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brokenbough · 3 days ago

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Thinking of mean!Ghost who just... does it wrong.

At first, you were into it. Yeah, maybe you liked being manhandled in bed, liked when he squeezed just a little too hard, liked when he put you where he wanted.

And yeah, maybe you liked being told what to do, liked challenging him only to lose in the most delicious way.

But you've had sort of a shitty day and being called dumb time and time again hasn't had the best effect on your already decaying sense of pride.

"Cmon doll." He sneers, the way you like, pulling your hair a little to get you to look at him.

You'd usually like it, but now it just hurts and you think it's giving you a headache.

He doesn't clock his mistake immediately, only realizing when your wrestling his hand away from you, mumbling about him being too mean.

He's confused, rightfully so, because usually you'd be pulling him closer, asking him what he'd do if you didn't listen.

"Can't hear ya, speak up." His says with his usual gruff tone. He tries putting his finger under your chin, making you look at him-- just the way you like it-- but you're pulling away and he just doesn't understand.

"You're being mean." You say again, unable to look at him.

He tilts his head, looking like you just told him the sky isn't blue.

"You-- huh? You said you liked that." He says, defensive. Like you're the problem. "That's what this whole thing was." He argues as if you're not just trying to have a conversation with him.

"Yeah, but you just..." you start, mulling over your next words. "I... just not right now." You explain.

His words aren't as reassuring as you would've hoped. The opposite in fact.

"So, you just pick and choose when you feel like being degraded and I'm supposed to read your mind?" He says more like a statement than a question. Blunt as ever. Something you usually like but now he's sounding like a dick.

"I didn't say that, I just--"

"That is exactly what you said." He scoffs, pulling away. "Come to me when you're in a better mood, yeah?" He states curtly before just leaving you there to sift and sort through your actions and his words.

------------

You spend the rest of the day holed up in your room. You start to question most of everything, wondering if you were in the wrong and overreacting or if he was being a dick to you. You question if you even want to be around him anymore.

He doesn't give you much choice in the matter because he's at your door at the end of the day, incessantly knocking.

You open the door, much to your annoyance. "I thought you didn't want me around until I was in a 'better mood'." You say, immediately coming in with the venom.

He realized around noon that he was in the wrong and would take whatever you threw at him. He should've listened to you instead of painting you as the bad guy because you didn't stick to a set of rules he made up in his head.

You hadn't followed the agreement in his head, and he had blamed you for it.

He knows now you weren't something he could put in a mold and control. You had feelings too. You weren't a mind reader either.

The silence between the two of you stretches on before he sighs, shaking his head.

"I was being an asshole. Sorry."

"I don't accept your apology. You.." you quiet down. "You hurt my feelings." You admit barely above a whisper.

He sucks in another breath. "I know. I..." He mulls over his own words, looking at you properly now.

Your face was tear streaked, puffy, red eyes and cheeks. All accompanied by dark circles under your eyes.

It wasn't in him to feel bad, but it made his stomach churn and chest tighten in a way he wasn't used to.

"I was being mean, and you didn't like it. I understand that now." He finally says, forefinger under your chin. But he wasn't squeezing, he wasn't grabbing, he was... holding. "I'm sorry." He says again.

You stare at him for a long moment, not wanting to give in just yet, but it was exactly what you needed to hear. Accountability and an apology.

You huff, rolling your eyes at him and pulling away from his hand. It pains him in a way he can't describe. He isn't sure what to do as you take a step back, looking at him again.

His hand falls back down to his side but you haven't shut your door on him yet and that sliver of hope is carving its way up and up and over each vein, climbing higher and higher before burying itself in his chest. His very heart.

"I'll be nicer." He coos, looking at your reaction. You almost seem to recoil at the very thought.

"I don't want you nicer, Simon." You say quickly, the thought almost laughable. Almost.

"Then what do you want?" He says, his voice sounding more pleading than he intended.

"I- I don't know. I just... I don't want you nicer, but I don't want you mean right now." You explain looking at your fuzzy socks, wording it the best way you could.

"Alright. I can... I can do that." He answers as if he knows exactly what you mean.

A breath of relief flooding between the two of you at the same time.

"Don't cry over me though. 'M not worth your tears." He says, smoothing the pad of his thumb over your face again. You hadn't even noticed you started crying again. He doesn't know if he can live with himself knowing he made you cry.

When you start full on sobbing, he pulls you to his chest, walking the two of you backwards into your room, into your bed. You curl up to his side, clinging to his shirt. And despite how uncomfortable he is-- your tears wetting his shirt and all-- he lets you. Cause these tears aren't for him, they're for the shitty day or week or month you've had. That he can live with.

He doesn't question or prod. He just stays.

Plus, he's sure you'll tell him all about it in the morning.

#simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley cod #simon ghost riley #cod x reader #ghost cod #cod #fluff #cod fluff #happy ending

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em1i2a3 · 1 day ago

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The Moon Song

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Fem!Reader!

Summary: When you and Bob return from your rehearsal dinner for your wedding tomorrow, you both decide that it is time to finally practice your slow dance and settle on a song.

Warnings: Pure Fluff, and nice intimate moments, Talks about the future, Y’all it’s so sweet that it’s cavity inducing to be honest.

Author’s Note: I loved the idea that reader and Bob procrastinate for so long that they are literally making these decisions the night before the wedding, just seems like something Bob would do. I thought it would be a cute little blurb piece, cause this weekend there are some pretty heavy updates coming from the Bob o’sphere lol, and I need to ease that tension by starting with this fluff lol. I hope y’all enjoy this little piece <3 (Also, Happy RAF!)

