

Atsumu slumped back into his chair.

But he never looked away, still locked in a silent death stare with Suna, waiting for someone to blink first.

Osamu rolled his eyes and went back to his breakfast.

But the words were already climbing up Atsumu's throat, too big to keep inside.

“…She moaned.”

Osamu’s fork hit his plate with a clink.

"Please," he groaned, covering his ears. “Spare me.”

“I’m not makin’ it up!” Atsumu insisted, leaning forward like this was somehow a defence. “I wasn’t even doin’ that much and she—" He cut himself off, then added in a desperate whisper, “She was movin’ with me, so she definitely—”

“Atsumu.” Suna’s voice was cold. Firm. “We get it.”

Atsumu’s mouth snapped shut. His ears burned. God, he sounded like a perv.

Osamu exhaled slowly, like his brain had just rebooted. Then, against all odds, he snorted. Covered his face, elbows braced on the table, but that stupid grin was peeking through his fingers.

“What is wrong with you guys?”

Atsumu stared at his cereal. Suddenly way too aware of how pathetic he must’ve looked, sitting here like a kicked puppy, talking about a moan like it was a Nobel Prize.

Still… his lips twitched.

“...What?” he said, trying for innocent. It came out boyish.

Osamu didn’t even look at him. “Nothin’,” he muttered, voice muffled and lowkey judgmental.

Suna shook his head and pulled out his phone. “You’re the horniest person I know."

Atsumu sighed.

Ran both hands through his hair.

And smirked.

Guilty as charged.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The kitchen was quiet.

Dim, too—lit only by the under-light above the stove, casting everything in a sleepy haze. It was late. Past midnight, maybe. She’d lost track of time after her shower, after the world stopped spinning quite so fast.

(Y/n) padded in with socked feet, her damp hair sticking to the back of her neck, water bottle loose in her grip. She wasn’t even thirsty. She’d just needed somewhere to be that wasn’t her room. Somewhere her thoughts wouldn’t chase her down and pin her to the bed like they’d been trying to do all evening.

The massage.

The weight of him.

The way her hips moved.

The sound she made.

God.

She opened the fridge just to cool her face against the blast of cold air. Stood there a moment longer than necessary, trying to freeze the memory out of her skin.

She stared at the contents without really seeing them.

If she was lucky, she could grab a drink and slink back upstairs before anyone—

The floor creaked behind her.

She knew that creak. Recognised the rhythm of those lazy footsteps.

Atsumu.

Of course.

She didn’t turn. Just shut the fridge, hugging the bottle to her chest like it could absorb the flush threatening to rise to her face.

“Hey.”

His voice was quieter than usual.

Not cocky, not teasing, but... soft.

Her heart stuttered.

She braced herself, then glanced up at him. “Hey, ‘Tsum.”

He looked like he’d come down for something too, but now he was just… standing there. In his sweatpants, hair mussed from his pillow, rubbing at the back of his neck like he wasn’t sure what to say.

Her chest tightened. It was impossible to ignore it.

“Couldn’t sleep?” she asked.

“Somethin’ like that.” He shrugged, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Figured I’d grab somethin’ to drink. But…” he trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck again, “…guess ya beat me to it.”

She gave a breath of a laugh, barely there. “Sorry. I was just... thinking.”

A beat of silence stretched between them.

He hummed, mulling over his next words, like he wasn’t sure if now was the best time to ask—but he did anyway.

“You okay?”

(Y/n) blinked.

The question was soft. Careful. And completely sincere.

It disarmed her more than it should have.

She opened her mouth—then shut it. Swallowed. “Mhmm. I'm okay.”

Atsumu nodded, but didn’t move. Didn’t turn back around like he meant to leave. Instead, he stepped a little closer, resting one hand against the counter, glancing down at her.

“How’s your back?” he asked, lips quirking slightly.

That earned a glare. She stood up, arms folding over her chest, suddenly too aware of how warm the kitchen was. "Very funny."

He almost smiled again—but this time, it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

She was dodging. That much was obvious.

And he hated that he almost let her.

“What? Too soon?” he offered, like the teasing might lighten things again.

“You’re an idiot.”

“Ya love it, really,” he shot back—without thinking, without blinking. It was one of those lines. One of his lines. Something he said all the time, to her, to anyone, usually with a smirk and no consequences.

It rolled off the tongue like second nature. Easy as breathing.

But this time… it landed different.

Because her face changed.

She looked down at her water bottle, fingers tightening around the cap. Her smile—if it could even be called that—faded. Not annoyed. Not offended. Just... gone.

And for the first time, Atsumu regretted saying it.

He felt the air shift. He took a breath.

“…Listen,” he said, more seriously now, his voice low and laced with hesitation. “About… y’know. The other night.”

She stiffened.

And he noticed.

“I shouldn’t have—uh, gotten so carried away,” he added, scratching the back of his neck. “Didn’t mean to make things weird. I was just—”

“—It’s okay,” she cut in, too fast.

He blinked.

She still wouldn’t meet his eyes. “It’s fine, 'Tsumu. Let’s just… pretend it didn’t happen, okay?”

His heart stuttered.

Pretend it didn’t happen?

He watched her closely. She was fiddling with the bottle cap now, like it was the most interesting thing in the room. Her expression guarded. Tight.

She was embarrassed.

Not because he crossed a line—he was sure of that—but because she didn’t know what to do with what happened. Because she let it happen, and maybe, just maybe, she regretted it a little.

And that stung him a little.

“Really?” he asked, careful.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “Like. It was a one-time thing. Heat of the moment. Whatever.” She waved a hand in the air vaguely. “Let’s just never bring it up again.”

A one-time thing?

He tilted his head, slowly. “…Never?”

She looked at him then. Briefly. But it was enough.

“Never,” she confirmed. Then, a little firmer: “Forget it ever happened.”

He paused.

“…Even the part where you—”

“Yes.” Her cheeks flared. “Especially that part.”

There was something so sharp and exasperated in her voice that he couldn’t help it—he pressed his lips together, biting back a laugh. “Ya sure? ‘Cause I think about it like… hourly.”

“I swear to god—”

“Alright, alright.” He looked at her a second longer than he should’ve, hands held up in surrender, then forced a grin. “Forgettin’ it. Totally gone. Brain wiped.”

He paused. Tilted his head.

Then, dryly: “…What were we talkin’ about again?”

She groaned, but her mouth twitched too. Just a little.

And he'd have been blind to miss it.

The way she tucked her hair behind her ear, how her shoulders finally relaxed. He wouldn’t push. Not tonight. But he also wasn’t going to pretend he didn’t feel it—didn’t want it.

He cared. More than she probably realised.

And if forgetting it made her feel safer, more in control… then fine.

He’d let her forget.

For now.

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favefandomimagines · 2 months ago

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Nightmare (f.l)

Summary: tough cases have never been an issue for Frank...not until one hits a little too close to home

Request: Some Dad!Frank. Maybe he has a really tough case in the ED about a family that reminds him of his so he comes to see you on the OB floor and you guys go visit your son in the hospital daycare while discussing names for your daughter

AN: i guess possible child death is the warning for this one?

Dr. Frank Langdon stood in the staff lounge of the ER, his scrub top slightly wrinkled from the night before. He took a long, slow sip of black coffee, steam curling up around his stubble-lined jaw. His blue eyes scanned the dry-erase board by the nurses’ station—assignments, patient statuses, shift rotations. Same as always. Predictably unpredictable.

It was rare, but this morning, the ER was quiet. No trauma pages, no shouting down hallways, no beeping alarms demanding urgent intervention.

Frank had learned never to trust the quiet. In his years as a resident, he'd seen how quickly calm could turn to catastrophe. Still, he appreciated these rare moments when time seemed to stretch, almost like real life—the life outside of trauma bays and critical care.

And in that moment, his thoughts drifted upward, literally—to the OB floor, two stories above, where his wife, Y/N, was already starting her day.

Y/N Langdon—competent, compassionate, and a force to be reckoned with in her own right—was six months pregnant with their second child. The baby girl inside her had just started kicking with consistency, and Frank swore he could feel the rhythm of those tiny movements echoing in his chest each time he rested his hand on Y/N’s belly.

Their son, Tanner, had been a whirlwind baby—colicky, high-energy, and charming as hell. Y/N liked to joke that if their daughter had half the energy of her older brother, they'd need a third parent just to keep up.

They’d fallen into a rhythm that worked for them, odd as it might look from the outside: one parent in ER medicine, the other in obstetrics. It meant they sometimes crossed paths in stairwells or elevators more often than at home.

But at the hospital, they could rely on subtle glances, shared cups of coffee, and the occasional quiet lunch. These were the threads that tied their lives together.

This morning had started like many others. Tanner had been a little slow getting up, but Y/N had coaxed him out of bed with promises of pancakes and a new pack of crayons at the daycare.

Frank had ruffled his son's hair and kissed his wife's temple as they walked into the hospital lobby together, then parted ways—he toward the ER and she toward OB, with Tanner tugging her free hand, already talking about what dinosaurs he was going to draw today.

Frank smiled at the memory, the warmth of it softening the usual weight on his shoulders. He glanced down at his coffee and chuckled. Tanner had told him he should drink "orange juice instead of that icky coffee." Smart kid.

It was only 8:45 a.m., and already Frank felt the familiar itch of adrenaline building just under the skin. He finished his coffee and dumped the cup in the trash. He straightened his badge, adjusted his stethoscope, and pulled on a pair of gloves.

Even on quiet mornings, he knew better than to relax. ER shifts had a way of flipping on their heads in the blink of an eye.

He just didn’t know yet that today would be one of the hardest he’d ever face.

The calm shattered at 9:03 a.m.

The trauma pager on Frank’s hip buzzed violently, followed by the overhead page: “Code blue, Trauma Bay 2. Pediatric drowning, four-year-old male. ETA: three minutes.”

Frank didn’t move at first.

Not because he was slow—but because his body froze for just a split second, like his brain needed an extra beat to process what it heard. Four-year-old. Drowning. Unresponsive.

Three minutes.

He blinked, then was moving—swiftly, instinctively—his shoes squeaking slightly against the tile as he snapped on a fresh pair of gloves. As senior resident, he would lead the case until the attending arrived. It wasn’t his first pediatric trauma, but this one came with a brutal twist of fate.

Four years old. The same age as Tanner.

He scrubbed the thought from his mind as he entered Trauma Bay 2. The room buzzed with urgent energy—nurses prepping crash carts, respiratory therapists setting up the ventilator, a med student standing frozen until a nurse barked for her to “either help or get out of the way.”

Frank pulled the trauma gown over his head, cinched it tight at the waist, and let out a deep exhale. He had three minutes to turn into a machine. To put walls up. To forget that upstairs, just two floors away, his own son was laughing over crayons and construction paper.

The EMTs burst through the door, pushing a stretcher with a small, limp form on it.

“Four-year-old male, found in the family pool—no idea how long he was under,” the lead paramedic said, breathing hard. “Dad pulled him out, started CPR. We got pulses back en route, but he’s bradycardic and posturing. GCS is three.”

Frank’s stomach turned.

He stepped up and took control. “Get him transferred. Airway first—let’s get the intubation tray ready. I want a full trauma panel, head CT stat, and—”

The boy's face came into view.

Wet hair matted to his forehead. Pale skin tinged with cyanosis. Eyes closed. Too still.

Frank’s fingers hesitated at the boy’s wrist for just a second before feeling the thready, barely-there pulse. He counted out loud. “Heart rate… seventy-two. Keep bagging. Let’s warm him.”

It was a flurry of movement. Orders given, executed, adjusted. Fluids, warming blankets, pressors. The boy was stabilized enough for imaging, but the damage… That was still unknown.

Frank kept moving, kept his tone clinical and authoritative. But under the calm, his jaw clenched so tightly his temples throbbed. He hated how his heart twisted when he heard the boy’s father sobbing just outside the curtain. It hit too close.

It hit too close.

He didn’t see a patient. He saw Tanner. His wide brown eyes. His wild mop of hair. His SpongeBob floaties that he insisted on wearing in the bathtub just for fun.

Frank swallowed hard and barked another order to a nurse who wasn’t moving fast enough. His tone was sharper than necessary, and she flinched. He immediately felt guilt, but the pressure inside him was starting to mount.

Dr. Robby walked in just as the team began prepping the boy for transfer to the PICU. Robby scanned the vitals, looked at the chart, then glanced at Frank.

He didn’t say anything at first.

But when the boy was wheeled away, the room slowly quieting in his absence, Robby approached. His tone was low, compassionate but firm.

“Frank. You’re good, are you alright?"

Frank didn’t respond, not verbally. He just stood there, sweat on his brow, eyes fixed on the door the boy had disappeared through.

“Hey, go upstairs,” Robby continued. “Take a break. See Y/N.”

Frank gave a short, barely-there nod. He peeled off his gloves slowly, methodically, and tossed them in the trash. As he unhooked his gown, his chest felt heavier than ever.

He didn’t speak again until he was out in the hallway. Even then, it was just a whisper to himself:

He’s not Tanner.

But his chest didn’t loosen.

He made his way to the stairwell, taking the steps two at a time, as if climbing toward air. Toward something real. Toward someone who could remind him that his own son was alive—safe—just a floor away.

He needed to see Y/N.

Not just as a colleague.

Not just as a doctor.

But as a husband and a father trying not to unravel.

Frank took the stairs instead of the elevator. He needed the movement. The burn in his legs. The steady rhythm of his own breathing to drown out the suffocating weight in his chest.

By the time he reached the OB floor, his hands were clenched in fists at his sides. He paused outside the glass doors that led into the labor and delivery wing, collecting himself. The air here was different—lighter somehow. Where the ER smelled of antiseptic and urgency, this floor carried a faint sweetness, a calmness. The scent of baby lotion and soft cotton.

For a brief second, he felt like an intruder in a world that wasn't unraveling.

He scanned the floor until his eyes locked onto the nurses’ station at the far end. And there she was—Y/N.

She stood behind the counter, her posture graceful despite the noticeable curve of her pregnant belly beneath her fitted maternity scrubs. Her ID badge dangled just above her stomach, and she was animatedly discussing a geriatric pregnancy case with one of the residents, flipping through a chart, gesturing with one hand while the other rested protectively on her bump.

Frank watched her for a long moment without saying anything. Just breathing her in.

She hadn’t seen him yet, but somehow—maybe by instinct—her movements slowed. She turned slightly, her voice tapering off mid-sentence. Her eyes lifted, finding his.

Her expression softened instantly.

She gave the resident a gentle squeeze on the shoulder, said something Frank couldn’t hear, and then moved toward him, weaving around the nurses' station like she’d been expecting him all along.

“Robby called me,” she said quietly as she reached him. She rested a hand on his arm and looked up into his face. “I didn’t get details. Just that it was bad.”

Frank nodded, jaw working but no words coming. His throat burned with the effort of holding himself together.

Y/N didn’t push. She simply guided him to a quiet alcove just off the hallway, where there were a few padded benches tucked under a window. They sat side by side, knees brushing, and she waited.

“I can’t shake it,” he finally said, his voice hoarse. “It was a little boy. Four years old. Drowned in a backyard pool. We got his pulse back, but… he was hypoxic for too long. His brain… we don’t know if he’ll wake up. And if he does—what will be left of him?”

Y/N’s brows drew together, her hand finding his. “God.”

“He’s the same age as Tanner,” Frank whispered, shaking his head. “Same size. Same mop of hair. Even his shoes were the same light-up ones he begged us for. When they wheeled him in… it was like I was watching my worst nightmare unfold right in front of me.”

Y/N’s fingers curled more tightly around his. “I can’t even imagine. I mean—I can, and that’s what makes it terrifying.”

Frank let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “I tried to keep my head clear, to compartmentalize like I always do. But every time I gave a compress or checked a monitor, all I could see was Tanner. I kept reminding myself—he’s fine, he’s safe, he’s upstairs playing with dinosaurs. But I still felt like I couldn’t breathe.”

Y/N leaned in and kissed his temple. “That’s what makes you a good doctor, Frank. And an even better father. You never forget that these are real people. Real kids. You feel it.”

He turned to her, his eyes tired but soft. “And that’s dangerous sometimes.”

“It’s human,” she said gently. “You’re allowed to feel. You’re allowed to hurt for a little boy who may never get the life our son is getting. That doesn’t make you weak. That makes you present.”

He exhaled again and rested his forehead against hers. “I just needed to see you.”

“I know,” she whispered, threading her fingers through his.

There was a pause—one of those deep, grounding silences between two people who didn’t need to speak to be understood. Then, Y/N shifted back and looked toward the ceiling thoughtfully.

“Do you want to go see Tanner?” she asked.

Frank looked at her like she’d just tossed him a life ring in a churning sea. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“Come on.” She stood, taking his hand and pulling him up with surprising strength.

They walked in comfortable silence down the corridor, hand in hand, Frank glancing occasionally at her rounded belly. It never failed to amaze him—how someone could carry life with such grace while surrounded by so much loss in their work.

As they entered the daycare wing, he heard Tanner’s voice before he saw him—a peal of laughter, loud and full of joy, echoing through the playroom. And in that moment, Frank’s shoulders finally dropped and he felt like could breath again.

Their son was crouched on the playroom floor in a fortress made of oversized foam blocks, holding up a crayon drawing and enthusiastically explaining it to anyone within earshot—though mostly, it seemed, to himself.

“That’s a T-Rex,” he was saying. “And this is Daddy, but he’s not scared, ‘cause Daddy’s brave. And this is Mommy, but she’s not scared either ‘cause she’s a doctor and doctors win.”

Frank’s heart gave a painful tug.

Y/N smiled and gave his hand a little squeeze. “Go ahead.”

Frank stepped forward and tapped lightly on the glass. Tanner’s head whipped around. The moment his little eyes landed on Frank, he lit up.

“Daddy!”

The boy shot to his feet, foam blocks tumbling around him, and sprinted across the room like a rocket.

Frank crouched just in time to catch him mid-leap. "Hey, buddy!"

Tanner wrapped his arms tightly around Frank’s neck and giggled. “I drawed you!”

“I saw,” Frank said, hugging him so hard he was almost afraid he’d never let go. “You’re an amazing artist.”

“Ms. Holly said I could keep drawing after snack ‘cause I was focused,” Tanner said proudly. “Wanna see my other pictures?”

“Absolutely.”

Y/N had stepped inside now too, easing herself down slowly into one of the low daycare chairs with a sigh. “We’ve got a gallery coming, huh?”

“Yeah!” Tanner beamed. “I drawed a baby too, for the baby in Mommy’s tummy. I think she’ll like dinosaurs.”

Frank sat down beside Y/N, Tanner still half-perched on his lap, legs swinging.

He looked around the daycare. Bright colors. Innocence. Noise, but the kind that didn’t echo with alarms or sirens. Here, kids yelled because they were playing. Because they were happy.

Here, everything was right.

And for the first time since the trauma case, Frank’s lungs filled all the way with air.

They sat like that for a while, Tanner climbing down to show off his work: a purple brontosaurus with a bow, a fire truck chasing a velociraptor, a rainbow with a tiny stick-figure family beneath it. Frank and Y/N. Tanner in the middle. And now, a tiny baby drawn with an extra-large head, circled in pink crayon.

Y/N smiled, resting a hand on her belly. “So much love waiting for this girl.”

Frank looked at her, letting his eyes linger on her face. Her strength. Her quiet brilliance. Her calming presence. How she carried so much and still found ways to give him light.

As Tanner ran back to his drawings, Y/N nudged him gently. “Hey.”

Frank turned toward her.

“What do you think about the name Ruby?” she asked, voice soft.

He blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift—but not in a bad way. Her timing, as always, was perfect.

“Ruby?” he echoed, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Hmm.”

Y/N tilted her head, gauging his reaction. “It popped into my head this morning during rounds. I thought it sounded sweet. Strong, too. A little spark. Like her.”

Frank leaned back a little and looked across the room, watching their son pick out new crayons with intense concentration. Then he looked back at her.

“I like it,” he said. “But what about Maisie? It’s got heart, it's gentle but still has strength. She's bound to be a force to be reckoned with."

Y/N laughed, rubbing a slow circle over her belly. “Tell me about it. Maisie...I love it.”

Frank reached over and covered her hand with his, his thumb brushing the soft fabric of her scrub top. “Maisie Langdon,” he murmured. “It sounds right.”

They sat quietly for a few minutes, letting the moment stretch out between them. The warmth, the safety, the ordinary sweetness of their son playing nearby, of naming a daughter they hadn’t met but already loved.

Frank glanced at Y/N again, voice low. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For this,” he said simply. “For knowing when I needed to breathe. For bringing me here.”

She turned to face him fully. “You don’t have to thank me for that, Frank. We’re each other’s people. That’s what we do.”

Their foreheads touched again, a soft, grounding kind of intimacy.

Somewhere across the room, Tanner shrieked with delight as he discovered the glitter glue bin.

Frank chuckled. “Well. There goes his shirt.”

Y/N rolled her eyes affectionately. “And probably his shoes.”

He pulled her hand to his lips, kissed it gently, and leaned back in the tiny plastic chair with a sigh.

#imagine #imagines #the pitt imagine #the pitt #frank langdon imagine #dr frank langdon x reader #dr frank langdon imagine #frank langdon x reader #dr frank langdon #frank langdon #fics

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14dayswithyou · 6 months ago

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How cutiesai made 14 Days With You

I've received quite a few requests in the past asking how I made 14DWY, what resources I used, how I organised my lore, etc. — so I figured I'd make one big post and share it with everyone else as well! It features a buuunch of helpful stuff I wish I'd known when I first made 14DWY, so hopefully this will help others too!

⚠ This is all copied & pasted from a Discord post I made back in early 2024! I'll also be adding to it over time, so feel free to check back every so often! ^^

What engine do I use?

14DWY uses the Ren'Py engine!

There are two preinstalled games (called "Tutorial" and "The Question") that give you a basic rundown on how to use the program!!

Zeil Learning's video called "Ren'py Tutorial For Beginners" is also a good place to start for those who have no idea where to begin with Ren'Py!

I also really recommend these Ren'Py resources:

Lemma Soft Forums

Ren'Py Discord server

Ren'Py subreddit

Zeil Learnings, ElaineDoesCoding, Visual Novel Design, and Ess Ren'Py Tutorials on YouTube

Searching through the "Ren'Py" tag on itch.io for community-made assets and resources (make sure to give credit if you use someone's asset(s))!

Feniks and Wattson offer some really helpful stuff!!

Not Ren'Py related, but helpful for creating a VN:

Obsidian and Notion for planning and worldbuilding

Visual Studio Code and Atom (comes preinstalled with Ren'Py iirc?) for scripting/coding

Pixabay and Pexels for royalty-free images and stock photos

DOVA-SYNDROME for music

Clip Studio Paint (paid) and Krita (free) for drawing

Toyhou.se to store your littol guys (If you need an invite code, I have over 300 to give away lmao ^^ Send in an ask to @cutiesigh if you'd like one!)

An itch.io account to upload your game for free and share it with others

General tips to keep in mind:

Make games for fun, not for fame. Too often, I see new developers create VNs with "trending tropes" because they see how successful it is and want the same level of popularity. As harsh as it sounds, this only makes your game feel hollow and superficial, and players will notice.

When using Ren'Py, it's better to have multiple .rpy files rather than putting everything into one large file!! It makes organising and finding things easier, and if something gets corrupted... at least you won't lose everything!

Plan everything beforehand, but give yourself room to expand and implement new ideas.

Start small and slowly expand over time. Don't start off with an overly ambitious project, as it can be disheartening when you put all this effort into something just for it not to gain any traction. Also, be grateful for your earliest supporters, as they're the ones who will lift your project off the ground!!

This is a personal preference, but I recommend starting off with itch.io as your main distribution platform. Most storefronts take a cut from your donations and revenue, and sites like Steam require a $100 fee just to publish your game on their platform. Itch is free, and you can even toggle off revenue sharing in your profile settings! (I like to keep it at 10% though, because I'm grateful for everything the site provides ♡)

If you ever need help with Ren'Py, you're always welcome to join the 14DWY Discord server and ping me in the help channel!

#💖 — 14 days with queue.#🖤 — shut up sai.#to be tagged later #faq

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insomniac4000 · 2 months ago

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ChrisMD- Wedding Woes

The problem with being two internet-famous people in love was the internet part.

There was ChrisMD; The Youtuber. Known for football, free kicks, chaos with his mates, and his occasional vulnerable chatty videos about his mental health, and of course his short stature had somehow managed to keep his engagement to Y/N two million subscribers on Tiktok superstar, travel vlogger, and Instagram queen almost entirely under wraps for eight months.

That was a miracle in itself.

They had told their friends in phases: George Clarke first, who accidentally threw a cushion across the room and screamed when Y/N held up the ring during a game night. Then WillNE and Harry Lewis, who immediately began placing bets on who would cry more during the ceremony (odds were on Chris). Reev had cried when he found out. Theo Baker filmed a vlog that never aired where he just talked about how happy he was for them for ten minutes straight.

But they had kept it tight. Incredibly, miraculously tight.

Except now, three weeks away from the wedding, the pressure was mounting and they were both worried about fans catching on. Certain corners of the internet had ears sharper than any dog, eyes sharper than any owl, more cunning than any fox. They knew things, they found out things, they could be relentless. They were watching them. Always. And Y/N was exhausted.

She stood in the kitchen, steaming cup of coffee in her hands as she was deep in thought. She felt Chris’s arms snake gently around her waist from behind, his voice low. “Still thinking about it?”

Y/N didn’t answer for a beat. Then: “It’s like we’re fugitives.”

He chuckled into her shoulder. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. I’ve always wanted to be in a spy movie.”

“Chris.”

“I’m serious. We’ve got code names. Secret locations. George almost booked his flight under ‘Mr. Clarksworth’ like he was in Mission Impossible.”

Y/N sighed, leaning back against him. “It’s just not fun anymore. I didn’t think I’d care, but… they don’t know when to stop. I hate hiding. I hate lying.”

Chris turned her around, his expression gentler now. “We’re not lying. We’re just protecting it, protecting us.”

“They think we don’t trust them they’re still our fans.”

“Do you trust seven million strangers with knowing the time and place of our wedding?”

Y/N frowned. “…Fair point.”

Chris pulled her into a hug. “We’re doing the right thing.”

She let herself be wrapped in it for a moment. “I just wanted one thing… one thing that was just ours. But it’s like even when I’m not filming, I’m still being watched.” People often argued as she was a public figure that she wasn’t entitled to any privacy but she disagreed. Just because there were some aspects of her life that she felt comfortable about sharing that didn’t mean her whole life should be an open book.

Chris didn’t argue, in fact he wholeheartedly agreed with her. They only soft launched their relationship after four months because someone found out by studying Instagram backgrounds and recognising they were in the same place, twice. That was all it took. One of the main reasons why they fell in love was because they were on the same page, they understood each other. She knew him beyond free kicks and being short. He knew the Y/N who cried when she was overwhelmed, the one who needed quiet walks with no cameras, the one who didn’t want to feel like her entire life was up for review in the comments.

“Hey,” he said softly. “If it gets worse, we can cut more people. Smaller wedding. We can even just elope. Seriously. I’ll marry you in a shack on the beach if you want.”

Y/N looked up at him, amused despite herself. “A shack.”

“With a dog as a witness.”

“A dog?”

“A goat, then. Whatever Cabo Verde’s got.”

She finally smiled. “You’re ridiculous.”

“But you love me.”

“I do.”

He kissed her forehead, and for a moment, it all melted away.

Despite the tension, the operation was going surprisingly well. Their friends were incredibly supportive; George had filmed three weeks worth of his Podcast in advance, Arthur and Bach announced a season break for a month so no suspicions would be raised there. Will had a plan to set his Instagram location to constantly bounce between London and Madrid to throw people off. Her best friend and fellow content creator had a bunch of grid posts ready, some from the hen which had already taken place in Malta a few weeks before which would hopefully throw people off the scent, but even so the pressure was bubbling.

Two weeks until the big day, Y/N had a proper meltdown.

It was 1 a.m., and they were packing in their bedroom, surrounded by suitcases and crumpled lists. Chris was folding shirts. Y/N was staring at a list of last-minute confirmations from the wedding planner. And then, without warning, she burst into tears.

Chris was beside her in a second. “Hey, hey, what’s going on?”

“I just…” she sobbed, “I can’t; what if someone leaks it? What if it pisses it down?What if the flowers don’t arrive and the cake melts and I trip walking down the aisle and some idiot with a drone films it and I end up on MailOnline as ‘Influencer Bride FAILS Wedding’?”

Chris bit back a laugh and instead pulled her into a hug. “First of all, you could fall face-first into the cake and I’d still marry you. Second, we’ve got this. Everyone’s been so amazing. We’ve made it this far. And third—what if it’s perfect?”

She sniffled against his chest.

“What if the flowers are beautiful, and the sun sets at the perfect moment, and you walk down the aisle and I’m crying like a mug and everyone’s just... really, truly happy for us. And no one ruins it. Because we didn’t let them. But most of all, it will be perfect because I’m marrying you.”

Y/N pulled back, her eyes glassy. “That was disgustingly sweet.”

“Thank you, I try.”

She exhaled shakily. “I just hate this side of it. The guessing. The pressure. People thinking they’re owed every part of us.”

Chris nodded. “We owe them great content. We don’t owe them this.” He kissed her head, it was her absolute favourite kiss and always calmed her down.

The flight out was like a covert operation

All guests were told to stagger their flights where possible and arrive through different airports. Everyone was instructed not to post until after the wedding.

George, Bach and both Arthur’s arrived together and pretended they were shooting a platform roulette when the recording had actually taken place a few days beforehand. The Sidemen had an airtight excuse; they just posted that JJ and Tobi were in Dubai, a planned diversion. Even Freezy played along, posting photos of him “in Italy” while sipping cocktails on a veranda in Santa Maria.

Y/N and Chris flew separately, Chris going through Frankfurt, Y/N via Lisbon, meeting secretly in a quiet corner of the Cabo Verde airport before being whisked away in a blacked-out van.

“This is insane,” Y/N muttered, laughing despite herself as she flopped into the seat. “Feels like we’re in a spy movie.”

Chris leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Worth it though. Hi I’m Bond. Chris Bond.”

“You’re so corny,” she giggled, he sent her a cheeky grin in return, the type that made her heart melt.

The villa they were staying in the night before was everything they’d dreamed of.

Perched on a cliff with whitewashed walls and bright bougainvillaea, it had gorgeous views of the sea, warm breezes, and an air of tranquil privacy. Local chefs were preparing fresh food. The planner had delivered everything on time. The cake was perfect. The dress was here.

No one had leaked a thing.

The night before the wedding, Y/N stood barefoot on the balcony, her curls bouncing in the breeze. Below, fairy lights twinkled in the garden where guests were laughing over cocktails.

Chris joined her quietly. “Hey.”

She turned, smiling softly. “Hi.”

He reached for her hand. “Tomorrow’s the day.”

“Tomorrow, I’m going to marry you.”

They stood in silence for a while, just holding hands and watching the waves crash.

“I’m glad we did it this way. Despite all the stress. Y/N whispered. “We did it. We really kept it quiet.”

Chris pressed a kiss to her temple. “Tomorrow, we get to celebrate. Not for them. For us.” They toasted glasses of champagne.

The wedding was perfect.

No drones. No paparazzi. No fans screaming. Just laughter, family, friends, elegance, sunlight, and the sound of waves in the background.

Y/N walked down the aisle barefoot, veil trailing in the breeze. Chris’s hands shook as she approached, eyes already glassy. George tried not to cry. Reev failed miserably.

Their vows were quiet, private things. Promises made not for content, not for cameras, but for each other although Chris couldn’t help but add a little joke about the number of subscribers he had.

At the reception, they danced under string lights while the sea sparkled behind them. The food was phenomenal. Harry got too drunk and gave a speech about true love that ended in tears. Liv gave them matching friendship bracelets “to commemorate your ultimate collab.” Becky forced everyone to do a shot, even Chris’s nan, who was a little bit too willing to comply.

No one checked their phones. No one streamed. No one leaked a thing. It would be posted soon, in their own time. When they were ready, maybe after the honeymoon but for now it was their little secret.

#chrismd #chris dixon #chrismd fic #chrismd x reader #chrismd imagine

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wreckingtickles · 11 months ago

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Ruffling Their Feathers

Bakugo and Todoroki are captured by the double-crossing Hawks, and they happen to have the second half of a code he and Dabi want. Hawks has a very... unconventional idea on how to get them to talk.

Characters: Lees Baku + Todo, ler Hawks (minor ler Dabi)

Words: 7,312

Couldn't find a similar picture for Todoroki (I need an archive of MHA characters looking might ticklish), so Bakugo's footer will have to do.

That frown's going away real soon.

Very intense and barely SFW foot tickles below the cut!

“It’s your fault!”

“It’s no one’s fault. We couldn’t have known that there was a traitor in the squad.”

Bakugo and Todoroki’s latest one-sided argument, a staple of their relationship since the provisional license course, was caused by their capture at the hands of the League of Villains.

It had all begun with a typo. They were supposed to be at the agency by 15:15, but the message they received instructed them to be there at 14:15. So they’d arrived just in time to see Hawks download the codes to the heroes’ secret communications channel, only half of which was given to each team.

They didn’t remember much else prior to waking up in that square, empty room, seated side by side facing the door that would usher in who knew what horrors.

The irritation at being taken out so easily was compounded by their inability to access their Quirks, which had them more than a little worried, as did their restraints: their wrists were fitted through two holes in the middle of a set of stocks that also held their ankles, one at either side of their hands, so they were hunched forward with their knees bent. The most concerning part, however, was the fact that on top of every part of their costumes that could be used as a weapon or contain hidden gadgets, their boots had also been removed and each of their toes pulled back and restrained individually, just barely out of reach of their fingers. It didn’t need a genius to surmise that if they couldn’t break out soon, they would be tortured.

Bakugo badly needed someone to blame, and Todoroki was the perfect anvil to his hammer. But the half-and-half hero wouldn’t need to wait for his crabby companion to run out of steam as Dabi and Hawks walked into the room.

“Hello, boys!” said Hawks cheerfully, greeting them as if they’d just come across each other in a shopping center.

“Fuck you, you disgusting two-faced piece of shit!”

“Traitor,” greeted Todoroki.

“I appreciate you’re angry and disappointed, but understand that, from my perspective, your good intentions are getting in the way of true justice,” explained Hawks, mostly to Todoroki, as Bakugo’s barrage of epithets made conversation with him impossible.

Dabi leaned against the wall next to the door, both glaring at Todoroki.

“Now, let me reassure you that your Quirks aren’t gone forever. We only take drastic measures if they’re strictly necessary,” explained the feathered villain.

“Your father will still have a use for you,” uttered Dabi with a venomous grin. “That is, unless we choose to ruin you for good.”

“Come on, Dabi, you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar!”

“And you kill more moths with fire.” A blue flame appeared in his palm, the sight of which finally silenced Bakugo. “So?”

“If my methods don’t work, you’re free to have your way with them,” conceded Hawks. “But I know it will. I tested them. Leave this to me.”

“Forget it. You’re an idiot and you’re wasting everybody’s time. The only reason we’re doing it your way for now is that Shigaraki put you in charge of their interrogation, and that’s only because he doesn’t know about your ridiculous plan.”

“Shouldn’t you have had this discussion before coming in here?” interjected Todoroki.

Dabi glared, taking a step towards Todoroki, who gave a start.

Bakugo gave him the side eye. He shouldn’t be showing fear. But Dabi had stopped his advance, a nonplussed look on his face, while Todoroki kept fidgeting next to Bakugo.

Before Bakugo could wonder what was happening, his head whipped forward with alarm as he felt something on his right foot. A light, insistent pressure moving up his sole, heel to toes, then back down. He hafted in place, but no matter how much he stretched his fingers, he couldn’t even reach his toes.

What was that?!

“As I was saying,” resumed Hawks, stepping closer to the captives, wings beginning to unfurl, “I need the second half of the code for the agency’s comms, and you guys will give it to us.”

“Or?” spat Bakugo, Todoroki growing more restless next to him. He saw a red feather detach itself from the top of Hawks’s left wing and fly through the air towards him, specifically towards his left foot, where it began to move erratically, dragging its plumes across his arch. But even though Bakugo now understood what the pressure on both of his soles was, it didn’t click for him until Hawks said, “I’ll tickle it out of you.”

Bakugo should have been relieved. They weren’t going to hurt them, at least for the time being. But all he could feel was outraged, outraged that Hawks seriously thought that they’d sell out the pros over something so childish, so insignificant. “Are you fucking kidding me?! Just because it’s so easy for you to sell out, do you really think--"

And then he heard it. A chuckle. Not from Hawks, not even from Dabi. From Todoroki. To his left, Todoroki was jerking his legs, his face scrunched in an attempt to stifle an obvious smile and the sounds of mirth that were trying to spill out of his mouth.

Bakugo felt betrayed for the second time that day. “You gotta be shitting me.”

Todoroki could feel every plume, every tiny barb on the tip of each of those two feathers as it bent to fit the curve of his sole, dozens, hundreds of them being dragged up and down the bottom of his straight, slim feet.

Hawks smirked while Dabi looked transfixed, almost as speechless as Bakugo. “Well, well, look at Endeavor’s prized spawn now,” he commented as he allowed the corner of his lip to curl up ever so slightly.

“Dude, for real?!” whined Bakugo, but Todoroki couldn’t answer, as he kept squirming and whipping his head side to side, his eyes scrunched shut.

“I, I cahan’t h-hehelp it!” whine the half-and-half hero, instantly regretting trying to speak as he had to double his efforts to prevent any even more embarrassing sounds from coming out. Having grown up with a criminally abusive father and having been separated from his siblings, the only person who had tickled him for most of his life was his mother, and a long time had gone by since the last time. Then, when he began attending UA, first Deku and then Kirishima allowed Todoroki to discover that he was, in fact, still ticklish, and very much so, as if he had never been inured to it, which also led to another crucial difference between him and Bakugo: while the latter wouldn’t allow himself to laugh unless his very worst spots were targeted (though his poker face was terrible), Todoroki was completely unable to cope with the sensation and stifle his reactions.