Word Count: 3,017

The door to your shared apartment clicked shut behind you, and both you and Bob let out a long sigh at the exact same time, not even trying to hide the slight exhaustion that laced the breaths.

Your clutch landed on the little table beside the door with a dull thumb as you reached up to tug your earrings out, wincing a little at the ache in your lobes from how the weight of the jewelry pulled at them throughout the night. You didn’t try to take off your heels just yet, but your feet were already screaming for relief.

Behind you, Bob shifted his weight from one foot to the other, slowly loosening the collar of his black button up. The quietness of your apartment wrapped around you both like a blanket, giving you a breath of real air after hours of wine refills, clinking forks, and polite interrogations.

The sound of your shoes echoed down the hallways as you and Bob made your way towards your bedroom.

“That was so much small talk,” You muttered, trying to unzip your dress before realizing–for the second time tonight–you couldn’t reach behind you properly to do it. You let out a frustrated exhale and added “I’m sorry about my cousin, by the way. She was relentless…If it wasn’t for my aunt distracting me, I would’ve stepped in sooner.” Bob shrugged as you reached your bedroom door.

”It wa–wasn’t that bad,” He said gently, “Especially for it being our fi–first meeting.” You smirked and glanced over your shoulder at him.

”Well, you made a good first impression. I just wish they weren’t so pushy with you, and maybe they would actually let you finish a sentence instead of jumping in for you.” Bob reached out and took your hand, his large fingers wrapping around yours, giving them a small squeeze.

”We li–literally will never se-see them again after this anyways…There’s also a reason wh–why I didn’t meet them before tonight, right?’ You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up your throat.

”Yeah…I guess you’re right as usual.” You gave his hand a squeeze back, “You know how I am, though.” He nodded, bringing your hand up to his mouth–the diamond of your engagement ring catching in the dim light–his lips brushing against your knuckles as you stepped into the bedroom fully.

”Al–Always on the defensive for me…Ju–Just like I am for you.” You smiled, feeling the warmth blooming in your chest as the two of you paused in the center of the room, bathed in soft amber lamplight. The chaos of the evening started melting off your shoulders.

Then Bob grinned and said, “Now, turn around for me. I wanna help my fiancée un–undress one last time before I can say she’s my wi–wife.” You rolled your eyes, letting out a small laugh.

”God, you’re so sentimental tonight.” You joked, but you still turned anyway. His hands were on you instantly. They were steady and unhurried as they found the golden zipper of your short white dress, fiddling with it for a moment before guiding it slowly down your back, his fingertips skimming your spine. The fabric fluttered down your hips and pooled at your feet. In one quick movement he knelt to unbuckle your heels next–one, then the other–thumbs brushing against your calves like he wanted to remember how your skin felt tonight, of all nights–on the eve of your wedding day.

When he stood up again, he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss between your shoulder blades, then another at the top of your spine. Then another one near the nape of your neck.

“You looked be–beautiful in that dress tonight, by the way,” He said, his voice muffling and vibrating against your skin. You let out a little laugh as you turned to face him, your chest pressing against his.

”You’ve said that ten times tonight.” He smiled, eyes half-lidded as he leaned in and kissed your lips.

”El–Eleven including this time.” You sighed and kissed him again, softer now, allowing your lips to linger against his, before pulling back.

”Mmm…I love you so much.” He bumped his forehead against yours.

”I kn–know,” He whispered, “I love you too.” You smiled, reaching up to help him undo his tie, the cool fabric sliding loose with a soft hiss before you slipped it from around his neck and let it drape carelessly over the footboard. You didn’t stop there.

You glanced up once–his eyes were on you, heavy-lidded–before your fingers moved to the buttons of his shirt. One by one, you undid them. Each pop of a button revealed more of him. The line of his sternum. The slow rise and fall of his chest. The very faint dusting of light brown hair that trailed downward from the center of his ribs. The faintest pink scar near his left collarbone. All of him–warm, familiar, and yours.

And as each new inch of skin appeared, you leaned in and kissed him—soft, slow, sweet.

A kiss just below his collarbone.

Another near the center of his chest.

A final one low on his ribs.

Each one paired with whispered sweet nothings:

“So handsome.”

“Tomorrow I get to call you mine forever.”

“You’re everything to me.”

Bob stood still and quiet beneath your affection, his chest rising with every breath, eyes fluttering shut as his hands rested loosely at your waist.

When you finally stepped back, you did so slowly–eyes trailing over him one last time before giving him space to finish undressing.

You peeled off your sticky bra and underwear, reaching for the soft, worn t-shirt of his that always ended up in your drawer no matter how many times he looked for it. It still smelled faintly like cedar and fabric softener and the faintest trace of him.

You tugged it over your head and pulled on your cotton sleep shorts, the ones that rode up your thighs just a little too high for modesty but were impossibly soft and broken in from so many washes. You raked your fingers through your hair and gave it a twist into a bun.

When you turned back around, Bob had finished changing. His black dress shirt was now a forgotten memory in the hamper, and in its place: those loose grey sweatpants that always hung low on his hips and that godforsaken navy blue t-shirt. The one that clung to his shoulders and arms, fitted just enough to be devastating.

You stared.

Groaned.

“Oh my god,” you muttered, dragging a hand down your face, “You change out of that hot button-up and then put something even hotter on? Bob, how you torture me.”

He laughed, scratching the back of his neck like he couldn’t quite believe you were talking about him like that. “St–Still not used to me being in something fitted, hm?”