And the two feathers were barely trying at all.

“Your ‘method’ doesn’t seem to be working on the other one,” observed Dabi. Sure, watching Endeavor’s son squirm from something so silly was entertaining, but they were supposed to move out as soon as Shigaraki called them, and to have the information by then.

“Of course it doesn’t fucking work, who do you think you’re dealing with?!”

Hawks shrugged. “I can also do this.”

“Like this stupid fucking thing is going to work oHOn--!”

Bakugo bit his tongue when the plume ends of the feathers were replaced by their sharp quills.

“That silenced him? Good,” remarked Dabi.

“D-Don’t be an idiot, t-this is nothing!!” protested Bakugo, wincing when the feathers scratched at the ball of his foot.

Next to him, Todoroki went on eeping with his eyes scrunched shut. He didn’t have so strong an opinion as Bakugo on which method was worse yet, but both were proving quite effective, especially when the feathers trailed up and down his arches.

“I think you heard him,” Dabi told Hawks, suddenly appearing a lot more into it than before.

“I sure did,” claimed Hawks as he grinned at Bakugo a moment before a flock of feathers flew off his wings and swarmed the captives’ soles.

“TCH!!” escaped Bakugo’s lips, his cheeks puffed up and becoming a deeper shade of red every second.

Todoroki skipped the giggling phase entirely. “Noahahahahahahahahahahahahhaaha!!!! Iihihihhihit tihihihicklehehehehehsss!!!!” he protested, a surprisingly innocent expression of mirthful suffering on his face that would have melted anyone’s heart. Anyone’s, but his current tickler’s.

“You really should have kept your mouth shut,” commented Dabi as he shot the beet-red, thrashing Bakugo an amused grin, voicing Todoroki’s thoughts while the trainee was too busy failing to cope with the onslaught of sensation.

Hawks was thorough. There was a feather sawing between the heroes’ toes and swiping at the stems, while the tip of another ran left and right across their base. There was a quill scratching at the center of the ball and spiraling outward and another outlining the underside. Plumes teased the inner part of the instep while another feather ran up and down the arch, and two more focused on the heel and its conjunction with the arch.

The feathers on Bakugo’s feet all used their quill end, save for the ones sawing between his toes, while the ones working Todoroki over mixed and matched approaches. It was the weirdest and most humiliating display of masterful control over one’s Quirk that either trainee had ever experienced.

Unbridled laughter spilled forth from Todoroki, the variety of methods and the multiplicity of spots under fire subjecting him to a sensation that he’d only started to reacquaint himself with a few months prior thanks to his classmates, who’d been delighted to discover that the serious golden child was super ticklish and didn’t know how to handle it in the slightest.

His left foot was proving to be once again more sensitive than the right, though even just the latter would have been enough to turn him into a hysterical mess. The colder sole was not as vulnerable to the plumes as the left, upon which plumes and quills wreaked twinned havoc.

Seeing the trainee writhe like he was experiencing actual torture sparked a miasma of disgust in the pit of Dabi’s stomach. “Endeavor’s son just gave up, uh,” he mocked. “I’m kind of disappointed.” Yet the amused twinkle in his eye gave the lie to his bored tone.

“He really laughs like he’s never been tickled before,” chuckled Hawks, effortlessly multitasking while putting the two aspiring heroes through their paces. “Guess his home life wasn’t the best. Well, we’re going to make him real happy unless he fesses up.”

The miasma began to lift as Dabi contemplated Todoroki’s helplessness in the face of the ridiculous torment. But if his laughter sparked conflicting feelings of contempt and morbid fascination in the villain, Bakugo was far less ambivalent about how he felt about it.

He loathed it. He truly did. He wanted to punch the hero for letting those degenerates think that… that preposterous, humiliating method would work. Todoroki’s hilarity was peer-pressuring him into giving in as well, surrendering to the overpowering invitation of the over a dozen quills searing his nerves, loosening the locks on his lungs and lips from which a cacophony of grunts, snorts, and even embarrassing yelps slipped out, but no laughter, no, no laughter, it if was the last thing he did!!

What Dabi and Hawks saw was an extremely ticklish guy bellowing and writhing like he was being electrocuted.

“He really hates it,” deadpanned Dabi.

Having an already solid grasp on what made the short-fused trainee tic despite having known him for a few days only, Hawks took that chance to say, “I don’t know if I should be impressed that he’s not laughing his head off despite being so ticklish, or pity him for thinking that he’s fooling anyone.”

“KKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! GHHHHHHHH!!! SH-SHHUUUUUUUTTT-- NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!” Nope, no talking.

Hawks’s smirk grew a little wider. It’d be so easy to crack him. But… “It would be healthier if you let it out, you look like you’re about to pop a vein,” he recommended as he had his feathers move slightly faster. Dabi didn’t notice the shift except through the rise in pitch in Todoroki’s laughter and Bakugo’s pointless struggling growing even more desperate.

If only they could reach their feet, shield them from the pesky feathers, they were right there, just out of reach!!

Suddenly, the tickling slowed down. None of the feathers left their post, but they eased up enough that the terribly ticklish captives would be able to understand Hawks’s next words.

“M-Motherf--" Bakugo tried to say while catching his breath, allowing some of his contracted muscles to relax, but he couldn’t risk getting the entire word out.

Todoroki’s laughter decreased to a steady stream of breathless giggles. The tears at the corners of his half-closed eyes, the blush on his cheeks, the forced yet carefree-looking smile… Hawks had to admit that he looked precious.

“Now, let’s practice loosening your tongues a little,” Hawks started, pacing around them like a drill sergeant. “I assume neither of you wants to spill the beans yet?”

Bakugo lunged at him with a bite, but Hawks was out of reach.

“Baby steps. So I’ll make you an offer. If you tell me where it tickles the most I promise I will be nice…r.”

Dabi quirked an eyebrow. Really?

Hawks nodded back confidently, stopping in front of the two trainees. “You don’t want me to find out on my own.”

Bakugo and Todoroki glared as well as they could under their present circumstances.

“Any takers?” Hawks asked nonchalantly.

Even Todoroki made a show of clenching his jaw, although sputtering giggles soon leaked out.

“Too bad,” sighed Hawks. “For you, I mean.”

Without warning, the eight feathers tormenting each foot converged on the heel, scribbling madly at and all around the mound.

“Nohohoht agahahahahaahhaahinnn!!!” giggled Todoroki, his shoulders rising and falling as he tried and failed to pull his feet back through the stocks, scrunch up his soles, cover them with his hands, anything.

“TCH! F-Fuhuck t-thihis!!!” snarled Bakugo, his restlessness mirroring Todoroki’s but with a more irate tinge.

“Hey Dabi, wanna compare and contrast?” asked Hawks.

“Leave me out of it.”

“I thought Todoroki was the most ticklish of the two, but I’m not so sure anymore,” said Hawks, knowing how to push Bakugo’s buttons.

“GGGGGGGGGGGRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!”

“I can’t really tell. Let’s try the arch.”

The avian congregation climbed a little higher, up the slope of the arch. About half of the feathers harassing Todoroki switched to sawing their plumes up and down his arch, left and right, while Bakugo, whom Hawks knew to be less responsive to this method, got the full sixteen quills.

“Ohohohohohoh nohohoOOOOOOOOOHOHOHOHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAAHA!!! NOOOOHAHHAHAHAAT THEHEHEHEHEHHEHEHEREEEEE!!!”

Todoroki’s giggling once again morphed into full-blown laughter, the loudest as of yet. Though the strength behind his attempts to break free seemed to have waned before, he redoubled his futile efforts, pulling at his wrists and ankles as if it would save him, or somehow make the sensation more bearable.

“Looks like I’ve found a sweet spot,” gloated Hawks, but he wasn’t content with that apparent victory. He carefully observed Todoroki’s body language, noticing that every few seconds, he would lean to the right, until his energy ebbed and he slumped forward again, only to repeat the maneuver moments later as the feathers completed another pass. He didn’t seem to be trying to lean closer to Bakugo, no, there was something else… afoot. And Hawks thought he knew exactly what that was.

But that wasn’t all that he noticed. Bakugo had lowered his head, no doubt to prevent the villains from seeing his expression - as if his body wasn't eloquent enough. That position would only hinder his breathing, depleting his stamina faster and making it even harder to endure a prolonged attack. Hawks wondered if he was even aware of the high-pitched whine, like the wind-up to a scream, that he was emitting as he desperately tried to keep his mouth closed. But the most interesting part was how Bakugo would occasionally freeze up for a moment when the quills hit the very top of the arch, only for him to kick with both legs an instant later.

Hawks tested his theory by having the feathers linger on that spot a couple of seconds longer than they did during previous passes. Sure enough, Bakugo’s purple face shot up for a moment, the curses he wanted to utter dying into a defeated growl.

Hawks knew he could have broken him simply by staying there, but he had a flair for the dramatic. So he moved the feathers to the center of the arch, renewing Todoroki’s hysterical fit, before abruptly moving all the feathers to the balls of the heroes’ feet.

Bakugo’s head shot up again, this time to hurl a fiery glare at Hawks, equal parts incredulity and betrayal, but really, a recognition that breaking had always been inevitable.

“Three…” chanted Hawks, smiling at Bakugo, whose face looked like it was about to burst open.

“Tw--"

“FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHCCCCCKKKKKKKK!!!! IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIILLLLL KIIIIIHIHIHIILLLL YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUHUHUHUHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAAAA!!”

“Oh wow. When he breaks, he breaks hard,” remarked Hawks, pretending to cover one of his ears. Dabi ignored him, though he caught him sneaking glances at Todoroki, whose hysteria was eclipsed by the violence with which Bakugo’s damn had burst, but ever-present nonetheless.

There was no overselling the all-encompassing loathing that Bakugo felt at that moment, having fallen short of his own self-serving standards. It simply did not compute that a traitor who had everything Bakugo wanted would torture them in such a childish way, and that Bakugo would be unable to shrug it off.

The quills pricked and scratched at the sensitive pads, with a special regards for the very center as Hawks had immediately figured out it was one of the most sensitive parts, lavishing plenty of attention on the underside too, the perfect recipe to keep the resentful laughter flowing.

“FUUUUUUUUUUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHCCKKK!!! YOHOHOUUHUHUHU BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASTAHAHAHAHARD!!! ILL KIIIIII-- STOOOOOHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAAPPPP THAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHATTTT!!!”

“This is great,” chuckled Hawks.

“You’re weird.”

Hawks shrugged. “Eh, it’s just fun to take them down a peg. Especially that one. Hey, are you laughing too hard to hear me? ‘Cause later, we’re spending plenty of time on that spot that you seem to like so much.”

Sadly, Bakugo could hear him, but any retort he tried to cook up got swallowed by the involuntary gales that those tiny, harmless feathers kept pumping out of him.

Though the journey from the ball of his foot to the toes was a very short one, Bakugo could tell Hawks was trying to drag it out as much as possible, slowly dragging the quills as well. There was an understanding that he wasn’t done.

The feathers then began sawing between and across the trainees’ toes. This method proved especially effective on Todoroki, the obvious jolt running through him confirming that that was a more sensitive spot than the ball, so Hawk kept five feathers per foot swishing between and along his toes while three more scratched at the base, occasionally poking the tips too.

But Hawks knew that he could do better with Bakugo, so he kept one quill poking and scribbling under the base of each toe, with the plume end of just one feather swishing across the stems, one quill planted firmly in the center of his big toe, and one more poking each of the other tips in turn.

The trainees didn’t have the chance to marvel at Hawks’s unmatched coordination, the combination of precision and effectiveness he was unleashing on them, but they certainly did feel its effects.

“Hahahaha HAHAHAAHAH!!! Nohohohohhoho moHOHOHohohahahahahaharrEHEHEHEHE!!! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHhahaahahahahahahhaahahahahahahahaha!!!” pleaded Todoroki, ticklish tears pouring down his cheeks and collecting on his seat between his legs. He felt as if he’d been abducted by aliens, unable to comprehend what was happening to him or why. Part of him probably felt embarrassed, but the shock, the absurdity of it all, removed his ego from the equation, leaving him alone before a sensation he’d only experienced a handful of times through his classmates, and through his mother so many years prior.

Bakugo wasn’t faring that much better. He was naturally louder than Todoroki, but for the first time in his life, he was trying to keep it down, and failing. Hawks couldn’t have devised a better method to tickle that area.

“HAHAHahahaahahahahaha!!! FIHIHIHIHght mehehEHEHEHE liiiihihihiKEEEHEHEH AAHAHAHA maaaahahahahahahahAAAAAHAHAHAHANNN!! OHOHOHO hahahahahahaha!!!”

“You want to fight me?” Hawks snickered. “I don’t fight widdle tickly babies.”

“SHHUUUUUUHAHAHAHAHAT!! UUHUHUUHAHAHAHAHAHHAPPP!!!!”

Oh, the sheer frustration Bakugo felt at his own ticklishness preventing him from discharging his anger was immense, but the imposed hilarity sapped even that.

Hawks walked around to his side. “It tickles less than before, right? I’m sure you can stop laughing if you really try. Come on!”

Bakugo was trying, he was trying so hard, and Hawks’s mockery messed even more with his concentration. But the genie was out of the bottle.

“HaahahahaHAHAHAHAHAH!!! ………….PPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!! HAHAHAahaahahahahahaha!!! NNNNNNNNGGGggggghhhhhh…………. ggggghAHHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!”

Hawks began to circle around them, removing his black leather gloves as he did so. “Remember that this all will stop if you give me the code.”

He stopped in front of the stocks, throwing his gloves to Dabi, who reflexively caught them in mid-air and then dropped them.

He wiggled his fingers mere inches away from their feet. He waited long enough for them to see it, his left hand approaching Bakugo’s left sole, his right nearing Todoroki’s right, only to drift further to the side, to the left sole he’d determined to be more sensitive.

“Don’t forget, this hawk has talons too.” And he struck.

Dabi nearly gave a start as the room got a lot louder than he’d expected.

“NOOOAHAHAHAHAHHAHAAHHAHAHAAAAAAA!!! IHIHIHIHIHITT TIHIHIHHICKLEHEHEHESSSS!!! DOOOHOHOHAHAHAHAHHAAHAHN’T!!!”

“SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIHIHIHIHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHTTT!!! KEEHEHEHP YOUHUR FUHUHUHUHCKING HAHAHAHAHANDS… NAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAA!!!”

True to his word, Hawks had chosen violence. His short, dull nails scratched expertly at the ball of Bakugo’s foot and at the arch of Todoroki’s, having identified them as their weakest spots.

The volume and desperation of their laughter was all the confirmation he needed.

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAH!!! STAAAAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHPPP!!! YOUHUHUHHUHU CAHAHAHAHAAAAHAHAHAHANNN’T!!! HAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHA!!!”

“BWAHAHAHWHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! IHIHIHHILL KIHIHHHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA!!! CUHUHUT THAHAHAHAHAT OOOOOHUHUHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAHA!!! I SAHAHAHAHD-- NAHAHAHAHAHAHHHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAA!!!”

The feathers didn’t remain idle either. He left five on Todoroki’s right foot to complement the motions of his fingers, so they’d target his toes when he was busy with the arch, and the arch when he was busy with his toes, while the eleven on the left flitted back and forth between those two spots, skidding up and down the ball as well as they changed posts.

Hawks was no kinder to Bakugo, his wiggling fingers focusing on the ball and the base of his toes together with three feathers. The remaining fifteen ravaged the same two spots on his right foot, especially the center and underside of the pad. Naturally, all used their quill end.

It was pinpoint torment neither trainee knew how to deal with, Hawks’s dexterous touches appearing to raise the temperature and depleting their stamina and sanity alike while they felt their dignity slowly but sonorously leak out in the form of laughter they couldn’t control, the traitor having completely hijacked their ability to express themselves.

“As you can see, I’m a man of my word,” began Hawks. “Am I not?”

“EHEHEHHNOHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHGH!!! PLEHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHASEEE!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!”

“HAHAHAHAHAHAH!!! GHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAAHHAHAHHA!!! FUHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHCK!!!”

“You gotta say it if you want me to stop. I’m a man of my word, am I not?”

Todoroki wasn’t completely opposed to indulging villains in case it made them complacent, while Bakugo’s ego was bound to get in the way of any concession. However, Todoroki’s reply was not the result of a calculation, but mere reflex.

“HAHAHAHAHHAHA!!! YEEEHAHAHAHAHAHHASSSS!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAAAA!!!”

“He needs to say it too,” hummed Hawks, nodding his head toward Bakugo while his fingers picked up the pace.

Bakugo too was operating on reflex alone, and his instincts were inimical to their predicament.

“GHAHAHAHAHAHAHHA!!! EHEHEHEHHAT SHHAHHAHAHAAHHAAHT!!! FUUHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAAHHAHHAHAHAHACCCK!!!!”

“You hear that, Todoroki? My hands are tied. Well, yours are. And your feet too. Which makes it so easy for me to do this,” he explained as the feathers also began to move faster and the motions of his hands grew more unpredictable.

Todoroki all but howled. “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA!!! BAHAHAHAHAHAAHKUUUUGOHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!! PLEAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHASEEE!!!”

“SHIHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAATTTTT!!! FUHAHAHAHAHAHAHCKIHIHING TRAHAHAHAHAHITAHAHAHAHHAAR!!! STAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAPPP!!!”

“Listen to your friend. Help him help you.” His nails moved to the ball of Bakugo’s right foot, the feathers instantly moving to compensate.

Bakugo arched his back with such force the stocks creaked. “GYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAAH!!! SHIHIHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHTTT!!!! STAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAAAPP! YOOOHUHU GOOHAHAHAHAHAHTTTTAAAAA STOHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAPPP!!”

“I don’t gotta do anything. Say it. I’m a man of my word.”

“NAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHA!!!!”

“Suit yourself. I’ll try again in 10 more minutes.”

The horror in their teary eyes and strained laughter was instantly apparent.

“SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAAT!!! YEEEEEEAHAHAHAHAHAHAHSSSS!!! YOHAHAHAHAH AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHHAAHHAHHAHAREEEHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! GHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!! STAHAHAHAHHAHAHAP STAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAPPP!!!”

And Hawks did. He stepped away from them while the feathers floated to a safer distance.

The trainees heaved and panted, their lungs burning and their throats parched, Bakugo slumped backwards, Todoroki forward as if he was collapsing in on himself.

“This is pathetic. The whole thing,” remarked Dabi.

Hawks shrugged. “I don’t enjoy needless violence. And pathetic or not, it seems to be working wonders.”

“If - no, when you fail and Shigaraki hears this is how you’ve been wasting our time…”

“I won't fail. Just look at them,” claimed Hawks, though one corner of his smile was frozen. He clapped his hands, addressing the flushed heroes again. “Now, listen close. I’m going to start tickling you again soon.”

Bakugo winced and shot a feeble glare at hawks, a pitiful attempt to disguise fear as intimidation, while Todoroki’s shoulders slumped as he prepared himself for the inevitable.

“That’s the stick. Now, here’s the carrot. I’ll stop tickling whichever of you gives me the code. The other gets these,” he announced as he began to rummage in his costume, a ruse to give both trainees time to focus on him once again and grew more apprehensive.

He then pulled out two mundane items: a fork, and Bakugo’s orange hairbrush.

“I got these while I was waiting for Dabi,” he said, moving the two items slightly, the trainees’ eyes following them with wariness. Too easy.

“The one who spills the beans doesn’t have to find out how much they tickle. The other…”

He put the two tools back inside his utility belt.

“Anyone got anything to say?”

Bakugo and Todoroki looked at each other. Todoroki looked like he’d been running for an hour, endurance having never been his strong suit, but Bakugo begin to wonder whether he would actually cave. There was something in the half-and-half hero’s stare, some kind of request maybe. He couldn’t be about to come clean, could he? Or… was he trying to encourage him to resist?

The thought made Bakugo’s blood boil even though a rivulet of sweat already drenched the back of his costume. Did Todoroki really think that he might call it quits? That he was that weak?

But Bakugo didn’t have the energy to fight, so he just averted his gaze, fixing it on the stocks on the other side of which were his all too tender feet and useless hands.

Hawks tutted. “Too bad. Hawks, would you set a 10-minute timer? We’re getting serious now.”

He didn’t give the trainees time to brace themselves before striking.

His fingers got to work on the same spots as before, though he targeted Todoroki’s right foot rather than his left, and the sixteen feathers he’d been using on each trainee struck at every vulnerable part of that same foot as two horrifying new implements joined the interrogation: Hawks’s wings.

Todoroki shrieked. The amalgamation of feathers which Hawks could animate at will was an ebullient blanket of ticklishness, the plumes coming alive to tease the entirety of Todoroki’s sole in an all-encompassing attack that effortlessly reached between his toes and the sides and even the top of his foot as well. Hundreds or thousands of feathers, exponentially more barbs, and Todoroki could feel them all.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!”

Hawks had threatened the trainees with the hairbrush and fork, but he knew his wing would be just as if not more devastating to the criminal No. 1’s son. He also stiffened the feathers of his left wing since Bakugo was not as sensitive to light touches, and he lacked the bandwidth to remotely control any more feathers without sacrificing accuracy…

Which is why, not even a minute in, the hawk turned 90° and swished at Todoroki’s soles with both wings, while both of his talons pounced on the balls of Bakugo’s feet.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“GYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!! YOU FUHAHAHAHAHHAHACKHEHEHHEHR THAHAHAHAT’S UNFAAFAFAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!”

Bakugo’s unprecedented cackling was met with Todoroki falling into a choked silence. Sensory overload.

Not even that was able to shut Bakugo up, but the dedicated fingers, accompanied by the sixteen that had been hounding him for a while plus the extra sixteen that migrated over from Todoroki, melted his protests into desperate incoherence, about half the quills matching the movements of Hawks’s fingers to crowd his weakest spots as much as possible.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! NAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHA!!! YOOOOOOOHUHUHUHUHU!!!! SHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!! IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII-- I CAAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!! HAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAAHHAAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!”

Despite what he’d told Dabi, Hawks couldn’t believe how well the two trainees were responding. He was relieved that this harmless method might actually buy him enough time. He just hoped--

Todoroki’s own laughter returned as a whine, which only served to remind Hawks to divide his attention more equally between the two of them. Though by virtue of being the only one he could see from his position, Bakugo was bound to get the shorter end of the stick. He could stand to be taken down a peg, Hawks told himself as he looked into the young hero’s bulging, tear-filled eyes, fractured babble interspersing the hysterical peals.

Those eternal ten minutes weren’t simply meant to break them, no. Hawks’s Quirk wasn’t merely about moving his feathers: he could feel through them. He noticed that Todoroki’s left foot was warmer than usual, and his right colder, which gave him an idea; and he also noticed that Bakugo’s feet were getting damper and slicker the more he tickled him, which gave him another. He’d keep them safe from Dabi even if he had to tickle them into unconsciousness to do it.

“Time’s up,” muttered Dabi, more invested than he’d ever admit.

“Is it? Eh, I’ll just keep going,” yelled Hawks to give the trainees a chance to hear him. Todoroki let out something that vaguely sounded like a sob, while Bakugo was too preoccupied with the fingers and feathers to respond.

But when he noticed Dabi getting more impatient, Hawks did finally take a step back and allowed the trainees to breathe. Their chests heaving, their hair weighed down by perspiration, the fight had been tickled out of Bakugo, while Todoroki looked like he was about to pass out from exhaustion.

“You know, I’ve gone about this all wrong,” he announced. “Dabi, I’m going to need your help.”

“Forget it.”

“I need your Quirk.” He pointed his thumb at Bakugo, who made an effort to listen and was rewarded with a shiver. “I need you to keep his feet close to the fire.”

“Finally,” huffed Dabi as he began to stride toward Bakugo, who recoiled in horror.

“You aren’t hurting him. There’s one last thing I want to try,” explained Hawks. “See, I remember that his Quirk is based around sweat, and he seems to keep getting more ticklish over time. So I just need a little bit of heat.”

“You’re joking.”

“They’re about to cave, and I’ll give you all the credit. By the way, I suspect your Quirk would also do wonders on his right side,” he added, pointing at Todoroki this time.

“Unbelievable,” scoffed Dabi. Yet, sure enough, two small blue flames appeared in his palms. Bakugo winced.

“Farther,” commanded Hawks. Dabi rolled his eyes, but complied again.

It was warm, very warm, but not painful. Bakugo had followed a word in three, but he knew he shouldn’t be too happy about the heat displacing the phantom tickles that still tormented his soles.

“Now, where was I? Right. I’ve gone about this all wrong, because there’s two of you, and one code. I’ve been splitting my attention, but I only need to break one of you. So…”

He rested a hand on the top of Todoroki’s shoulder, the exhausted hero regarding him with… Bakugo hadn’t expected it, but there were embers of defiance left in Todoroki’s alarmed scowl.

“I’m going to focus on you, and only you, until one of you fesses up or, frankly, you pass out. Would be a first, but I kind of want to see that. And if that happens, luckily we have a spare.”

“You’re not… going to get… away with this,” panted Todoroki. Bakugo had definitely underestimated him.

Hawks gave him an empty smile. “You’d better hope I do, ‘cause if I don’t, Dabi gets to have fun with you, and he likes his meat well done.”

He clapped a hand on Todoroki’s back, who recoiled under his touch. “If you’re worried about saving face, maybe your friend will speak up for you. He looks like the empathetic kind,” jested Hawks.

Todoroki glanced at Bakugo, currently in the process of glaring at Dabi. He took a deep breath to brace himself.

Hawks walked around him, a solid half of each wing detaching itself and floating to the other side of the stocks. “Last chance,” he whispered in Todoroki’s ear.

“Drop dead,” spat Todoroki.

So Hawks struck. Not with the feathers, however. No, while Todoroki was distracted by the wings positioning themselves right in front of his feet, the tips of the feathers already grazing his soles, Hawks’s hands slipped under Todoroki’s jacket and find purchase in the skin of his sides underneath.

Bakugo saw a look of utter bewilderment cross Todoroki’s face before hysteria overwrote his features completely.

“HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! THAHAHAHHAHAT’S NOHOHOT… OH MY HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHA!!! THAHAHAHAHAT’S NOHOHOOOOHOHOT FAAAAAAHAHAHHAHAAIIIRR!!!” he screamed, accidentally echoing Bakugo.

“I thought I remembered this!” said a self-satisfied Hawks. “Two for two, uh? Man, did the doctors just take the two most ticklish halves of you and glued them together?” he teased as his fingers kept kneading into Todoroki’s swimmer-like flanks, the thumb pressing deep into the soft tissue and discovering the muscle underneath that stretched all the way to his toned stomach.

“GHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHPPP!!! EHEHEHEHENOOOOOOOOOOOOOAHHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHGHHH!!!”

He squirmed in his seat with newfound vigor, though he wasn’t getting away from Hawks’s prying fingers, sometimes digging hard into his sides, sometimes gently brushing his nails up and down. He leaned so hard to the left that for a moment Bakugo worried he might dislodge his shoulder.

“Look at you trying to squirm away,” cooed Hawks. “Is it because your right side is more sensitive? I think it is. Let’s see if I can find another jackpot up here on the left side,” he continued as he began clawing at the left side of Todoroki’s stomach ,who sucked it in and remained breathless for a moment, but just a moment before laughter poured out again.

“Umh, maybe a bit better, but not a homerun… How about here?”

He spidered his fingers up and down the trainee’s ribcage, a view that despite being partially concealed by Todoroki’s jacket, which rode up to show the lower part of his stomach, caused Bakugo to instinctively lean forward to shield his own ribs with his elbows.

Todoroki’s laughter was still positively frantic as Hawks’s other hand never left his right side, but he didn’t seem satisfied. “Maybe here?” he ventured as he pushed his fingers further up, squeezing his way into Todoroki’s damp underarm.

The trainee recoiled.

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHHAAHAHHAHAAHT THHHHHHHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHEHEHHEHEHHAHAHAHAHAHAAHRRREEEEE!!! TOOOOOOHOHOHOH!!! GHAHAHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHHAAHAHAHAHAH!!!”

“And here it is!” gloated Hawks, Todoroki trying to clamp down his arms and only succeeding in trapping the offending fingers where he really didn’t want them.

“HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHA!!! HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!! HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHHAAHAHHAAHHAHAHAAHA!!!”

“That’s close enough, I’d say!”

“You’ll pay for this,” hissed Bakugo, undeterred by the heat that lapped at his soles, making them more sensitive by the minute.

Without looking away from his handiwork, Hawks retorted, “You should worry about you, because I think he’s about to get smart.”

“NAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHA!!! IIIIIIIIIIII WOOOHOHOHOHN’T TEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHEHEHHEHEHEHLLL!!! STAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA PLEEEEEEEEEEEEEAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHSEEEE!!!”

“What use is begging? You know what I want. Or maybe you’re asking for more?”

“GHAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHA!! NOOOOOOOOOOOOAHAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAH PLEEEEHAHAHAHAHAHAHSE PLEEEEHAHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAASE!!!”

“I have been neglecting your feet, that’s true. I think they’re feeling lonely.”

“NAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!! NOOOOOOOOOHAHAHAHAHAHT THEHEHEHEHEHEHRE TOOOOOOOOOHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAH!!!”

“Well, they shall cry no longer! Here I gooo!” exclaimed Hawks as his severed wings fully enveloped Todoroki’s feet.

Bakugo saw Todoroki whip his head to the sky, a lunatic grin frozen on his face, eyes bulging and dripping with tears, and gently swaying back and forth in that position without even being able to make a single sound.

Insane. He looked insane. Driven to insanity by fingers and a bunch of feathers. Bakugo couldn’t believe it. He even considered giving them the code for a fleeting moment out of concern for his… classmate. But he couldn’t, Todoroki wouldn’t have wanted him to either.

But even deeper at the back of his mind, there was a reminder, a reminder that if Todoroki passed out, or that if he confessed, then Bakugo would be next.

Dabi was also staring unabashedly. He couldn’t wrap his head around it. Something that childish, tearing down Endeavor’s heir like that. His fingers itched.

Todoroki wasn’t even aware of the fingers tormenting his upper body or the feathers that had taken total hold of his feet. It was as if the sensation had seeped deep into his core, and from there had radiated outward, breaking down his sense of self and severing his mind from his body to keep it afloat in an ocean of overwhelming giddiness. Later, he wouldn’t even recall whether he’d laughed in the end or not.

He just remembered his consciousness resurfacing at one point, and uttering the six fabled digits as if in a dream.

“NO!!” screeched a costernated Bakugo.

“Thank you kindly,” said Hawks as he stepped away from Todoroki and called back his feathers. “Way to confirm the code, by the way,” he told Bakugo.

But as he was making his way toward the exit…

“Wait.”

Dabi was holding up his burner phone. “It’s not time for our meet-up yet. And I seem to recall you’re a man of his word,” he said, eyeing Bakugo.

Hawks stopped. “I am,” he conceded as he walked towards Bakugo, whose heart was sinking into his stomach for an additional reason now.

“Don’t you fucking get any closer!” warned Bakugo without anything to back up his threat, his implicit plea.

“Won’t you get bored?” Hawks asked Dabi, ignoring his cursing target.

“I’ll manage. His right side is the ice one, right?” he asked as Dabi stopped between Todoroki and Bakugo, reaching one hand on the other side of the stocks. “I want to see fire and ice mix,” he stated before making his fingers slightly warmer and jolting Todoroki out of his stupor.

But Bakugo was unable to pay him any mind, transfixed by Hawks’s single finger inching closer and closer to his left sole. It curled gently.

“FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFU--” exploded out of Bakugo, any hope of rebuilding his façade thanks to the break flying out of the window as that one finger made him acutely aware of how much more impossibly sensitive the heat had made him.

Hawks went on scratching delicately, bringing the finger to the center of the ball as Bakugo flailed left and right. He only stopped long enough to retrieve the brush and the fork. “I love being right.”

“GGGGGGGGGHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHAHAHAHHAAHHAHAHA!!! HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!!”

No, it couldn’t tickle that much, it just couldn’t. The fork traveled from the bottom of his arch all the way to the base of his toes, then down, then up again. The hairbrush was large enough to perfectly scrub the upper half of Bakugo’s foot, the part that Hawks was naturally focusing on, the two tools gliding harmlessly on the impossibly tender surface thanks to the offshoot of Bakugo’s Quirk.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHHAAHHAHAHA!!! SSSSSSSSSSSSSSTAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAA!!!!! STAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHHA!! STASTATSAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHHAHAAHHAHA!!!”

“Nah, you had your chance,” said Hawks as he switched the two torture instruments.

Bakugo whipped his head back and forth, if he could he might have banged it on the stocks just to feel something else. And Hawks was unrelenting. Skilled, and unrelenting.

“Weren’t you going to kill me? How are you going to do that? By giggling yourself to death?”

The hard bristles and tines would have scrubbed Bakugo raw if not for his Quirk, but his nerves weren’t any less on fire for it, every ounce of pain having been traded for a different sensation that Bakugo despised even more. But he had no ego left to be bruised, as his entire self was concentrated in his superhumanly sensitive feet, tenderized by the Quirk he was so proud of.

“Now this is an explosion! Oh, you think I’m moving away from the ball? Right where it tickles the most? Oh no no no! I’ll just tickle everywhere else to!”

The part of Bakugo that realized what was about to happen clawed its way to the surface. “NAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAH! NONONONONOHHHHHH!!!! PLEASESTOPPLEAHAHHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAAHSEE!!!”

But the myriad quills that descended on every part of his soles not ravaged by the hellish tools didn’t heed his final plea.

With one last boom of maddened laughter, Bakugo was thrust into the same pit that he’d watched Todoroki sink into, utterly, thoroughly destroyed, drooling, crying, but unable to string enough sounds together to grovel.

Humiliation, embarrassment, disappointment were fictions that had been shattered, as the tickling cut to something primal, genuine within him. Who knew that tickling his feet really hard was the key.

“GHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!! HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAHA!!! GGGGGGHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAAHA!!!”

At some point, Bakugo felt himself float up toward the harsh neon light overhead, gurgling nonsense as the room faded back into focus.

“...ease… nno… moohore…”

But Hawks was already on the threshold, with Dabi having already left the room. Bakugo’s head lolled to the side, allowing him to encounter Todoroki’s dim, concerned gaze.

“Thank you boys!” said Hawks cheerfully. “Someone will come pick you up soon. Pleasure doing business with you!”

He slammed the door behind him, leaving the two tickle-drunk trainees in the room alone.

As his circumstances flooded back to the forefront, Todoroki’s concern pissed him off. “How–” his voice cracked. Water. “How could you?!” He wasn’t quite sure if he was referring to the code, or to what Hawks had put him through after.

Todoroki didn’t respond, but looked at the door. “Ssh.”

He’d… shushed him? That guy had shushed him–

Bakugo’s eyes bulged out of his sockets when he saw Todoroki lift the upper portion of the stocks and slide his sore wrists and ankles out. To safety, to freedom.

Bakugo forgot everything he wanted to yell. “How… When…?!”

“Hawks did it,” whispered Todoroki as he stretched his sore limbs. Bakugo tried to lift his own stocks, and lo and behold, they opened. There was a feather in the lock, which Todoroki grabbed.

Bakugo’s shock was plain on his expression, his smile muscles stiff.

“Didn’t you notice… what Hawks was writing… with his feathers?” asked Todoroki. He took a deep breath as he shuffled towards the door. “He’s on our side. He wants… us to escape and… tell the agency… to change the code.”

Bakugo was still incredulous as the hallway opened up before him.

“Come on,” said Todoroki as he started out of the room.

Bakugo followed him, to be sure. But he was thinking. He hadn’t noticed anything. And if Todoroki knew all along, how much of it had been an act? And if he had put up a show for their captors, so he could convincingly give up the code later… did he think that Bakugo was weak?

Bakugo grunted. Todoroki shot him a puzzled look, but didn’t stop.

He couldn’t allow the half and half bastard to think of him that way. To feel superior. He had to show him who was really the most ticklish.

#mha tickle #tickle content #bnha tickle #tickletorture #tickle fic #ticklish!bakugo #ticklish!bakugou #lee!bakugo #lee!bakugou #ticklish!todoroki #lee!todoroki #ler!hawks #ler!dabi

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crying-fantasies · 7 months ago

Text

Bathing

Masterlist

Featuring TFA! Optimus Prime, Smut/fluff/humor, CW: The reader wants the robot, kissing, indecent thoughts, use of lube/fluid, painful stretch, penetration, and mass displacement, mention of off comments about xenophobia (it's the Animated universe), Optimus is a prudent lover, get yourself someone that looks at you like Optimus does.

Cold cleansing fluid over an exhausted frame is always a pleasure, a way to wind out stress over his depleted circuits, a moment of peace or a good place hidden from the others to let out his frustration in more than one way, be it screaming or just standing there in complete silence, overthinking on his judgment and what he can do to better himself.

Cold fluid doesn't go well with you, what is a nice cold for him is a frostbite inducing juice for you, and you could get cooked by warm fluid, took a moment to finally adapt.

You’re nothing but adaptable, and Optimus has problems following your lead when your idea to use his washing room first appears, your patience is a prominent factor in the whole process.

“Is it okay for me to-?”

Your words would hardly keep at bay the need in them while holding his hips flush to yours, feeling the plush give of your skin, the warmth of your welcoming arms as they hold his back strut, still bigger than you, but in this size, it so much easier to left the drain closed, let it flood the closed compartment, you catch his interest with the way your fingers drag nails over his plating, sending tremors down his frame as you pull him down and your tiptoes do what they can to put you closer, Optimus has kissed you before, many times, and he still can't get enough, you're so brave but also so greedy, he is reminded of such when your tongue makes contact with his derma, making him vent hot steam and soon welcoming your intrusion, holding your hips over, letting himself be greedy, be passionate in other ways as his leg strut helps you to be near, your legs don't hold onto his hips as the fluid is already so helpful to let you float if only a bit, gives you free rein to show your greedy affection, one that shines bright for the both of you when he still struggles to let you know of his more openly outside a little tease that only earns him a kiss as a “you tried”.