You stepped toward him, swaying your hips a little just because you could, and reached up to playfully tug at the hem of his shirt. “Never. And I don’t think I ever will be. It’s always a wonderful sight.”

You kissed him again, slower this time–more lips, less breath. Your hand splayed across the center of his chest, feeling the firm, steady beat of his heart beneath your palm.

He let out a low, soft moan into your mouth. Just a small one.

Enough to make you feel like you could melt into the hardwood.

When you pulled back, both of you a little flushed and breathless, Bob leaned his forehead against yours again. “Le–Let’s make some tea and relax together, hm?”

You nodded, and as you turned toward the door, he gave your butt a playful tap.

You gasped and looked back at him, eyebrows raised.

He had the nerve to look innocent, “Just giving yo–you a little love tap of encouragement.”

——————————

The kitchen was dim and glowing when you reached it, lit only by the under-cabinet lights and the golden cast from the hallway lamp.

You moved automatically, hips brushing each other in the small space as Bob pulled two mugs down from the cabinet–your favorite one with the little chip in the rim, and his black one with the faded NASA logo. The kettle was already humming on the stove, steam beginning to whisper from the spout.

You hopped up onto the counter while he reached for the tin of ginger peach tea you both loved. He spooned loose leaves into the steeper, the soft clink of metal against ceramic the only sound for a moment.

You pulled your phone from the pocket of your sleep shorts and opened your Spotify, immediately tapping into the playlist you’d been building in slow, indecisive spurts over the past few months.

“first dance???????”

The title said it all.

And now–tonight–you were scrolling through it with a dull ache in your stomach. Too many ballads. Too many lyrics about heartbreak or metaphors that felt too heavy. Everything either felt choreographed or too raw.

Behind you, Bob poured hot water over the tea, the scent of ginger and an array of mixed dried fruits beginning to warm the air. The kitchen slowly filled with that calm, earthy sweetness you always associated with late nights and deep conversations. He set your mug beside you, but you barely registered it.

Bob said something–something quiet and offhanded, voice soft and low–but you didn’t catch it.

”Hm?” You murmured, still staring at the list of songs, scrolling more and more down the list. He shook his head, smiling.

”Nothing. Yo–You’re busy.” You finally looked up from the screen, locking your phone and putting it beside you.

”No, I”m sorry. Go ahead and repeat what you said.” You said gently. He picked up his mug, leaning beside you on the counter, his free hand coming to rest on your thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze.

”I just said…We don’t ne–need to stress out about picking the perfect song…We’ll be fine.” He reassured.

“Bob…” You sighed, setting your hand over his, “We have not really been blessed with the skill of being rhythmically inclined.” He let out a soft huff of amusement, the corner of his mouth twitching up.

“So we sway ar–around a little bit for a few minutes…” He said, voice low, warm. “As long as I’m with yo–you, nothing else matters.” He pulled his hand from your thigh to reach for your mug of tea and held it out to you, like he was presenting a peace offering. “Now… drink yo–your tea and relax a bi–bit.” You took the mug with a sigh, exaggerating the frown on your face as you wrapped your fingers around it and brought it to your lips. The steam brushed your cheeks, warm and soothing, as you took a slow sip–sweet, herbal, grounding.

But when you looked over the rim of your mug, Bob was watching you with that expression. The one that said he knew exactly what you were thinking before you said it.

He shook his head and sighed, low and fond. “Alright…” He murmured, dragging out the word with performative defeat. “Let me go grab my sp–speaker, and we can go through a few songs…”

Your lips curved up immediately, hope fluttering in your chest. “Thank you.”

He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your forehead–soft, slow, lingering. “On–Only I would do this for my future wife.”

You let out a small, genuine laugh, “I’m honoured.” You replied quickly, watching as he turned and padded out of the kitchen.

Moments later, he returned, speaker in hand. He turned it on, the soft hum and flash of blue light indicating it was connected. As he returned to his space beside you, you unlocked your phone and handed it to him.

Bob opened the playlist, scrolling with one thumb while the other cradled the speaker against his hip.

“Pl–Plainsong by The Cure is great…” He said thoughtfully. “But do we really wanna be on that da–dance floor for five minutes?”

You smirked, sipping your tea. “Okay, you’re right…Let’s aim for something a bit shorter.”

Bob chuckled and scrolled again, brow furrowing slightly in concentration. “Yo–You’ve got so many songs on this pl–playlist. How the hell are we gonna decide?”

You shrugged, tapping your finger against your mug. “We whittle it down until we’ve got a top five…Then try dancing to them?”

Bob sighed, resigned. “Alright…” You leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek before he could spiral. His skin flushed pink almost instantly under your lips.

You lost track of time after the fifth or sixth song.

What started as a forty-track playlist and a long list of indecisiveness had finally been whittled down to something manageable—five songs. Five contenders for the first dance of your lives. By now, your mugs were long emptied and pushed aside on the counter, forgotten in the warmth of focused decision-making and the lazy comfort of each other’s presence.

Bob leaned his elbows on the counter beside you, scrolling through the final list. “Okay…” he exhaled. “We’ve got—it down to five songs. Which one do you want to start with?”

You hummed, stretching your arms above your head with a quiet groan. “Let’s do Sea of Love first.”

Bob offered his hand to help you down from the counter, steady and warm as always, and you took it without hesitation. Your bare feet touched the tile floor with a quiet sound, and a soft click followed as he pressed play.

The song drifted in gently—delicate and dreamy, like something meant for twilight and candlelight and hands held close to the chest.

Bob stepped toward you, and you met him in the middle of the kitchen. His hand found the small of your back while the other cradled yours carefully in his own. You rested your free hand just beneath his shoulder, fingertips grazing the curve of his bicep, your body sinking easily into his.