Cybertronians are very closed of mind when it comes to a lot of things like tastes or preferences, but if you could condense it to a more basic point, it would be that Autobots can't show their very own selves, pressured under way too many rules, such scrutiny since the moment they get forged, you're no stranger or could oversee how they handle themselves or one another, while the first guys are way more open with how they are you get to learn that such factors of theirs are what got them in so much trouble in the first place when Sentinel and even the very one autobot leader arrived, well, they put down just what they thought of organics while also making some off comments about the bots under their rank.

Bumblebee is an exception to that, being his very own dorky self, and also being the first one to end up in a dead-end worker group, Bulkhead got out of his shell too, with time, being a variant since heavy worker frames shouldn't invest their time in fine arts, Prowl is never quiet about his love for organic life and Jazz seems to learn a thing or two about it if the way he greets you now if anything to go by, Ratchet is, as always, unapologetic in what he thinks, experience and life itself making him see what is import above species, ages or even beliefs.

Optimus was the harder to crack open, but almost dying not once but twice makes him see that, yeah, the autobot code isn't absolute for everything, and once he does doesn't take much for him to finally make a double take and, okay, maybe he does like you in some way that isn't becoming of an autobot, no matter how lower is the rank.

Still, not even the fact of almost dying two times makes it any easier to leave behind what he has always been taught since the time in the academy or the very same cycle he was forged, Optimus struggles with the bare minimum of open affection, hand holding is hard as it is since he is way bigger than you, he is holding his gaze down or shielding you with his frame when a poisonous gaze over you or whoever that is composed of meat and not metal, but Optimus is kind, he is sweet, he just struggles with tenderness between different species just as normally as anyone should, you also have problems with it as both are in the same boat.

Optimus is tenderness impersonated, but he is also the embodiment of awkwardness, especially when there is a moment you want to be intimate, trying to appear collected, the voice of reason, the first one to say “It won't fit” when he is still way taller than you while mass displaced, and yes, he is the one to push you away a bit even when his face can't be more flushed by energon as his servos press against you, but you let it go, because he has a point, it won't fit just like that.

Thus, is your explanation on why you had dragged him back to a bathing house in the next town, a place big enough for him to move around, once inside the underground parking lot, no prying optics to see in such an old place, Optimus is still amazed by the rudimentary environment, too familiar with Detroit and the futuristic lifestyle, it was shocking for him to see that not everyone has a robot maid or a talking Roomba, even more when he notices that the bathhouse is so old that they still used powder soap that he can trace in the walls, engraved by years of use and natural chemicals in an abstract gallery in the forgotten paint.

A glimpse into the old ways of humanity and Optimus looks at you with sincere appreciation, the place has been abandoned for years, but the water is still running, hot and natural, at first he is weirded out by your suggestion, being the voice of reason against your horny self that knew almost no boundaries since the moment your greedy hands got into private, confidential information when he didn't notice you walking into his berthroom.

“What about an infection?”

“What about your dick in my-?”, he never lets you finish, a servo soon over your mouth, but you bet it is more due to making him feel strained against his panels than real prudence if the colorful blue of his is anything to go by. He is sweet, the most kind you've ever dated, with his helm well placed over his shoulders to think first about your overall wellness over the pleasure, but that precious part of him is only adding fire to the growing hell fire in your pants because there is nothing more precious and hot than such a gentlemech that really likes you, what's more, letting yourself hope he loves you. If he does love you, then the minimum thing you could do is at least try to suck his intake until he is begging for mercy or grunting over your ear to the point of losing yourself only for him to take back together in his arms.

The answer, hidden in plain sight in front of you, comes when you take some time with him inside his berthroom, Optimus cycles his optics once, then twice when you seem to find bountiful heaven in his private washroom, eyes bright and mouth covered by your hands, almost like you were soon to fall to your knees by some kind of miracle, “anything important there?”. Optimus realizes, soon enough, that that shiny twinkle in your eyes is anything but a promise of your deviant wishes.

One request got an answer, a very heated one, and before he could say anything beyond the “Are you sure?” you were soon getting your underwear out, leg propped up against the wall.

Turns out, the desire humans could show was really beyond the understanding of a cybertronian, or Optimus was truly out of his element while you tried if the cleaning fluid would do any harm to you once he checked the chemical components twice, only heated it a tad bit more and you were ready to go.

Optimus has half the processor to repent for his lack of loving gestures toward you, is anything, he has hardly some time to do so much as your hand reaches around the seams of his modesty panel, letting go of his dermas to let him feel the drops of fluid falling to his face plate as you delve deeper into his frame, he embraces you in the right way, holding and finally showing his version of unbound passion as his derma kisses softly over your exposed neck, trying to see once again what he is keeping away from you, a hard squeeze down there has his denta barely scratching over your skin as he gives you the most reverent and hot gaze he has ever shot at your direction, “can you show me again, big guy?”

The washing room isn't the only thing flooding if the pinkish fluid streaming out of his panel is something to lead yourself, at first as a question, but of course, with an alien lover comes more than one interesting detail about his anatomy that you're eager to learn about, Optimus can hardly hold his mind together when you hold him for the first time, dragging the tip of his spike over your entrance, teasing, and he has to bite down a nasty comment, but he is sure a steaming “you're fragging hot” is way too bland for you, no matter as it seems as you laugh breathlessly, hardly reaching the button to stop the fluid from falling over you, it doesn't stop you, your fingers doing quick work to use it as extra moisture, all he can say, or do, is a sound between a wheeze and a laugh by the way you clamp down on him, there are no words above a function glitch when you keep down and down. Servos dragging over your exposed skin, he fears you could fall from his hold, your hands pushing at his shoulder armor, only to realize your wandering and lustful gaze when your bodies connect, he also follows your eyes, looking how he is almost all inside, your body almost freefalls again, his servos hold on your midsection, one soon flying to protect your head from any impact against the wall, must be fear, must be the way he reached inside in a different angle, almost sure he poked a bone or something else, so little, so sweet, you drag him in, kissing him senseless as he seems to have done a right move if the lovely sound you drown on his dermas and the squeeze that almost makes him bluescreen.

“See that?”, your hips move, undulating, the fluids drenching you from head to toe, drops falling slowly over your curves, over that little rise of your skin where he is sure the tip of his spike is teasing against your flesh, “it did fit”.

Optimus with a gremlin-like partner is something I love dearly, not sure who asked for the prompt with TFA Optimus but it was a delight, dear.

@tf-kinktober2024

#transformers #reader insert #x reader #tf mtmte #transformers x reader #transformers x human reader #tf optimus prime #tfa optimus prime #optimus prime x reader #optimus prime transformers #tf kinktober 2024

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letsquestjess · 13 days ago

Text

Never Thought I'd Love Like This (Fox x GN!Reader)

Summary: When the data systems go down at the Coruscant Detention Centre, you are sent to collect the datapad records until the problem is fixed. While you are there, you catch the eye of Commander Fox.

Word count: 3.3K

Warnings: None.

The grunt teeming at the back of Fox’s throat formed an irritated grumble. He jabbed at the monitor, cursing the infernal device as the same error message replaced the loading icon. He didn’t know why he thought another attempt would offer different results after hours of trying to send their morning reports. All he wanted was to submit the latest prisoner details to the network and get on with his day. Yet, that confounded crimson triangle halted every effort.

“Have you tried resetting the system?” Thorn asked, setting a steaming cup of caf on the desk beside him.

“Three times already,” Fox replied. “Kriffing reports just won’t send.”

“Nothing is going through,” Stone confirmed from the screens over the opposite side of the office, four displays returning the same failure code and a fifth buffering before it, too, responded in kind. “Could be a signal issue.”

That was the last thing Fox needed. More problems to clear up. Many assumed the Coruscant Guard had a straightforward job; corral criminals, a bit of correspondence and form-filling, and a cup of caf to top it off. But the core world of the galaxy relished trouble, throwing curveballs on a daily basis to keep them sharp. He would happily do without the added disquiet, especially with seven more arrests called in overnight and holding cells running out, but their line of work afforded them no such luck.

“Last time that happened, it only lasted an hour,” Thorn pointed out. “This has been going on all morning.”

The side entrance unsealed in a gasp and shut again once it had admitted Thire, a wearied slump in his posture. “Okay, I have good news and bad news.”

“Good news first,” Thorn pleaded.

“Headquarters assured me the problem can be resolved.”

“And the bad news,” Fox pressed, removing his helmet and ruffling out his curls.

“It’s going to take a while to fix,” Thire replied.

“How long?”

“They’re not sure.”

“Was the system hacked?” Stone asked.

“The engineers don’t know. They haven’t been able to find anything definitive yet,” Thire said. “Only thing they could tell me was that we are in this for the long haul, but they are sending representatives to each precinct a few times a week to collect datapads with the records and reports on them.”

Already depleted from a restless night and any chance of a quiet day quickly vanishing, Fox planted his face in his gloved hands. The rough fabric pressed into his forehead and the fans on the side of the data transfer system blew hot air onto his cheeks.

“Could be worse,” Stone offered. “At least we don’t have to write them out and deliver them ourselves.”

Fox rose from his slouch and frowned at his brother in arms, daring him to make another unhelpful comment. “Very practical, Stone. Thank you.”

“Anything to cheer you up, commander,” Stone replied. He snatched a free datapad from the holder on the wall and collapsed into a swinging chair.

“Our designated representative will be here this afternoon,” Thire said, handing the rest of the datapads out, “so we better get to work if we want everything correlated by the time they arrive.”

* * *

A yawning shadow clung to the corridor that admitted you into the detention centre, the tube lights from the office directing a feeble wedge onto the floor and the obnoxious buzz of the laser-blocked entryway beside it casting an ominous red glow. You coasted into the silence and peeked into the window, trying the button on the frame when you found the place deserted. Your call went unanswered.

Ruminating on what to do, you took a seat on the uncomfortable benches bolted into the wall facing the office. Nothing you could do without those datapads, and if the clones on duty were busy, the only option left was to wait.

As the minutes floated by inside the cold quiet, you pondered the possibility you’d arrived at the wrong precinct. Your job never usually required you to visit this part of Coruscant, and deciding to double check, you rose to your feet to call your boss. Half-way through dialling in the communication number, a red and white armoured clone entered the office and granted you a cursory glance.

“I was starting to worry I’d got the wrong place,” you admitted with an apprehensive chortle. The expressionless helmet stared, and you dropped the humorous approach.

“Crime report forms are on the side,” he told you, waving vaguely in the direction of the paper pile on the corner of the counter. “Put it in the box by the door once you’re done, and we’ll contact you when we can.”

“Oh, I’m not here for that. I’ve come to collect the datapads.” You wrested your identification from your pocket for him to verify. After a skim of the details, the lasers deactivated long enough for him to deposit the loaded crate just outside. You noted the symbol of the Coruscant Guard on his shoulder pauldron as he lifted himself back up. “Thanks. Have the requisition forms been completed too?”

“Everything you asked for is there.”

“Perfect.” A stable grip on the box, you hoisted the cargo up onto the counter and logged the pickup on your own datapad. With such sensitive information in your care, your superiors emphasised the importance of documenting where the records were at all times.

The clone guard returned to the office while you noted your location. By the time you finished, a second had joined him and stood expectantly by the window.

“Take it you’re our representative,” he said.

“That’s me,” you replied, introducing yourself with a pleasant smile and a friendly disposition.

“I’m Thire. That’s Fox.” Thire jabbed a finger at the clone who’d greeted you. “Don’t worry about him. He hasn’t had his third caf yet, so he’s still grouchy.”

Fox’s face remained obscured, but the tilt of the helmet conveyed the unimpressed scowl that undoubtedly lay beneath it.

“Nice to meet you both,” you said. “Do you need me to pass on any messages?”

“If the engineers could hurry up fixing the problem, that would be great,” Thire answered.

“I don’t think there’s going to be a quick turnaround on that, I’m afraid,” you told him. “Last I heard, two dozen server units were completely fried. It’s affecting droids too, so they’re prioritising getting their programming back up and running before the data systems.”

“What?” Fox demanded, abandoning the far monitor and storming to the window. He advanced so quickly and unexpectedly you intuitively retreated a step, and he reminded himself this was not your fault. “How long will we be waiting?”

You shrugged, wishing you had a conclusive answer for him. “A few weeks, minimum, by my guess. Depends how bad it is and if they find anything else in the meantime.”

Fox’s chest plate rose and fell in slow motions.

“I’ll be back in a couple of days,” you told them. From the top pocket of your jacket, you withdrew a contact card and passed it under the small gap in the window. Thire took it from the collection hollow. “I’m your personal intermediary with HQ, so call me if you need anything.”

“Thanks,” Thire said as you hauled the crate of datapads onto your hip and departed from the detention centre with a modest wave. He turned to Fox and threw the contact card in his direction, the disgruntled commander catching it without even looking and flinging it on the desk with the discarded paper notes. “I’ll get some caf on. It’s going to be a long few weeks.”

In line with your duty, you arrived at the allotted time to collect the reports and ferry them to bleary-eyed administration assistants. Debates on the source of the shut down rapidly became incensed arguments at headquarters, the engineers at each other’s throats as they bickered over cause and solution. The people you had chatted with in passing or wished well on a birthday snapped at you and sent you on your way with a dismissive wave.

Due to the volatile air of the main hub, you dawdled at the detention centre during pick up. If your colleagues were only going to snap at you for doing your job, why would you not want to stick around the clone troopers making you laugh and telling stories about each other?

With each visit, they vied to impress you with tales and jokes, not that they needed to. You appreciated spending time with people who treated you as an equal. Regardless of the circumstances of birth or creation, the Coruscant Guard considered you one of their own. You were all on the same malfunctioning ship, and to them, you were another pair of hands stopping it from crashing.

You sank into the familiarity, soon offering your own stories. Tales of an undesirable date from years ago turned into the entire office vowing to locate the unfortunate soul who’d upset you and tidbits of gossip swiftly became points of discussion.

Over a month into your regular visits, you nudged the code into the panel with your elbow to deactivate the lasers and shuffled through before they revived into an electric buzz. Welcomed into the office, a fresh stack of records anticipated your arrival.

You made your usual greetings to the clones within and parked the larger box on the ground, situating the smaller, wrapped carton onto the side. You set about slotting the datapads into the designated ports in the crate, mindful not to disturb the protective packaging.

“What’s that?” Stone asked, motioning to the extra package you’d brought.

“A gift for you all.”

“What kind of gift?”

“Careful,” you warned as he reached for the twine keeping the decorated wrapping together. “It’s hot.”

He acknowledged your warning and plucked at the string, folding away the paper. Steam rose from the thin cardboard parcel underneath and the robust scent lured in the other troopers.

“Is that caf?” Thire asked, lifting his helmet and leaning over Stone’s shoulder to assess the contents of the box.

“Sure is,” you confirmed, securing the loaded crate. “You mentioned your caf machine had broken, so I got you all some on the way here. There should be some pastries in there too. I hope they didn’t get squashed.”

“Don’t care,” Stone said with a flaky treat already in his mouth and a cardboard cup in his hand. “Still tastes the same.”

While the others indulged in a fresh caffeine wave and some sweet desserts, thanking you with a mouthful and a grin, Fox hovered by the selection of cream-filled pastries topped with melted chocolate and bright fruit.

“I’d grab one of those if I were you,” you told him. “Otherwise, Stone might steal them all.” The clone in question wiped a blob of jam from his nose and, with a shrug, ate it from his glove, not one to waste food.

Fox stared at the confectionery. “Why did you do this?”

“Does there need to be a reason to do something kind?” you countered.

Your conversations up until that point had been limited, constrained to a few witty remarks to test each other’s mettle in the verbal sparring ground. A growing occurrence he silently relished.

As he sought a reply, a quip of some sort to fire back, he discerned the temperate lilt of your voice, the lift of your cheeks as you smiled at him, and praised his lucky stars he had his helmet on.

“Thank you,” he said, no snark or usual sarcasm. He grabbed the remaining cup of caf and beelined for the monitors before you could respond.

Your wrist comm beeped and with a hasty goodbye, you grabbed the crate and made yourself scarce. Last thing you needed was a late drop-off and more scorn aimed your way.

“You’ll have to remove your helmet to drink that,” Thire said to Fox as they waved you past the window and out into the Coruscanti chill.

“I know,” Fox replied. “I’m waiting for it to cool down.”

“Do you not want to because you’re embarrassed?” Thire teased. He bit into a cream pastry with a jibing grin.

“No.”

“I can practically feel the embarrassment from here.”

“Shut up.”

“Anybody would think you had a cru-“

“Not another word.”

At the slice in Fox’s tone, Thire surrendered with raised palms. “Just saying. There’s little room for actual joy in our jobs, and if you’re happy, why not say something?”

“For that exact reason,” Fox shot back. No point denying anything now, not when he stupidly made his predicament so evident. The others probably knew. Kriff, did you know? He hoped not. “We are clones. There is no space in our lives for that kind of stuff.”

Grumbling and wishing only to avoid the matter, Fox took off into the tangle of corridors behind the office.

Thire regretted pushing. He wanted his brothers to be happy in whatever capacity it presented itself. But some drank from the Kaminoan fountain far too often and ingrained the belief that they were not permitted an existence outside of the Grand Army into every second of their lives. Others dared not dream of that kind of life, deeming it beyond their reach, many desperate not to tempt fate.

Either way, Thire was no fool. He saw how Fox behaved around you and how you naturally lingered close to each other. He only hoped one of you would take that brave step towards happiness before you parted for good.

Weeks melted into months, a routine falling into place with the Coruscant guard. You spoke of sweet treats, and holo-dramas, and rumours from the senate, each visit ending in promises to find out more or watch a recommended show.

During one particular pickup, Thire proudly presented you with a keycard of your own, declaring you an honorary member of the guard. You never disclosed how you returned home that night and cried tears of joy, wiping them away while catching up on the news and spooning ice cream into your mouth to abate the heat beginning to overtake the cold.

Scanning your card, you trudged into the office and deposited the weighty box by the door. Vacant chairs and the meagre clack of the air conditioning greeted you. At the inactive monitors, Fox mulled over his datapad.

“Sorry,” he muttered, helmet abandoned by the printer and his dark strands dripping in front of his face. “It’s taking a while to complete this report.”

“No rush,” you assured him as you poured yourself a cup of cooled caf from the newly-acquired machine and drained half. “Could do with a rest. Management have had me all over the city this morning. Jaya called in sick and I’ve been covering her shift, and Daro has handed in his notice.”

“I thought he was up for a huge promotion?” Fox replied.

“So did I, but as soon as it was announced and he wasn’t on the list, he flung his resignation on the boss’s desk and stormed out. But there is some good news.”

“Oh?”

“The data system should be up and running by the end of the week, so this is my last visit.”

The datapad in Fox’s gloved grasp slipped a few inches, and the concentration nesting in his brow tightened. With a rough clearing of his throat, he straightened from his seat and set about transferring the other datapads into the empty crate.

Fox completed his task in reflective silence, evading your curiosity. You edged nearer and his movements slackened.

“Don’t tell me you’ve grown attached to me,” you teased, deterring the grin as his throat bobbed involuntarily.

With each repeated visit and every lengthier conversation, he eased into your company. In those hushed moments when the office was only occupied by you and him, you had both made admissions you never thought you would, speaking in confidence and reciprocal trust.

“Course not,” the clone trooper replied, sealing the box with a weighty click.