The music wrapped around you both like steam curling through warm air. You moved together in small, uncertain sways–barely even dancing, really. Just shifting with the rhythm. But it felt right.

He looked down at you, cheeks tinged with color, his eyes soft.

“Wh–What do you think people usually talk about when they’re actually doing th–this?” he asked quietly.

You let out a breath of laughter, gaze flicking upward to meet his. “Probably mundane things… I hope.”

He smirked, eyebrows raising with mock seriousness. “Did we lock the doors? Di–Did we invite too many guests?”

You laughed a little harder at that, your hand tightening lightly in his. “How long do we have to be here before we can go home?”

He chuckled, dipping his head close, his nose brushing yours. “I’ll start pr–preparing conversation starters in the morning.”

His hand moved slowly, absentmindedly, up and down the small of your back–just enough to soothe, enough to ground you. You leaned into him a little more, letting your cheek brush his collarbone, feeling the rise and fall of his breath beneath your palm.

After a quiet moment, you whispered, “Do you think Sentry’s going to come out tomorrow?”

His chest lifted with a deep inhale. “Ye–Yeah. Probably,” he said softly. “I do–doubt he wouldn’t. I’ll be so ov–overwhelmed with happiness, he’ll definitely be taking the wheel at so–some point.”

You tilted your head back to look at him. “I think my extended family will be very surprised to meet him.”

Bob gave a short breath of laughter and kissed your forehead with a smile that barely concealed his nerves. “We’ll really be ma–making memories at that point.”

You held him closer, letting your fingers trace slow circles along the fabric of his shirt, and for a moment, it was just the music, the warmth of his body, and the quiet in-between.

And then the next song began to play.

You hadn’t even realized the first track had ended.

It came in slow, barely there at first–soft, careful guitar strums like someone thinking out loud, hesitant and full of longing. The vocals followed, almost whispered, harmonized gently by a second voice that lingered like a ghost. The whole thing felt like standing outside on a rooftop under a navy sky, wrapped in a blanket, forehead pressed to someone else’s.

Your breath caught.

Bob’s hand stilled against your back, and neither of you said anything.

The song continued–gentle strings winding under the fragile weight of each lyric. It wasn’t polished. It wasn’t theatrical. It sounded like two people trying to hold a quiet moment in their palms and not break it.

You slowly looked up at him.

His blue eyes were glassy in the low kitchen light. Not crying–just brimming with tears that were threatening to escape.

“This one…” He said softly, voice barely above a whisper, “Fe–Feels like us…Wh–What is it called?” You coughed slightly, clearing your throat from the lump that was beginning to form.

”It’s called The Moon Song.” You replied, smiling a bit. He held you tighter, his thumb brushing a slow arc over your spine.

”It’s perfect…”

And without saying another word, the two of you swayed together in the center of your shared kitchen as the soft voices wrapped around you like the stars themselves had come inside to listen.

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penelopehere · 3 days ago

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How Rumi’s Parents Met HCs

a/n: Ryu is the name of Rumi’s mum

I personally believe her parents met when Ryu was by herself, patrolling the city when she spotted a demon lurking in an alleyway

Naturally she went to investigate, attacking instantly when she got close enough

However the demon didn’t fight back, merely defending itself and then disappearing as soon as it could

At first she thought it was strange, but just brushed it off as she went back to patrolling

However, when she spotted the same demon a couple days later, the exact same thing happened

She attacked, and he disappeared in an instant

This simultaneously confused and annoyed her, with Ryu now going out of her way to find that specific demon

She told her team about the unusual situation, but was reassured that he was nothing the hunters couldn’t handle

Regardless, Ryu still went out to get answers

It was weeks until she managed to corner the demon, pinning him against the wall with her blade to his throat

She asked why he was in the human world, growing more frustrated as he remained quiet for a few moments

He then said if she was going to kill him that she should just get it over with, which threw Ryu off long enough for him to slip away and disappear

From there a pattern would emerge, with the two of them frequently crossing paths when Ryu was patrolling alone

Unbeknownst to her, the demon was actually seeking her out, wanting to talk more

She’d basically interrogate him about his life as a demon, trying to find his intentions for not attacking her

However, from these questions she’d learn he wasn’t loyal to Gwi-Ma, trying to escape his voice

While Ryu was sceptical at first, the two of them grew closer, with her even answering the demons questions about her

That’s when she realised she genuinely cared about the demon

Not knowing how to handle these feelings, she instantly went out of her way to not see him

Eventually she began seeing him everywhere; in the crowd during concerts, in the corner of her eye when she was on patrol, sometimes even outside her house

However, he’d manage to get Ryu by herself, asking why she’d just leave him and that if she wanted to end things she should say it to his face

They’d definitely argue, saying that whatever they had shouldn’t even have happened since they were so different

The demon would eventually leave, promising not to find her again if she really felt that way

Months would pass, with Ryu missing him more and more

Even the other members would notice, but she’d just say she was stressed about maintaining the Honmoon

She’d try and find the demon again when she was on patrol, with no success

Eventually, when she was alone, she’d start talking to herself; asking him to come back

The moment those words left her mouth, he’d appear; neither of them talking when they locked eyes

From there the two would confess their feelings for one another, despite the two being a demon and hunter, allowing for their relationship to properly start

She wanted to tell Celine, but anytime she brought up the topic of demons, she saw the anger and resentment in her eyes

So instead they kept their relationship a secret, dating for years as Ryu made sure the other hunters never found him

At some point they would get married, merely exchanging rings as a symbol of their union rather than doing anything official

However, when she fell pregnant, she knew she would have to come clean

I believe this caused a falling out with the hunters, with Ryu disappearing since she knew they would never accept her new lifestyle

She continued to hunt demons for as long as she could, doing it from the shadows so her former group couldn’t find her

Her husband would help her during this, using his demon abilities to his advantage and fully taking over when Ryu became too pregnant though

When Rumi was finally born, neither one of her parents knew how to raise such a unique child

At first they were cautious, meticulously noting down her demon attributes and any behaviours they thought were abnormal

However, they very quickly grew not to care about her differences and focused on making sure she was happy

Rumi lived a rather sheltered life with her parents, staying home most of the time until around the age of three

At this point I believe Gwi-Ma heard of a rogue demon that was helping a hunter, sending all his underlings to capture them

Their family remained hidden for a while, however the demons managed to track down the area and they lived in

Not wanting to leave the humans of their city in danger, and knowing that no matter where they went Gwi-Ma would find them, they tried coming up with a plan to defeat him

However, Rumi’s father knew that this was practically impossible, and decided to face the overlord alone

He quietly said goodbye to his family, leaving them in the middle of the night

Ryu knew exactly why he had gone when she realised he was missing, not knowing how to go after him while also protecting Rumi

Eventually, she’d run into Celine who had heard about the concentrated number of demons in the area

Seeing Rumi with her demon markings, everything clicked into place and Celine was horrified

Instead of explaining herself, Ryu pleaded with her to understand that Rumi was still her daughter

This managed to convince Celine to take care of the child while Ryu went to go look for her husband

I believe they would only reunite at the final battle, with demons trying to drag her husband back to the demon world

In the process, civilians were being killed as well, Gwi-Ma managing to slowly make his way topside because of the influx of souls

Here Ryu would do her best to protect everyone while saving her husband, the two of them reuniting amidst all the chaos

This would catch Gwi-Ma’s attention, with him directing all his resources towards capturing the hunter and her demon husband

The pair would manoeuvre around the city, trying to draw the mob away from the public

In the end though, they knew what they had to do

Charging to Gwi-Ma, they lured all of the demons back into his flames in an attempt to push him back in the underworld

This worked, however, at the cost of Ryu and her husband’s life

Celine witnessed the carnage, unable to stop Ryu’s sacrifice since she was taking care of Rumi and trying to direct all the civilians to safety

Celine blamed Ryu’s demon husband on all this, vowing to never let another corrupt those she loved

Therefore, despite being half demon herself, she raised Rumi to hide and despise her demon side

#kpop demon hunters #kpop demon hunters x reader #kpdh #kpdh x reader #kpop demon hunters headcanons #rumi x reader #ryu x reader #celine x reader #kdh #kdh x reader #huntrix x reader

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sabxynsweet · 5 hours ago

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sweetheart!reader draws on mattheo’s hand

thank you @crazysweettooth-01 for the request <3 this is set pre-situationship (aka friends-ish!mattheo) & i hope you like this little drabble.

You’re nodding off in Charms class but your professor's glare is enough to keep you from falling asleep fully.

You tilt your head to the side to watch Mattheo, whose hard eyes are trained on the board.

“I’m bored.” You say in a hushed voice. "Help me, Mattheo."

“Unfortunately can’t help you, Sweetheart.” He says back, eyes trained on the board still, “I can't exactly play Monopoly with you right now.”

You laugh, covering your mouth to stifle the sound.

“You’re funny.” You sigh, all love sick as usual.

Mattheo's dry humour does make you laugh quite a lot but, truthfully, you think that him reading the dictionary would make you fall into a fit of giggles - maybe you’re just in love.

He smirks, though he hasn’t looked at you properly yet as his eyes are still trained on the board.

You sigh again, bored again as you rest your head in your palm.

You cross your right leg over the left and uncross again, your eyes flicker off to the clock on the wall. There’s still 24 minutes until class ends.

Your eyes wander. From the board - that was now scribbled on with words you couldn’t comprehend - to your loose pens that were scattered on your desk untouched.

Until your eyes land on your favourite view: Mattheo.

You stare shamelessly at his large hands, like you're adamant on memorising every detail: the scars on his knuckles, the faint veins that run up all the way along his arm, the thick silver rings adorning certain fingers.

An idea forms in your head and, without thinking, you grab Mattheo’s hand. You drag it closer until his arm is resting on your own table fully.

He fights every bone in his body not to flinch. You barely even notice, too enthralled with selecting the best pens.

It's then he looks at you, finally. With a little bit of a confused, tilted stare.

You pick out a pink glittery pen from your large selection of scattered pens and you start to draw little pink hearts and stars on his arm, trailing all the way down to his hand.

He gazes down at you.

Your touch is so gentle he barely feels it. Instead of a stinging pain, it's a light hum that just barely grazes his skin.

When you reach the scars on his knuckles, you gently draw flowers around it. It makes it look like you grew a garden around his scars. He thinks you have the capability of growing a garden around his bones, around his soul.

He would let you, he's sure you already have.

He notices the slightest furrow in your brows, your face is full of concentration. He finds it endearing.

Every once and a while, you switch between pens until his right arm and hand is filled with little doodles of different colours.

Your finishing touch is signing your full name on his wrist - in glitter gel pen - and next to it, in a bracket, you write the name you're given at Hogwarts: "Sweetheart".

Mattheo thinks maybe this is your way of claiming him, it should surprise him more how he doesn't mind.