You pretended to go along with his guarded response and leaned against the side desk. “Have you got the requisition requests?”

“Yeah.” Fox reached over your shoulder to pluck the short list from the paper holder behind your head. “It’s just…” Realising his proximity to you, he paused. His amber regard lowered, meeting your own soft surprise. “Here.”

His body stilled. He smelled the caf on you, the faint aroma of springtime surviving on your clothing, and the apple scented soap you used that morning. Your eyes invited him in, the slim parting of your lips drawing him closer. His train of thought bashed through the wall at the other end and kept going, abandoning him completely.

You neither moved nor distanced yourself, locked onto him, powerless to look away. You tried, but that unarmed, tender expression that smoothed out the years of stress on his features held you captivated.

Unsteady on your feet, you urged a hand to his chest armour. “I’ll miss coming here,” you admitted into the muted air between you both.

“You can always call on us,” Fox replied, just as quietly.

“Only prisoners or authorised visitors are allowed in the detention centre,” you reminded him.

Head bowed, he acknowledged you were right.

With a whispered touch, you coiled one of his deep curls around your finger with a smile so serene that Fox craved a taste. Intuition assuming control and aware of the fact he was breaking at least a dozen rules, he captured your lips with his, delighting in the heady rush that surged through him. He cupped your cheeks as soon as you responded in kind, bundling you into his arms. There was every chance his brothers would return from their lunch at any moment, but he did not care. He wanted to hold on to this feeling for as long as he could.

Your lips remained slightly parted as you reluctantly separated, eyelashes fluttering open and drinking in the affection in his eyes. “The detention centre isn’t all there is,” you said. “We could meet up, right? If you have time.”

Time was one thing Fox had very little of, most of it spent working for the good of Coruscant and the remaining hours exhausted at the barracks, training, resting, eating. But for you, he would scrape every second afforded to him. “I’ll make time,” he promised. “As much of it as I can.”

* * *

Fox’s brow creased as he finished up the latest prisoner list, double checking the names and numbers before he submitted them into the network.

“Don’t know about you, but the logging system seems to be quicker than it used to be,” Stone commented from his own desk.

“I’m certainly not complaining,” Thire replied. “Although I think Fox wishes it had remained broken for a bit longer.” He aimed an arched eyebrow at his brother and snorted at the responding glare. “Lighten up.”

“Leave him alone, Thire,” Stone ordered.

“Oh, come off it. You were the one teasing him when we found out about the kiss, and he’s been moping for weeks.”

“Thire. I mean it.”

Thire sighed and reclined in his seat, landing his crossed ankles onto the surface and reclaiming his datapad to skim the news. Through the transparent screen and the protective window, he detected a flicker of movement. “I’ll be right with you,” he said, focused on more interesting matters.

“Funny, looks to me like you’re reading the news.”

At the sound of your cheery voice, the three guards scrambled to their feet, knocking into each other to check their ears weren’t deceiving them.

“Hey,” Fox greeted. “Have you…. come to report something?”

You met Fox’s surprise with a glowing grin. As stoic as he liked to act, a caring man lay beneath all that.

“Only that management have decided to put permanent representatives in certain locations around Coruscant,” you answered. “Obviously, there’s no need to be ferrying datapads anymore, but they found other matters during the systems outage that call for a much more hands-on approach, especially when it comes to data handling.”

“Does that mean you’re working here now?” Fox asked, the grizzle he normally carried softening.

You nodded, unable to contain your elation. “I’ve been promoted to Coruscant Detention Centre Representative, so it looks like you’ll be seeing a lot more of me.”

TAGLIST (Message if you’d like to be added, 18+ only)

@skellymom @freesia-writes @the-hexfiles @theeyesofasoldier @multi-fan-dom-madness @savebytheodoresnonjosestuff @tech-aficionado @techsriduur @dangraccoon @starrylothcat @jediknightjana @mssbridgerton @trixie2023

#tcw #the clone wars #tcw fanfiction #the clone wars fanfiction #tcw fox #commander fox #tcw fox x reader #commander fox x reader

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 11 months ago

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Code of Conduct 4

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as cheating, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: your boss has a difficult time keeping his personal life from bleeding into his work.

Characters: Steve Rogers, this reader is known as Rosie.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

💼Part of the Bad Bosses AU💼

“Are you sure you want to keep working?” You ask Mr. Rogers as you bring in the printed report he requested.

“Yeah, can’t really go home...” he mutters as he takes the report with a brittle smile.

“I guess, but you could... take some time for yourself. I can call your one o’clock,” you offer.

“Rosie, you’re wonderful. But I need the distraction.”

“Okay, I—can I get you anything? A tea? When I feel down, I have this lavender chamomile in my desk that helps me feel better.”

He looks at you, his blue eyes sparkling. You really can’t handle him crying. His eyes are already pink and puffy from the tears he hid in his closed office.

“You’re so sweet,” he sniffs.

“Look that over and I’ll steep the tea,” you insist.

You leave him before your ingrained sympathy can have you joining his pity party. You feel awful for him but lost too. You’re not sure how to handle all this. Relationships have always been a bit of a mystery to you. You have lot of friends but never found anyone to be more than.

You take your time in the break room. You smell like vinaigrette. It’s another reminder of the chaotic morning. The kettle pops and you pour the water over the tea bag. You bob it up and down with the string and make your way back to Mr. Roger’s office.

He thanks you as you set it down and warn him it’s hot. He runs his thumb up and down the edge of a page then looks up at you.

“Anything else, sir?”

“You... you said you feel down sometimes?” He asks.

“Oh, well, yeah, but everyone does.”

“But... about what? Why would you feel down?” He lowers the stapled papers onto the desk.

“Just... things, sir. Nothing big. It’s just the way people are.”

“You-- you have everything, Rosie. You’re so bright and bubbly. What could make you sad?” He pivots his chair towards you. “Who do I gotta give a talking to around here?”

“No one, sir. Really. I guess I just need a pick-me-up from time to time.”

He nods and looks down. You hover on the other side of his desk. You should get back to work but you don’t know if you should leave him.

“I get lonely too.” He lifts his chin up. “Even when Peggy’s right next to me. I get it.”

“Sir?”

“You said you’re not married, right? I—I'm sorry if I assumed--” he cringes. “Wow, I’m so embarrassing.”

“It’s... it’s fine. I have friends and we have lots of fun. My friend Missie, she’s really cool. She lies to tie-dye. We do that sometimes. And you,” you perk up, “you have Mr. Barnes, right? He told me that you twohave known each other forever.”

“He told you that?” Rogers tilts his head.

“Well, sure, he’s a bit chatty when he stops by.”

“He is?” A brow arches curiously and ripples his forehead. “I shouldn’t be surprised. You’re so easy to talk to. Even with someone like him.”

“Erm, I guess. I just try to see the positive. You know. Um, I don’t mean to presume because I can’t begin to know but I know Peggy loves you. And you have a good job and you can fix this, Mr. Rogers. You could try counselling or I don’t know. Like I said, I don’t know much,” you shrug.

“We did counselling,” he picks up the mug and blows the steam away, inhaling the scent. “She stormed out of that too. We’ve tried a lot of things. A second honeymoon, a vow renewal, everything.” He looks down and his shoulders slump. He looks tiny even though he’s a big man.

“I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to overstep.”

“You didn’t,” he inhales and pushes his shoulders straight. “You’re right, I can do something. I can put myself first. I think... I think I need to look into leaving.”

You blink. You’re speechless. It feels like too much. Not his suggestion, just that he’s saying it to you. You’re fine getting him coffee and sorting his schedule but you haven’t been trained for this.

“You should do what’s best for you, sir.”

He nods and tastes the tea. “It’s good, Rose,” He sets the cup down. “Thanks. You’re... you’re too good to me.”

“It’s just tea. I’ll let you enjoy it in peace and I gotta get back to it.” You smile. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

“Will do,” he utters glumly.

You slowly turn away and stride out. You feel a tugging in your stomach. Like guilt. You feel bad leaving him like that. Yet, you don’t know what else you can do for him. Missie would know. She always knows how to make things better. Maybe you could ask her but it’s a long story.

Hm.

You take out your phone and open up the conversation. You giggle at the kitten pictures she sent you last night. It takes several attempts to get it right; ‘hey, Miss, what would you do for someone going through a break-up? Tryna do something nice. Thx <3’

You’re sure she’ll come up with something, even without all the details. You tuck your phone away and turn back to your screen. As you do, an email pings into Mr. Rogers’ inbox.

You click on it and open the attachment. The legal letterhead has your blood cold. Before you can react, you hear Mr. Rogers exclaim.

Oh no, he’s already seen it. Divorce papers.

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #series #drabble #au #bad bosses #captain america #mcu #marvel #avengers #code of conduct

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herotome · 2 months ago

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Devlog #177

Hi-ho, Wudge here.

I'm gonna try to be rather more transparent than usual in this devlog because aiyaiyai... not gonna lie y'all, I've been feeling a bit disheartened. Not from any one thing! There's no bad guy boogeyman bringing me down! It's just like... woof, game development is a lot.

Some time ago, my country enacted some new policies that forced Paypal to make a lot of changes. I had to (or thought I had to??) get an actual business license and jump through a lot of hoops to make sure I'd still be able to receive and withdraw money from my Paypal account.

For the most part, it all worked out. I'm able to receive money from Ko-Fi and from taking commissions, and I'm able to send money to purchase Herotome's art assets (a new CG and backgrounds are coming along fantastically!)... but ever since the changes, itch.io has consistently had issues with my Paypal account.

I don't know why it's only them. I'm still trying to figure it out. I have a pending ticket with them right now to determine why my most recent itch.io payout has been in review for 65 days.

For a while I tried to switch itch's payouts to Payoneer, but Payoneer charges a yearly fee of $30.00 unless you receive $2,000/year on their platform. I don't have enough itch income to justify the cost.

So I've been trying to switch itch back to paypal and it's been... difficult. It shouldn't be so difficult. It feels shameful that people are trying to support me through itch's site, and their money either never reaches me or goes straight into payoneer's yearly fee.

But if I make a post on itch saying "Hey, itch isn't working well with me on the financial side, you can support me on Ko-Fi instead!"... then I have to draw and post more Ko-Fi expressions, and I'm already so behind on those.

You may be thinking "Well, forget about itch! You can put Herotome on steam instead!" but putting a game on steam also involves jumping through a lot of hoops - to the point where there's services that offer to do it for you (so you'll have to pay the steam fee and for the service).

... So I guess that's a big part of my stress and disheartening feelings right now lol, I have boogeymen after all and they are itch and paypal. But uh, I'm also struggling with feelings of the game feeling like a neverending Sisyphian task, no matter how much I write or how much progress I make, it's never enough...

You guys would probably enjoy playing what I'm working on right now though, right? I have to try and hold onto that thought. I have a few fun scenes mostly done. I don't have expressions coded for any of them...... but writing-wise, I think they're pretty good. Maybe I can hire someone to code in preliminary expressions. It'd be a lot of work for me to onboard, give them context and access to assets, but it could be worth it. I'll think it over

Uhhh. Okay, things I actually did last week -

I rewrote a scene to give Warden more agency; the player now gets a brief 1x1 scene to talk with him BEFORE the free time LI-selection section, and I think y'all will like it.

I also drew a new expression for nurse Jordan

This is how I feel about my payout drama with itch. Hahahaha. Ahh...

Hopefully my ticket gets resolved soon and everything works out smoothly from now on, so I can concentrate more on the actual game.

Stay safe and keep warm,

Wudge.

#herotome update

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junespriince · 9 months ago

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The barely getting paid therapist au

Wally: so, what do we do when faced with a problem?

Kyle: ignore it until it kills me.

Wally: how the hell did you survive childhood, you freak.

Wally: maybe your problems all steam from you not talking to your kids.

Bruce, thinking: no, that can't be it.

Wally, writing down; little bitch syndrome

Wally: you don't have to do everything by yourself, you can ask for help.

Dick: nah, I can fix my own messes.

Wally: asshole, you've been sleeping on this fire escape for two damn weeks, get your shit together and live with me.

Dick: ain't that inappropriate Doctor and patient relations?

Wally: I will kick you off this damn thing.

Wally: kill yourself.

slade: I came for help.

Wally: I already gave you the solution to all your problems.

Barry: I think I messed up the time and space

Wally: welp, you did your best and that's all that matters.

Lex: I want your free therapy.

Wally: you have mommy issues, trying to make a clone of your greatest enemy and me & my husband is a level of patheticness I have ever seen, you handwrite smut of you and Superman and the code the day you two met, you are a freak that needs to be studied. Also how the fuck did you get into my house, I'm in the shower couldn't this waited until I had some pants on?

lex: how the fuck yoiu know about the fics!?

#wally west #dick grayson #bruce wayne #kyle rayner #lex luthor #slade wilson #birdflash #batfam #barry allen #he's not getting paid to be nice #cw kys joke #The barely getting paid therapist au

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thebleedingwoodland · 1 year ago

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THE SIMS 3 TUTORIAL

HOW TO CREATE DEFAULT REPLACEMENT MOD USING CUSTOM MESH & TEXTURE FOR SIMPLE OBJECT

⚠️ Tumblr has 30 pictures limit, so I cannot include too many pictures. If you want to zoom in the pictures, click the pictures to enlarge, or save the pictures into your PC, zoom the pictures on picture viewer or zoom in the pictures on your mobile phone. ⚠️

----------------------------------------------------

I create this tutorial to make easier to follow because there are older tutorials available before but scattered on internet and usually only say "Export to replace s3asc" without explaining how to export the edited object properly.

My method is using TSR Workshop instead of exporting the object using Sims 3 Object Export/Import plug in because exporting to replace the s3asc using that plug in always giving error notification "ERR: Model has 1 groups; original had 0" and cannot be exported.

For beginners who are very new using s3pe and haven't created default replacement mod before, better start from simple object first.

Simple objects I mean in-game object that has single MODL and single texture with no morphs, no GeoStates, no presets, no CAS colour channels, and easily cloned from OBJD on catalogue. Usually as utensils that Sims holding in their hand, not buy/build objects. For example: Pencil, pan, fork, spoon.

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Tools to prepare:

s3oc

s3pe

Milkshape 3D for bone assignment (Version I use 1.8.5 beta, discontinued by its developer, therefore feel free to download the full version with its license key provided).

Sims 3 Object Export/Import 1.01 by Wesley Howe (Milkshape plug-in. Download msS3ObjPluginsV101.rar )

TSR Workshop (Older version for TS3 only version 2.0.88)

TSR Workshop plug-ins for export.import TSRW Object.

3D Program (Blender/Maya/3dsMax)

Editing images software (Photoshop, make sure you have to install .dds plugin by Nvidia. For free software alternative, you can use GIMP with its .dds plugin)

This tutorial will not teach you how to:

Meshing object ❌

Create alpha texture ❌

Change thumbnails in-game ❌

Install programs and plug-ins ❌

This is how I created Chinese chopsticks replacement mod using custom mesh and texture.

In summary, this tutorial has 10 steps:

Step 1. Clone the Object using s3oc

Step 2. Open S3PE to Copy the Original Resource Code and Export the Files

Step 3. Export the Original Mesh as Base Mesh to .obj format

Step 4. Create Your Custom Mesh

Step 5. Bone Assignment & Create Group

Step 6. Create custom Texture

Step 7. Import the .wso of Edited Mesh on TSR Workshop & Export the package

Step 8. Export MODL file from Package saved from TSR Workshop

Step 9. Finalizing in s3pe & Replacing the Original file with Edited File & Correcting the Code As Same As Default Code

Step 10. Test the CC in your game.

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✳️ Step 1. Clone the Object using s3oc

Before cloning the object, check the Game Folder for in-game object file location. Settings > Game Folders...

Take a look if the Base Game or Expansion Pack for object file you want to clone is in the right folder. For example, my The Sims 3 game are all bought from Steam, so the location is D:\SteamLibrary\steamapps\common\The Sims 3

If you want to clone object from Expansion Pack, make sure input the folder location. For example, the location for World Adventures EP is D:\SteamLibrary\steamapps\common\The Sims 3\EP1

If you are done, close the pop-up box. You can continue click Cloning then choose Normal Object...

Wait until you get the whole catalogue. Click Search...

For example, I clone object from World Adventures Expansion Pack. You can clone object from Base Game or other Expansion Packs as long it is considered as "utensil" that Sim holding on hand. For example: "Pencil" or "Pan"

Search for text: chopsticks

or if you want to clone object from Base Game, search: utensil

Tick check marks for Resource Name, Object Name, Object Desc then click "Search button"

Search result gives you results with name "chopsticks". Here is the object we are looking for: UtensilChopsticks

We need the OBJD file to clone. OBJD = Object Data.

Click "Clone or Fix" at the right bottom. Then you see the next page to determine if you want to clone with renumber or not. If you want to make default replacement, then do not check the Renumber box. Keep it blank.

Tick check box means the s3oc will generate new resource code for new item. Not tick the check means the s3oc will overwrite the same resource code, it is to replace object you cloned in-game.

I am personally a detailed person, so I usually tick as many as I want: tick "Deep clone" "Missing String Tables" and "Include Thumbnail" to include more details. Then click "Start" to proceed.

It will give you file name [CreatorName]_ObjectName_Number

Then save your package file in "DBPF Package" format in your project folder. Always make folder for any file to make everything organized.

✳️ Step 2. Open S3PE to Copy the Original Resource Code and Export the Files

Open S3pe, locate your package file you cloned from s3oc. Find the MODL of Utensil Chopsticks, Right-Click, "Details..."

On Resource Details, click "Copy TGI" to copy the Resource Code. Type, Group, and Instance will automatically be copied on clipboard. Then open Notepad, Right-Click to "Paste".

Click GRID on bottom of the s3pe (I mark it red on picture), it will give you pop-up box with Data Grid. Click "Resources", it will be highlight blue and there's 3 dots button appeared on the right side. Click the 3 dots button. It will give you TGI Block List Editor.

Inside MODL's TGI Block List Editor only has IMG. You may wondering why, but that's how the game coded. Type, Group, Instance of _IMG inside TGI Block List Editor should be the same as _IMG on the package.

Copy the TGI, Group, Instance to your Notepad.

After you copied code of MODL, do the same for the texture image (_IMG), but only copy the code from Resource Details. You cannot edit TGI Block List Editor for _IMG as the Grid button for _IMG is greyed out.

The main task is the code of your edited mesh and texture should be the same as the code you copied now from original package you cloned with s3oc.

Keep the code on notepad. You will need this code later.

Export the MODL file. Right-Click, "Export to s3asc". The file appears in long string such with name for example: S3_01661233_08000001_B619DB2238C3430B%%+MODL_filebase

Do not rename the file. Save.

Export the texture file. Right-Click "Export > To File..." The file will be saved in .dds format. Do not rename the file. Save.

✳️ Step 3. Export the Original Mesh as Base Mesh to .obj format

Open Milkshape. Import the s3asc file you saved before.

More steps click spoiler tag "Read More / Keep Reading" below

File > Import > Sims 3 Object Import v 1.01 by Wesley Howe

Locate the s3asc file, then the original chopsticks mesh appears.