But when you pull away to admire the entire "picture", you smile all satisfied, then your eyes flicker to his and he recognises the usual glimmer your eyes have.

and fuck, if your wide eyes don't make him want to melt into you and let you keep your grip on him forever.

Class ends without any more words being exchanged between you two, you breathe out a sigh of relief when the bell rings.

"Do you like your new tattoos?" You ask with mock seriousness while you pack up your things.

He smirks, playing along. "I really do."

Much later, you catch his gaze across the hallway and you see one of his sleeves rolled up. Your drawings on full display, but more importantly, your name, pressed carefully into his wrist.

i think this is one of my fav sweetheart!reader ficlets i've written :(( <3

taglist: @fallingwallsh @espressqe @theodoresvalentine @fanfictiononly4 @genuinelyfloatingsouls @fayezasstuff @glittervame @wxnterwidow333 @thalibaby @cminoko @blainea98 @randomfanpage @megzz-x @peterparkerspersonalplaything

#mattheo riddle x sweetheart!reader #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle fluff #mattheo riddle fanfiction #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo riddle soft #mattheo riddle x fem!reader

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lacedaffection · 3 days ago

Text

cw: mentions of alcohol.

YOU HATED RAFE CAMERON, that was well-known fact around outer banks.

he was just as spoiled as a fratboy can be with that smug, self-distructive rich boy you sworn to stay away since you moved to outer banks. he teased, he pushed your buttons everytime he saw you and that famous smirk was plastered on his face like he just won the damn olympics. from the moment you two met, he would turn every small conversation into a fight or to be more specific, a power game. the kind where you didn’t even realize you were playing until he was walking away, a victorious smirk on his annoyingly handsome face.

but that specific night, that stupid night? you made your biggest mistake by letting your guards down in front of him. like a rabbit finally giving up against the wolf.

the music was loud, the drinks were cheap as hell, and of course all your friends vanished, even though they promised that they will take care of you if you drink too much. but instead, they left you alone, dancing on some makeshift outdoor bar like a stripper. your laugh was wild while your limbs were loose and your head was dizzy but in a funny way.

you didn’t even notice rafe watching you from the corner of the party, almost like hiding in the shadows. not until your ankle twisted mid-step and the whole world tilted beneath you. fuck.

then suddenly, there were hands — more specifically rafe cameron’s hands — steadying you, holding you like he was almost worried you’ll faceplant the concrete beneath you.

you blinked up at him, disoriented, head still dizzy from the cheap bear and tequila you drunk one hour ago.

“you’re goint to fall, dumbass.” he said, but suprisingly his voice wasn’t teasing or cruel. instead, it was … tired. maybe tired of watching you dancing and falling like it didn’t care if you hit the ground.

you wanted to snap back, like maybe that he could go to hell, or that you don’t need help, especially not his. but the world tilted again and you could feel your stomach rolling.

“shit.” he muttered, catching you properly this time. “you’re wasted.”

you tried to deny it, maybe he’ll let you back to dance. you wanted to do a lot of things before the party would end, but suddenly your feet gave up, head throbbing with every small heartbeat.

he didn’t ask anything, didn’t say anything. he just lifted you up without any care in the world, as if you weighed nothing at all.

“put me down.” you slurred, but your words didn’t make any sense as you spoke up.

“no.” he just said simply.

“you don’t even like me, rafe.” you mumbled into his neck. his skin felt warm, he smelled like cigarettes and something really unique but expensive. “this isn’t your thing. you’re not a nice guy.”

“no.” he agreed softly. “i’m not.”

you weren’t sure when did he started the car. you only remembered the sound of his car’s engine rumbling and trough your blurry vision you could see the lights outside from the window as your head was resting against the seat.

somewhere in your haze, your fingers found something soft, like a safety blanket. his hoodie.

you woke up to the smell of something — something familiar, and the faint noise that an old fan made as you stared at the ceiling. rafe’s room.

you recognized it from some long-forgotten high school party. nothing’s changed ever since that party. still dark wood and dark colors, cold in a way that money made things.

you sat up immediately — maybe even too fast. pain slammed into your skull like a wawe.

“easy.”

you turned around. rafe was casually standing in the doorway, wearing a grey swearpants and a random streched out t-shirt. he held a glass of water with painkillers in his hand. he looked more normal than you’ve ever seen him. less like the smug rich boy you were used to. still unfairly handsome, but real.

you slowly took the water from him, mostly because your throat felt like the sahara.

“you undressed me?” you asked sharply, looking down at the almost same-looking t-shirt he was currently wearing. you were basically swimming in the t-shirt.

he raised an eyebrow. “relax. that’s mine and i gave you it because you threw up on your own clothes. and don’t worry, i turned around while you changed.”

that made your stomach twist than the whole hangover itself.

“thanks.” you said, not sounding too strong at that moment. it tasted weird on your tongue. gratitude and rafe cameron didn’t mix, it didn’t march well.

he shrugged and leaned against the door as he crossed his muscular arms.

“so.” you started. “what? you’re my guardian angel now?”

he laughed once. “hardly. but even i’m not that asshole to leave you passed out on a bar table, waiting for someone creppy to drag you off.”

you felt your face heating up. “i didn’t ask you to babysit me. to be more specific, i didn’t even ask you for anything at all.”

“no.” he said. “you didn’t. but i did it anyway.”

silence filled the air and it sat between you like a damn challenge, daring either of you to admit what neither of you would say out loud.

a/n: hi guys! this is my first ever work here. i hope you guys liked it as much as i did with the writing process. have a good day. smooch (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .

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munsonify · 11 hours ago

Text

apologies and interruptions 𓂃 continuation

pairing. bob reynolds x fem!reader (romantic), john walker x fem!reader (platonic, teammates)

summary. after being a little less than favorable to you, walker decides to apologize for his behavior in the best way he can. meanwhile, you and bobs relationship takes an exciting step forward.

content warnings. a little angst and sm fluff, mentions of injuries and missions, john taking accountability (crazy), so much pining, romantic and (slight) sexual tension, a briefly shirtless bob, food, swearing, hugging, an almost kiss. not proofread

word count. 3532

check-ins 𓂃 part one!

———

you’d woken up sore and poorly rested.

the ache in your side was the first thing you felt. despite attempting to situate yourself before you’d fallen asleep, there wasn’t much you could do for the pain. it was honestly a miracle you’d even fallen asleep. you thought that, maybe, bob had a little to do with it. you’d fallen asleep right before the credits rolled for the romcom you started with him. you always felt comfortable with him, he put you at ease. so, you thought that he’d helped you just a little by being there, even if he didn’t realize the comfort you brought him.

you woke up without him by your side, that was the second thing you felt. there was a warmth missing beside you, the weight of his body gone from your bed. you frowned at the realization he’d left. sure, you were only friends, and he had his own bed to sleep in, one bob was more than likely eager to find solace in. that didn’t mean you couldn’t be disappointed he had left. another thing you noticed was the fact he’d tucked you in properly. your blanket was secured up below your chin, engulfing you in its warmth.

the last thing you felt was how awful you’d slept. the ache in your side must’ve kept you from fully falling asleep, keeping you just inches away from rem. you reckoned you’d be dealing with this for a week or two until the wound healed better. you’d find a way to manage, even if it meant being on the grumpy side for a while. it’s what you always do.

your fingers grasped at your comforter as you pull it closer to your body, adjusting yourself off of your wound the best you could. a low groan slipped from your mouth at the feeling, the ache shimmying its way down to the rest of your body. the impact you’d made against the ground yesterday was beginning to catch up with you. all you wanted was some more sleep, despite knowing you weren’t going to get it this morning. instead, all you did was lay down, cozied up in bed for the time being.

your hand began searching for your phone, fingers eventually grazing it, tugging it off the charger. it wasn’t very graceful the way you’d grabbed ahold of it, nor the way you looked down at the bright screen. maybe you were a little grateful bob wasn’t in your room to see your eyes squinting desperately and your chin tucked down into your chest. you didn’t have much to dwell on that though, the moment your eyes found a notification on your phone your heart began to sink.

it was a message from john.

“fuck,” you whispered out, quickly unlocking your phone as you gulp slightly. your hands began shaking a little with nervousness. you were convinced he texted you to tear you a new one, to double down on what he’d said to you the day before. what he’d actually said, you were sure, was actually so much worse.

“let me know when you’re free. we should talk.”

it was a little ominous in a way only walker would do. part of you wished he would just leave the conversation as it was yesterday, to simply move on and forget about it. another part of you wished he had tore you open over text. at least that way you wouldn’t have to look him in the eyes as he argued. you thought it would be easier that way. your stomach began to ache right along with your wound, suddenly a little nauseous at the thought of rehashing your argument with him. you knew that’s what he wanted from you.

with a grumble, you pushed your blankets off of you, before slowly sitting up in bed. your face crinkled up in slight pain as you plant your feet to the ground, slowly moving to stand. if you were going to do this with walker, you were at least going to shower and change your bandages first.

the old bandage from last night were slightly bloodied on the inside, the gauze a muddy brown. you tried not to think too much about the flakiness or the texture as you gently begin cleaning around the wound again. you got any sort of dried blood off of you out of the shower, figuring it would be easier that way.

you focused on the rest of your slightly sweaty body in the shower, gently washing yourself clean with soap. you were even more careful with the way you cleaned your knee up. a soft smile quirked up on your lips as you thought about last night. you mimicked bobs gentleness with yourself, the thought alone taking your mind off of the soon to be conversation with walker. you wondered what he was doing now, and if he was thinking of you just like you were thinking of him. it’s silly, you knew that. still, you couldn’t help but let your mind drift to it.

it wasn’t until youd bandaged yourself back up, slipping into clean, comfortable clothes after the much needed shower that you’d picked your phone back up. there walkers text was, unanswered, intimidating. you swallowed again thickly, thumbs fumbling at your keyboard as you finally answer back, just as simple as he’d texted you.

“i’m free now if you are.”

your text was left un-responded to for ten minutes. you were sure he’d gotten busy, it’d been two and a half hours since he’d sent that first text. still, you sat on the edge of your bed, anxious and very impatiently waiting for some sort of response from the man. that’s when a knock at your door caught your attention, a lot more rough than the knock bob had given you last night. with a long, deep breath, you pushed yourself off of your bed, walking towards your door.

you opened it to find john standing in front of you. he gave you a small, tight lipped smile as he scratched the back of his neck, looking down at you with eyes that had guilt written all over them.

“hey,” he said, voice a lot more quiet than yesterday. he moved to cross his arms in front of his chest, a little uncomfortable with the situation. “any chance i can come in? we need to talk about yesterday.”

you nodded at him, offering up a small, worried smile. you tugged the door open a little more, giving him space to come in “yeah, yeah we do.”

walker carefully let himself into your room, eyes beginning to wander the interior. he’d never been inside your room, there was never a need for him to be until now. when you shut the door, you’d pointed to the end of your bed, slowly making your way to sit. he was hesitant in the way he sat next to you, giving you two a few inches of space between your bodies. the air was thick with tension. you noticed the way he nervously slid his hands down his thighs. man he really looked worked up.