Click the "Joints" tab. It has 4 codes. Check box "Draw vertices with bone colors" It will show Bone Assignment colors on the original mesh. Yellow on top chopstick and light blue on bottom chopstick. The colours are to make the object has rig and movement following the Sim's interaction.

Take a look at the 4 codes on Joints Tab. You can play around to see which colour of the code will appear, after that copy paste the code to Notepad to make it easier to comprehend.

Click Select from Tools menu, Select Options: Face. On "Right/Left/Top/Bottom 2D View", Left-click make selection of one part of chopsticks. While the part of object being selected (Red), click Joints then Choose "Assign".

0x96239247 --> Yellow 0xFEAE6981 --> Purple 0xCD68F001 --> Light Blue 0xD0DECA8E --> Red

Your edited mesh must have the exact same Bone Assignment colour later. Check again if the code and colour are correct.

You can save object mesh as .obj to other 3D software such as Blender or any other 3D software.

✳️ Step 4. Create Your Custom Mesh

Use the original .obj as base model. While you can create longer mesh or any edited version as you wish.

Make sure the scale and position of the edited mesh is same as base original mesh, because the edited mesh will be used on Sim's hand.

If you are done editing the mesh, export the UVmap.

You can export the uvmap in higher resolution, as long as it is Power of 2. 64x64, 128x128, 256x256, 512x512, 1024x1024, 2048x2048, 4096x4096. I export in 1024x1024 pixels to make the size of texture larger and have more details.

Then export the mesh object in .obj format.

✳️ Step 5. Bone Assignment & Create Group

Open Milkshape. Import the original mesh.

Check the Groups Tab. Original mesh has 1 group, "group 00". Group 00 means it is the main mesh. There is no shadow beneath the object.

Import the edited mesh as .obj file.

My edited mesh has one single name "default" name on the Group Tab. While edited mesh may have a lot of file name scattered on Group Tab. Regroup the file name to simplify your edited mesh into one single name. Select > Regroup.

The main task is replacing the EA's original mesh with your edited mesh.

Before you delete anything, you must do Bone Assignment first to the edited mesh you created.

Your edited mesh does not have Bone Assignment, so it appears white.

Remember the 4 codes you copied earlier in Notepad.

Copy Bone Assignment from original mesh to your edited mesh.

This case, your want to Bone Assign Yellow colour.

Select > Face to select one part of chopsticks of your edited mesh. On Joints Tab, double click the appropriate code 0x96239247 in blue highlight then the code box on the right side of "Rename" will appear 0x96239247. Make sure the code is correct. Then you can click "Assign".

Your edited mesh will appear in Yellow colour. Then do the same for another part of chopsticks.

Select another part of chopsticks of your edited mesh. On Joints Tab, double click the appropriate code 0xCD68F001 in blue highlight then the code box on the right side of "Rename" will appear 0xCD68F001. Click "Assign".

Your edited mesh will appear in Light Blue colour.

Then what's the other code for? With colour purple and red?

Leave them. Let the codes have the same exact codes as appear in original mesh and let the colours only assigned Yellow and Light Blue. The colours are to determine rig for interaction in-game, which only use Yellow as upper part of chopstick and Light Blue as bottom part of chopstick.

You can safely delete the original mesh with name group00 until it remains your only your edited mesh.

Rename your edited mesh to group00. Type group00 on the box then click "Rename" on the left side.

Export to TSRW Object in .wso format. .wso is format with bone assignment on object attached.

Save your .wso in your project folder.

✳️ Step 6. Create custom Texture

Import original texture you exported from s3pe to your editing image software.

Look at the original texture made by EA. 32x64 pixels. It is very low resolution, blurry and stretched, because the texture should be compressed as low as possible by game designer. As player you want it has higher detail to look realistic as possible and your PC of course can handle high resolution content, sure you can make the resolution much higher than EA's.

Import the UVMap you saved from 3D software. For example, UVmap I imported has 1024x1024 resolution. Add your custom texture. Then save it to .dds format in the same name as original texture. Save in separate folder, name it "Edited Texture" to keep it separated from original texture.

✳️ Step 7. Import the .wso of Edited Mesh on TSR Workshop & Export the package

Open your TSR Workshop.

Create New Project > New Import >Next...

Then Browse original mesh by EA in package format in your project folder.

On Open file box, you cannot see .package file because the filter is .wrk (TSR Workshop Project). Choose the .package dropdown.

Then you can see .package file.

Open the .package. After the file is located, then Next. On Project Details I usually skip without giving name of Project Name and Title. Next.

You must have seen green land with white blank sky.

Where's the mesh? It is actually there... just being zoomed in too close. You need to zoom out by scrolling down mouse.

You can see the original chopsticks mesh by EA. You can save the project file in .wrk format. After you save the file, import the .wso of your edited mesh. Mesh tab > High Level detail. Click green arrow folder icon to import. Then your edited mesh will appear replacing the original EA mesh.

As you see, the texture is messed up because the texture is still using original EA's texture. But then you check Textures tab and it has blank dropdown...

I cannot change the texture on this TSR Workshop!

Don't worry, we can replace the texture on s3pe later.

No need to change anything other than importing mesh. Click Edit > Project Contents to save as package.

You will see pop up box with number or files DDS, FTPT, LITE, MODL, OBJD, OBJK, etc. Export > To. package. Give name such as "EditedChopsticks_TSRW"

✳️ Step 8. Export MODL file from Package saved from TSR Workshop

Open S3PE, File > Open package "EditedChopticks_TSRW" that you saved from TSR Workshop.

Export MODL. Right-Click, export. It gives you file name with [StringOfNumber] .model .

Save it on project folder. Keep it organized and separated from original MODL. Name the folder "Edited MODL". Do not rename the file.

✳️ Step 9. Finalizing in s3pe & Replacing the Original file with Edited File & Correcting the Code As Same As Default Code

Open s3pe, File > Open original package that you cloned from s3oc. [CreatorName]_ObjectName_Number

Find the MODL. Right-Click > Replace...

Locate to your edited MODL with filename .model .

Then click Open.

The original MODL of the package should be replaced with your edited mesh.

Do the same for the texture.

Locate to your edited texture with filename .dds

Then click Open.

The original texture of the package should be replaced with your edited texture.

Take a look at MODL's Type, Group, Instance. It has the same code as original MODL in the original package cloned with s3oc (because it has been replaced)

Don't forget to see the code inside TGI Block List Editor.

Repeat step 2 how to check the code. Right-Click on MODL/IMG > Details... and click GRID > Resources > TGI Block List Editor.

The Type, Group, Instance of the _IMG are different compared from IMG from original package clone, which means that is the evidence of edited mesh replaced the original.

Rename the Instance with default/original Instance you copied on notepad from Step 2. Type, Group, Instance should be the same as default/original Type, Group, Instance.

Open notepad with resource code you copied from Step 2. Make sure the Type, Group, and Instance are all the same.

If the codes are the same, then your edited mesh and texture will overwrite the default mesh and texture with the same code in the game. Save, Commit, Save the package.

Check again if the texture is replaced properly. Right-Click on _IMG > ViewDDS.

ALTERNATIVES!

Yes, you can delete unwanted files in your edited package, to keep the package clean. Simply Right-Click>Deleted.

The only files needed in package are: MODL, _IMG, _KEY

They are the only files with your edited mesh/texture including codes to overwrite the default codes.

You can Start new fresh blank s3pe. Right-Click>Import from file...

Locate your edited MODL and _IMG (texture) file.

On Resource Details box, tick mark "Use resource name" > OK.

Make sure all the Type, Group, and Instance of MODL and _IMG including in the TGI Block List Editor are all the same as the code in original package.

Save the package.

✳️ Step 10. Test the CC in your game.

Put the package to your CC folder in your The Sims 3 document folder to see if the CC is working or not.

If the CC is working as your intended, with your custom mesh and texture, then test the animation. Are the chopsticks animation working as the same as original EA's? If the animation are working well too, then congratulations!

Your default replacement are working. Give applause to yourself. 👏

-------------------------------------

QUESTIONS!

Can I use this tutorial for making default replacement for buy/build object?

A: This tutorial covers basic method of using TSR Workshop and replacing the default codes (Type, Group, Instance), so you will understand the basic principle of doing default replacement mod.

Keep in mind that different object has different case. Buy / build object has MLOD (not just MODL) more than one, texture images more than one, has presets, and CAStable colour channels.

The TGI Block List Editor for buy/build object has a lot of codes, so have to spend a lot of time to do trial-and-error to make the default replacement working properly, because a lot of times the texture doesn't work (still using default EA's texture), or when the object appears right with your edited mesh and texture, after you choose the presets, the object reverts back to your edited mesh with default EA's texture.

Help! The texture is black! / still using same EA's texture when tested in the game!

A: The texture codes must be not the same. Check the Type, Group, Instance of _IMG. Do the codes are the same like codes in original package? Check the TGI Block List Editor for MODL, is the _IMG inside has the same Type, Group, Instance as in original package.

Help! The object disappears when tested in the game!

A: You must be replacing OBJD in your package. Do not replace OBJD. Just MODL and texture only.

#tutorial #the sims 3 #the sims 3 tutorial #thebleedingwoodland #the sims 3 default replacement mod #modding #s3pe #s30c #TSR Workshop

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ayeforscotland · 1 year ago

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winterwidowgirly · 17 days ago

Text

Different Version - Chapter One

Summary: The New Avengers finally get a mission, but it was against someone that no one expected.

Words: 3.2k

Warnings: gore, smut, fluff & ptsd

Masterlist: Chapter Two

Characters: Reader, Bucky Barnes, Yelena Belova, John Walker, Ava Starr, Alexei Shostakov & Bob

It was always quiet at the New Avengers tower because no alerts would go off for missions ever because the missions would always go to Sam's Avengers. It surprised the team when alerts went off on the screen.

Bucky got up from his chair to see what it was about, Yelena got up with him, Walker stayed where he was and Ava joined Bucky and Yelena. There was a red dot on the screen. "The hell is that?" Yelena asked.

"Suit up." Bucky said, already going to the gear room. Yelena, Ava, and John followed.

. . .

When they got there, there was smoke in the sky and bodies. People in gear shot in the chest and even in their eyes. The shots were clean as hell.

Bucky's blood ran cold. "I know what this is," he muttered, looking at the bodies. "Because i've seen this before."

Walker glanced at him. "You sure?"

Bucky crouched down, looking out the dead bodies. He didn't even answer Walker at all. He knew what this was. It was the same placement, same efficiency. Same as what he did.

It was the same as The Winter Soldier.

The team walked through deeper, looking at everything they can see and then Bucky stopped when he saw something or saw someone.

There was a figure in the smoke, with a mask on, a metal arm and wearing the same gear that Bucky would wear as The Winter Soldier, but it wasn't a man... it was a woman.

You immediately went after them, clashing with Bucky first and then the others.

"Stop this!" Bucky shouted. "This isn't you whoever you are!"

You didn't even stop at all. You kept going after the team.

"She's not gonna listen, Bucky!" Yelena said, trying to take you down.

But Bucky was the one to take you down. He punched you before pinning you down. "This isn't you. You're not a weapon."

You were confused.

"We're not your enemy." Bucky said, taking off your mask. "We're not."

. . .

After the fight, you were restrained in a Stark tech containment cell, the room equipped with reinforced blast-proof glass.

Bucky found himself staring at your reflection across the room.

Your gaze was fixed ahead, shoulders tense even though you were no longer fighting. You didn't give any visible sign of emotion, but the faint rhythmic twitch of your metal hand's fingers betrayed a silent tension.

He watched you for a moment, the cold detachment in your eyes mirrored the Winter Soldier's stare. But Bucky saw the difference now - the absence of the programmed obedience, the emptiness beyond the steel. You were a reflection.

You didn't look up as he entered the room, but your eyes tracked him silently.

He could almost see your brain working - calculating, analyzing. But you didn't speak. Just sat there in grim silence, metal fingers twitching like the beat of a clockwork machine.

Bucky approached the glass. There was a tense moment when your gaze flicked up to meet his.

"How long has it been for you?" He asked quietly.

No answer. You just watched him, gaze steady and unblinking.

Bucky sighed, leaning against the counter.

Normally he'd be in the training room, burning off some steam. But this - you - was something he'd never encountered before.

Again, he found his gaze drawn back to the slight rhythmic twitch of your fingers. A nervous habit, perhaps. In anyone else, it might have been an innocent fidget. But in you… it was a reminder of a darker past.

"I'm not gonna hurt you, you know." He said softly.

You didn't reply - but that seemed to be your default stance. No fear. No gratitude. Just a cold, mechanical indifference.

Bucky found himself studying you, analyzing your movements like they were some form of silent code. The way you sat so still. The calculating edge of your gaze.

"I know how it feels." He said, voice low. "To be stripped of your free will. To be a weapon."

Still, you didn't respond. It seemed like even the mention of your conditioning didn't elicit any form of reaction.

But Bucky saw the subtle flinch, a barely perceptible tightening at the corners of your eyes. Perhaps a memory you couldn't suppress.

He leaned forward, lowering his voice.

"They took a part of you. Made you into someone else. Someone without mercy, without empathy. That's what Hydra does."

Silence.

Bucky watched as your eyes flared, a hint of emotion creeping into your expression for the first time since your capture. Anger. Recognition.

Whatever had been done to you, you clearly understood exactly what he was talking about.

"They took your name. They took your identity." He continued, keeping his tone soft. "They made you an extension of themselves. A machine."

Again, that subtle, almost mechanical flinch.

Bucky moved closer to the glass, his gaze never leaving your face.

Even now, with all his knowledge and experience, he couldn't say for sure who - or what you were. A variant? Another brainwashed soldier? A clone?

But one thing he did know - that empty stare, the rigid tension, the way you held yourself… he knew that all too well. He'd seen it every time he looked in the mirror.

"You don't have to be their puppet anymore." He pressed, watching the way you shifted in your seat.

His words seemed to affect you. Your gaze flickered, like the thought of escape was a foreign concept. But it was there, under the surface. A small flame of defiance.

"You choose your path." He said, his voice firm yet understanding.

No response. Just that tense, quiet breathing.

Bucky sighed. It was clear that you weren't going to speak anytime soon. Still, he stood his ground.

He thought back to the fight earlier. The way you moved, the lethal precision of every blow. You'd been trained, conditioned, just like he had.

He tried a different approach. "Can you speak?" He asked, his gaze fixed on your face.

Again, that flicker of emotion in your eyes. Not defiance. Not anger.

Fear.

It was a subtle thing, like a shadow passing over your gaze. But Bucky caught it, and it surprised him. Fear from someone who had been trained to feel nothing?

He took a step back, giving you space. "I'm not asking you to reveal classified intel or anything. Just… talk to me."

Once more, silence settled over the room.

Outside, the night was quiet, the city lights outside the tower twinkling like distant stars. But in here, it was just the soft hum of the machinery and the sound of your breathing.

Yelena came into the room with a tablet in her hand. "We've got her DNA results."

Bucky turned, taking the tablet from Yelena.

The data was there in black and white. A name. A history. Everything the system knew about you.

But it was the last few lines that made his heart sink.

"The daughter of Steve Rogers."

Bucky stared at the data, the words sinking in.

Steve Rogers - the symbol of righteousness, compassion, and the best traits of humanity.

His friend.

All his life, Bucky had known him as a symbol of hope and courage. And now, he was faced with a reality that was both astounding and grim.

"This can't be right…" He muttered, his fingers tightening around the tablet.

Yelena stood there quietly, watching his face. She knew how much Steve had meant to him.

"I ran the test twice." She said, her voice uncharacteristically sober. "It's a match."

Bucky's hand clenched the tablet.

So many thoughts raced through his head. Questions, concerns, doubts… but there was one that kept resurfacing above the rest.

He looked up, his gaze fixed on the room across the glass. "Steve doesn't have a daughter."

"Not that we know of." Yelena responded, her tone careful.

Bucky's mind was spinning. Steve had never mentioned a child. He's never so much as hinted at it. And now, here was the living, breathing proof - a girl with his eyes and his DNA.

Bucky ran a hand through his hair, trying to gather his thoughts.

"This doesn't make sense." He said, pacing the room. "No one ever knew… not the Avengers, not SHIELD, nobody. How is this possible?!"

Yelena shrugged. "It's the only logical conclusion - unless you have a better explanation."

Bucky's eye flicked back to the glass, to your still form. He thought back to the fight, to the way you fought like him, moved like him.

Like a daughter.

He felt his stomach twist at the thought. "How old…" He began, his voice hoarse.

Yelena understood immediately what he meant. She glanced down at the tablet.

"Best guess," she said quietly, "About 82 years old. The serum slowed her aging process down and so did cryo."

Bucky's eyes widened. He'd done the math in his head. That would have been after the war. Back when Steve was frozen in ice.

"That's… that's impossible." He murmured, the words feeling like ash in his mouth. "Who's her mother?"

Yelena shrugged. "No record in our system."

Bucky felt his stomach drop. The thought of someone - anyone - having a child with Steve felt wrong, unnatural. Steve had been devoted to Peggy and the cause. To everyone, he was Captain America. The living symbol of peace and heroism.

The thought of him breaking that commitment, even for a moment, shook Bucky to his very core.

"There has to be a mistake…" He muttered, almost to himself.

But no matter how many times he retraced the data in his head, he couldn't see any error. The DNA samples didn't lie. You were Steve's… and that thought haunted him like a nightmare.

Yelena studied his face, knowing his thoughts as if she could read them. "You need to see for yourself, you know."

He understood what she was saying. He needed to talk to you, to look into your eyes, to find out the truth - if such a thing was even possible.

Bucky exhaled slowly, running a hand over his stubble. "Alright."

He approached the glass again, his gaze locked on you.

In the dim light, he could almost see a hint of Steve in your features. In the strong, square jaw, in the curve of your brow, in the set of your shoulders.

Yelena had left the room.

Now it was just you and him, separated by a few feet of glass and a lifetime of secrets.

He stood there, not sure what to say - or more accurately, what to think. You were Steve's… and that reality was just as alien to him as the thought of you being Hydra's.

Finally, he spoke. "Can you hear me?"

Silence. Just the hum of the room's machinery.

He tried again, keeping his voice low and even. "I know you can understand me."

You still didn't move. Your eyes stayed fixed ahead, the lack of emotion in your gaze making his heart feel like a stone in his chest.

He took a step closer, his hands clenching involuntarily.

Seeing Steve in your features made him ache inside. It was a stark reminder of what he'd lost.

"I won't hurt you." He said, voice hoarse. "I just need to talk to you. Please."

Your head turned ever so slightly, eyeing him with that calculated, machine-like stare. But you didn't move aside from that.

Bucky forced himself to exhale, steeling his nerves.

This was no longer just a mission, or a puzzle to solve. This was Steve's blood on the other side of the glass.

The silence grew heavy in the room, the tension between the two of you like a coiled spring.

He studied you, trying to find some hint of emotion in your gaze, but your expression gave nothing away.

"I need to ask you some questions." He said, his voice still gentle. "Can you speak, at least?"

Again, silence. But this time, there was a hint of movement in your eyes. A flicker of recognition, a quick glance in his direction.

He took heart at that, though your emotionless stoicism was starting to make him agitated.

"Just one word." He pleaded, his voice betraying his desperation. "Anything."

A moment passed.

Another.

Then, finally your mouth moved. But it wasn't what he expected - it was a quiet, sharp gasp.

You suddenly stiffened in your seat, head jerking up as if you'd heard something. Your eyes narrowed, your expression sharpening.

Bucky was taken aback by the sudden change. He watched as your gaze suddenly focused on something over his shoulder.

He turned to see what you were looking at. Nothing. Just an empty corner.

He started to turn back, but then you spoke.

"Leave."

It was a whisper, so soft he almost missed it.

Bucky froze, his heart clenching painfully. That voice…

That one syllable reminded him so much of Steve it was almost cruel.

He spun back around, his eyes locking on yours. "What?"

Your gaze was still fixed on the corner of the room, your face hardened with sharp focus. But something about your demeanor had changed. There was a hint of tension in the way you stood, the way your metal fingers flexed.

"Leave." You repeated, sharper this time.

Bucky's heart was pounding in his chest. Something was wrong. Something you could see but he couldn't.

"Why-" he began, but your voice cut him off.

"Now!" You snapped, and the command was clear.

Bucky's eyes flicked to the corner again, then back to you. But he couldn't see anything out of the ordinary. So he just left to the lounge room.

Yelena and Ava were there to meet him as he exited the holding room.

"What happened?" Yelena asked, taking in his expression. "You look like you saw a ghost."

"She talked." Bucky said, his voice still hoarse with shock. "She told me to leave-"

He didn't get to finish the sentence. Suddenly, alarm sirens blared throughout the building.

"What the…" Ava muttered.

Before they could react, the building lurched.

Bucky felt his balance falter as the floor tilted beneath him. A low, heavy rumble shook the foundation. An earthquake.

"What the hell's happening?!" Yelena shouted over the sirens.

Through the window pane, they could see that the entire city was shaking. Cars were overturning, buildings toppling, people screaming.

It was chaos.

Then came your screams.

Bucky's blood ran cold.

He recognized those screams. Sharp, desperate, filled with fear.

He didn't even think, he just moved.

Yelena tried to stop him, her hand closing on his arm. "Hey, wait! We don't-"

Her words fell on deaf ears. He shook her hand off and bolted back down the corridor towards your cell.

The alarms were still blaring, the building shaking wildly, but he barely registered it. All his focus was on the glass room.

He reached it in seconds, his heart pounding.

His eyes widened at the sight of you. Still bound and tied, but your eyes were now filled with terror.

Your body thrashed violently against the restraints, panic and confusion on your face. You were trying to free yourself, pulling and straining like a trapped animal.

The sight was so jarring, so unlike the emotionless soldier he'd seen earlier, that he almost froze.

You were terrified.

He stepped forward, hands held up in a placating gesture. "It's okay, it's-"

Another quake shook the building, and you pulled your legs up instinctively, trying to shield yourself.

"Hey, hey, look at me." He said, trying to keep his voice steady despite the fear he felt. "You're alright. You're safe."

You didn't respond. You just kept thrashing against the binds, your eyes wide and wild.

Bucky cursed under his breath, his mind racing with thoughts of what could be causing this panic in you. He was used to seeing fear. He'd seen it on the faces of hundreds of victims, prisoners, and enemies. But seeing it on you felt like a knife to the gut.

He drew closer, carefully avoiding any sudden movement that might startle you further. "Calm down, just breathe." He said, his voice low and steady.

But you didn't hear him. Your eyes were darting around, your breath coming in short, pained gasps. You were trapped in a private hell, reliving some past trauma that he couldn't understand.

He was now standing right by the glass, looking down at your trembling form.

He could see your panic, the raw fear reflected in your eyes. This wasn't the emotionless assassin he'd fought earlier. Now you were just a person, in pain and afraid.

"I'm gonna open the door and untie you, alright?" He said, his tone firm but gentle.

You didn't respond. You just kept pulling against the restraints, your face contorting in pain.

He took that as a yes.

He quickly keyed in the code and stepped into the room, moving slowly towards your trembling form. He turned on his comms. "Yelena, get Alexei to start the quinjet."

"On it." Yelena replied, her voice tight.

Bucky knelt next to you, his hands hovering over the restraints. It took all his willpower not to reach out and touch you, to offer the comfort you so obviously needed.

"I'm going to release you now," he said, his voice steady. "Don't move suddenly."

He began to work on the binds, undoing the knots with precise, careful movements. The room was still shaking around them, the alarms blaring incessantly.

The moment the last of the knots came loose, you lurched upwards as if you'd been electrocuted. You went to go after him, but he pulled out a needle and inserted it into your neck to knock you out.

You went limp almost immediately. He caught you before you fell, your body sagging against him.

He held onto you for a beat, a feeling of dread settling in his stomach. You felt so small, so fragile. The difference from your earlier fighting was jarring.

He adjusted his grip on you, hoisting you up in his arms. You were just a bit lighter than he'd expected. He held you as gently as he could, feeling the warmth of your body against his chest.

As he walked towards the exit, he thought he heard you mutter something - a word so quietly breathed that it was barely a whisper.

Daddy.

Bucky's heart nearly stopped. He looked down at you, but you were unconscious, your head lolling against his shoulder. You were just a girl in need, in pain, and that one word had broken something in him.

"Ava, grab the cuffs. I don't want her to escape when she wakes up on the jet." He said to Ava on comms.

"Copy that." She responded.

Yelena was waiting by the Quinjet with Alexei, Walker and Bob, her face tight with worry. She immediately took in the sight you in his arms.

"Is she-" she began, but Bucky cut her off.

"I had to knock her out," he said, stepping into the jet. "We need to move. Now." Ava joined next.

The doors of the jet shut, locking you safely inside. Bucky laid you carefully on a bench, his hand brushing away a stray lock of hair that had fallen on your face.

The jet began to ascend, buffeted by the violent tremors around them. He felt strangely protective of you, wanting to shield you from the chaos outside. Ava handed him the handcuffs and Bucky put it on you.

The earthquakes stopped, but they didn't go back to the tower. Bucky put the jet on auto pilot and he put the coordinates in to an old friend's farm. Clint Barton's farm.

#marvel #mcu #marvel cinematic universe #marvel fandom #bucky barnes #sebastian stan #yelena belova #florence pugh #john walker #wyatt russell #ava starr #hannah john kamen #the new avengers #alexei shostakov #david harbour #bob reynolds #lewis pullman

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mentally-unstable-hottie13 · 9 months ago

Text

⭐️ 𝐒𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐬⭐️

Henry Bowers x fem reader

Read chapter 2 here

Summery:

You were new to the town of Derry. After some traumatic events that went down with your family, an old friend asked you to come to his town. He’d give you a place to rest while you figure things out. This town is strange and seems to be stuck in the past. What happens when you garner the attention of a boy who no one dares piss off?

A/N: this story is set in “modern” times but the town of Derry is more old fashioned. So roller rinks, arcades and record stores are still the places to go. Phones and video games as well as modern tv and music exist; it’s just more common to do “80’s activities”.

Henry’s actor when playing him was 18. so I’m saying the losers club freshman going into sophomore year while the Bowers gang is going into senior year having been 18 from being held back a year. You as a reader have an early birthday meaning you turn 18 a few weeks before school starts. The reader inserted character will be Latina coded and speaks Spanish but is never explicitly stated to be Latina . This is also a no Pennywise AU. If something is not specified in the story please feel free to fill in the gaps.

TRIGGER WARNING: this series may have;

Mention of past sexual assault

Mention of child abuse

Graphic bullying

On page child abuse

Fighting

Recreational drug use

Swearing

Shitty parents

Homophobic comments and actions (from the bowers gang)

Racist comments and actions (from the bowers gang)

This list is subject to change and at any time may be added to or things may be subtracted from.

In the end this story will be a love story but that does not mean it won’t be dark at some points.

the first few chapters will be dedicated to you and your backstory before we even touch the other characters. I made your character extremely real and flawed on purpose, but that does not mean you and Henry won’t eventually happen. Be patient, and enjoy.

Word count: 2,679

Estimated read time: 12

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Chapter one

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐝𝐮𝐧𝐤 𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐧

You were currently riding the bus into a small town you had never even heard of. This town was so small and isolated you weren’t sure you’d ever even seen it on a fucking map. Coming from a big town in Texas, this “Derry” place seemed so untouched to you. It was miles of trees, grass planes and old people. You hadn’t seen a major chain food place or clothes store since you entered. Oo scratch that, you just passed a McDonald’s that looks straight from a vintage photo.

This bus was disgusting. Old torn up cloth seats with mysterious stains of no conceivable origin. The man the rows ahead of you and to the left smelt like hookers and cigarettes. The woman on the parallel row to you on the right was out like a light and snoring like an old steam engine. The lights in the bus flickered. giving you a headache. You hoped you were getting off soon. All the sounds, smells, lights, as well as the gross sticky/wet feeling of the seat beneath you was making you feel sick.

It’s overcast today. It smells like rain. You loved that smell. The amazing scent of petrichor in your nostrils always soothed you. It looks as if it just rained. You hoped it will rain again today. That would make a bad day good. Even if just for a few minutes. You don’t know how long you sat on there, eyes closed inhaling the heavenly zephyr of wet air, but it must have been a while; because before you knew it the bus driver called out your stop number. Before slowing to a crawling pace.

As he started to slow the bus you gathered your things. The bus stopped and you made your way to the front. You smiled gently at the old male driver and asked him to help you get your bags out of the compartment on the outside of the bus. He happily stood and assisted you gathering all your bags. 5 to be exact. 2 were big with wheels while the other three were able to be stacked atop the wheely ones.

“You sure you can take all that to where you’re going little miss?” The old driver kindly asked.

“I’m sure. Thanks for the concern, mister. Have a good day.” You waved to the old man. And just like that. You were on your way. Your friend had texted you directions from the bus stop to his work. All you had to do was walk. Given being on what seemed to be the outer part of town, there was a very noticeable lack of sidewalks making your journey just that much harder. 20 minutes later you hit the part of town with sidewalks. No one was really out today. Which made sense. It was just raining. A total of 45 minutes of walking and you were finally at the record store.

You push the door open with a huff. You hear the bell above the door jingle with a direct succession of a man yelling,

“HOLD ON I’M IN THE BACK!”

You giggle, and set your bags to the side of the door so no one will trip over them if they come in. Once all your bags are settled you follow where you heard the voice come from. From the open doorway you see your old friend, Kevin, hunched over a box under a table, rummaging through the contents. You lean against the door frame and knock gently on it. Surprised. Kevin jumps and hits his head on the underside of the table with a loud “OW! FUCK!” Before turning to the culprit of the incident. You.

His eyes widen and he gets up and runs to hug you, you jump up and hug him. Wrapping your legs around him. He doesn't let you go for a long while.

You missed Kevin. You’d known him since you were little (about five years old). He was a good 20 years older than you. The story goes that you met his little brother Issac when their family still lived in Texas. You and Isaac had Been enrolled into the same kindergarten class and were inseparable ever since. You’d become close with Isaac’s family. It was just him, Kevin and their mom. Who you only ever knew as Momma.Momma loved you so much she let you make the spare room in their house yours for when you spent time over there. And given your family life, that was often.

When you were 12 Issac was diagnosed with leukemia.

He died shortly after he was diagnosed. You loved him so much. He was your best friend, and you were so close to Kevin and Momma, they were your family. After Isaac’s death Momma couldn’t take being in a town that reminded her so much of her son. So they moved to a different state. Even though Kevin was 32 at the time he saw you as a little sister and gave you his number so you could keep contact. With a tear filled goodby and one last kiss on the cheek from Momma they left and never came back to visit you. Kevin told you momma died 2 years ago from a brain aneurysm. It broke your heart. But you knew Kevin was suffering more. So as much as you needed to come to Derry, he needed it too. He needed his last bit of family back.

He set you down from the hug and ruffled your hair as tears dripped from your eyes. You missed him far more than words could ever describe.

“Don’t cry. I’m here. I’m not going away ever again.” He hugged you again this time not lifting you off the ground.

You laughed and punched him in the arm. “You better fuckin not loser, I’ll have’ta hunt you down and kill you”

You both laughed. He motioned out the door and you stepped aside so he could show you around. He’s owned this record store since he moved here. The previous owner was this ancient man who was pretty much giving it away. The building itself was paid off so Kevin never had to pay rent. All the furniture and merchandise from the last owner stayed so Kevin took over the very next day. Business was good. He sold record players, vinyls, cds, guitars and posters. It looked exactly like how your rooms looked in Momma's house. When Kevin told you to come to Derry he offered you a job here so you didn’t have to feel like you were only relying on him for money. He would pay you just above minimum wage and let you use your money on whatever you wanted and he would pay for your food.

You agreed and he sent you a plane ticket from Texas to Derry, then a bus ticket to get into town because the nearest airport was about 3 towns and 5 hours away. Just shows you how redneck this place is.

He looked at your bags and grabbed his keys.

“My truck is outside. Get your bags and toss em’ in the tailgate while I lock up for the day.” He said

“You got it dude.” With a quick salute you picked up the bags and walked outside. It was definitely going to rain again. You walked to the alley next to the shop and saw his beat up old red truck. Thankfully he had a tailgate cover so none of your stuff was gonna get wet. You lugged all the bags in before shutting it. Just on time Kevin came out and told you to “hop in”. You looked out the window the whole 30 minutes from the shop to his house. Occasionally looking at something special when he pointed it out. The school is a 10 minute drive and 30 minute walk to the record store. Maybe if Kev had a spare bike it could be a 20 minute ride. You drive down a dirt road where the homes are few and far between. As if Kevin could hear you wondering, he piped up.

“This is all personal farmland. That’s why there aren’t many people over here.”

You pass a specific house with a police cruiser out front.

“That there is officer Bowers land. I’m not one to tell you what to do, but I’d be smart and stay away from there. That pig is bad news.”

You nod in understanding. If Kevin warned you of anything. He meant it. It started to rain as You finally pulled up to an old gate, and Kevin tossed some keys at you and told you to get out and unlock the gate so he could drive in. Once the truck was in enough you shut the gate and locked it behind you running up to the truck and getting in again. You drove in a little before pulling up and parking in front of a smaller gate just surrounding the house.

“It’s just so no animals get in the house” Kevin grumbled,

He unlocked the tailgate then the house gate and helped you get all your things in the house quickly before shutting and locking his truck and the gate. Once inside you took off your muddy boots and looked around. It was a nice home. Kevin picked up both of your heaviest bags and nodded upstairs for you to follow him with the three smaller bags. He beats you to your room and sets your things down. As you are entering he flops down on your bed. He took care of all your furniture. You have a bed with black and purple bed sheets. 2 dressers in black and a desk with a tv. You walk up to some floor length curtains and open them only to find that you have a small balcony. He left everything else in the room pretty bare with a lot of extra room for you to decorate and make yours, you appreciate it.

He gives a loud, ugly groan that reminds you of growing up. Life is almost exactly how it used to be. With Kevin you picked up where you left off. You take off your coat and flop down on the bed beside him and give that same ugly, over dramatic groan, then you look at each other. You want to cry again. You didn’t think you’d see him again. But a series of unfortunate events led you to a better living situation with a man you loved too much. Your only friend. The almost 38 year old that still acts 19. You think that’s why y’all get along so well. He moves his eyes to your arm. The arm where a tattoo from the back of your shoulder to just above your wrist sits. It is a tattoo of Thorny vines cascading down your flesh. They aren’t big or obnoxious. The reference was a photo you took of you holding real thorn vines onto your arm. Its beautifully realistic and that’s just what you wanted. It would be much easier to hide here than in Texas. You could wear long sleeves because of the colder weather. Whereas in Texas if you wore anything other that a tee shirt you would overheat and die. The last feeling you ever want to experience again is being gross and sweaty in a long sleeve. Feeling the moist fabric against your arms would make you want to cut and peel your own skin off with the dullest rustiest spoon you could find in a prison cell.

“When did you get that?” He points to the tattoo.

“After Momma died. I felt like I needed something for her.” You replied.

“What’s it mean?”

“It means how I saw her. She was beautiful like vines crawling up a building but scary as thorns. I wanted to be just like her. I thought that if I get thorns on me I wouldn’t feel so scared.” You looked up at the ceiling as you spoke.

“I bet you and I are the only people alive to call that fuckin women beautiful” he chuckled.

He was right. Momma was not an objectively attractive woman… well at least not after Kevin was about 2. She had given birth to him when she was like.. 17 or so. She died in her early to mid 50’s. The boy that got her pregnant bailed after he found out, Leaving her alone to raise Kevin. After it got out around town that she was knocked up her parents kicked her out. She was a good student. All A’s with a scholarship to her dream school. She was working at a hotel where the manager was letting her live in one of the rooms, and she finished her last year of high school. A few days into summer that year she gave birth. Only 2 months into having Kevin the hotel fired her because of all the noise complaints of the baby crying. She had nowhere else to go and showed up at her parents' doorstep. She stayed with them for a year after all the begging she did. Near the end of that year she heard her parents talk about taking custody of the baby and she fled. Walking alone in the streets that night with a one year old baby it began to rain. In a panic to keep her baby warm she ran into the nearest building.

A bar.

All eyes were on her. A young girl with brown hair and bright blue eyes holding a baby had just walked into the roughest bar in town. Her makeup was smeared from crying and she was soaked to the bone from trying to keep her baby dry. She walked past all the men and sat down at the bar. The old kind bartender looked at her with wide eyes. Partly because she was wet and looked like she was crying, but mostly because who the fuck brings baby into a bar like this?

She and the bartender had got to talking and he gave her a job and told her she could stay in the room above the bar. He’d help her sound proof it and she would be allowed to keep a baby monitor while she works so she can go up anytime she wants. After a year of working there. Kevin turned 2 and Momma realized she was done looking like her parents' daughter. She shaved her head into a bright purple Mohawk and got tattooed anywhere that was possible. Growing up Kevin got to see his Momma as a rough at tough, tattoo having, fight winning, bar maid, who took no one’s shit. She had more muscles than most men at that bar did. And she worked there for as long as she could. Including All throughout her pregnancy with Issac and all the way up until they moved. They eventually moved out of that above bar room when Kevin was about 12. But that’s pretty much the story.

Momma was a wild woman who was tough as nails and scarier than any man. You’d never seen any other woman who looked as wild as her and you loved it. No one could beat Momma. Not even after she died.

You and Kev would always only see that woman as beautiful and tough. And no matter how unconventional their upbringing was. They all agreed that theirs was perfect compared to yours.

While you were deep in thought Kev stood up from the bed. He said your name shaking you from your thoughts.

“Immm booreddd.” He whined. “How about we order some pizza and watch some nasty ass gore movie while we talk about which characters we’d smash?”

You smiled so big your eyes squinted.

“UHH FUCK YEAH DUDE!!” You yelled and jumped up from the bed. You’d unpack and explore the town tomorrow. It was only Friday night. Why not relax with your best friend in the world? Forget about your parents, forget about school, forget about being the new kid. Who the fuck cares? Not you. Especially not when you were about to slam down a whole pizza.

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Thank you for reading. Please tell me if you liked it!

#henry bowers #henry bowers x reader #Henry bowers fanfic #it 2017 #stephen king #it Henry bowers #80’s #x reader #henry bowers x y/n

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