“listen,” walker started slow, eyes glancing over to you for just a second. your eyes locked in that brief moment, and he’d noticed you were a little nervous, too. his guilt only weighed down on him more. “i’m not really the best with these kinds of things. i don’t think you are too. but i just wanted to explain myself.”

you gave him another nod, eyes flickering to him again. your shoulders were tense and so were his. you were good with feelings, but you weren’t good with confrontation. and walkers stubborn, just a little more than you are, and struggles verbalizing what’s going on in his brain. it was quite the situation you two had found yourselves in. you whispered out a small ‘okay’, urging him to continue. he let out a deep breath before he spoke, something you could tell he truly thought out and practiced.

“i shouldn’t have yelled at you like that. i get, just, so worked up sometimes, and i don’t know how to control it. i need to control it, and i’m working on it, but it’s difficult for me sometimes. when you got hurt like that, all i could think about was lemar, about how i couldn’t save him. that could’ve been you. i don’t know if i was angry at myself for not being there with you, or if i was just frustrated with the situation. either way, i shouldn’t have blown up like i did. that’s not how that conversation should’ve gone.”

walker was here to take accountability, and god did it feel nice to hear that from him. at the end of his little speech, his eyes found yours, a little desperate for some sort of affirmation. he was first met with your gentle eyes, something that’d eased up as he spoke. he was next met with your hand gently smoothing up and down his back a few times as you gave him a nod. this whole thing was a little awkward for the both of you. the apology, the vulnerability, the communication, the touch. walker still found a little comfort in your gesture, though.

you two were the kind of close that could only really be compared to siblings. he was an older brother to you in the sense that he was an obnoxious little shit that had your back when you really needed it. you may not talk about feelings, or much of anything super personal, but you knew he was there for you. especially during missions.

“i’m still a little upset with you,” you whispered, hand drawing away from his back. you kept eye contact with him as you spoke. “but i appreciate you telling me that, it means a lot to hear. it helps knowing where you’re coming from. i’ll try and be more careful next time, i promise.”

walker shrugged his shoulders at your words, eyes moving away from yours to look at the wall as he thought for a moment. his eyes squinted a little as he gave a short reply. “you’re good at your job, i trust you to make the right decisions.”

you nodded once more at his words, now a little unsure what to say. it seemed walker didn’t have much else to say, either, deciding it was best for him to get up and leave. he hoisted himself off your bed, you following his lead a little slower than him. walker offered up a fist, earning himself a genuine smile from you, the first he’d been given in days. you fist bumped him, watching as he heads towards your door to leave.

“we’ll train when you’re feeling better,” walker said while opening your door, free hand motioning down to your side as he slid outside. “practice how to take someone who’s coming up behind you.”

“yes sir,” you say, saluting him teasingly. with a roll of his eyes, he leaves, gently shutting the door behind him. you let out a giant breath when he leaves, hand reaching up to press against your forehead, rubbing slightly. it was relieving having that conversation with him. the air felt a lot less heavy, your chest loosening up as your anxiety mostly eases.

now, it was your turn to go knocking.

you’d found your way towards bobs bedroom only minutes after your conversation with walker. you were eager to speak to him, to tell him that you’d smoothed things over with the hot headed man. your knuckles were gentle with the way you’d knocked on his door in hopes not to startle him.

when bob answered the door, you were slightly taken aback by the sight in front of you. he’d so obviously just gotten out of the shower. his hair was damp and so was his skin - which, by the way, was fully on display, given the fact he was in only a pair of shorts -, the soft vanilla of his shampoo wafting into your senses. you tried not to ogle, truly you tried. how could you not stare for even a second when his chest was on full display, his toned muscles tensing at the sight of you. you weren’t sure who he was expecting, but you didn’t think it was you.

“bad time?” you asked, eyebrows knitting together in worry. you began to worry again, ready to make a quick departure at his request. that’s not at all what he’d told you.

“not at all,” bob said quickly, ushering you into his room, quick to shut the door behind you. he stumbled around until he found a clean shirt, sniffing it to make sure, before tugging it over his head. you frowned only long enough for him not to notice, eyes scanning his back as it disappears beneath the cloth. he turned back to you as he spoke, cheeks tinted pink at his slight indecency, even more so at the realization you’d been staring. “how’s your side?”

you shrugged, eyes blinking a few times as you attempted to compose yourself. you’d finally looked him in his face, your own face burning slightly just like his. “hurts, but it’s not infected.”

bob gave you a smile, nodding as his shoulders slouch in a weak attempt to fold in on himself. he whispered ‘good’, hands clenching at his sides. you decided that you’d try and fill the silence, desperate not to make things awkward. you’d felt bad for staring, even if he was really nice to look at.

“john apologized to me,” you spoke. bob looked a little bewildered at your words, head nearly spinning off as he turns to look at you again. you giggled a little at his reaction, moving to explain yourself. “he texted me and told me he wanted to talk and i almost shit myself. i thought i might genuinely have to take him in a fight.”

bob began to laugh with you, shaking his head softly at your words. his nose crinkled up at the thought of john apologizing. it was something he’d only seen a handful of times. “and all he wanted was to apologize? why’d he text you so weird?”

“no. clue.” you replied through gritted teeth. “it was actually a pretty decent apology though. he didn’t try and put the blame on me, he took accountability and stuff.”

you spent the next few minutes giggling about the situation, relief washing over the both of you now that everything was done and over with. admittedly, bob had been a little worried for you. he knew how worked up walker had gotten you, and how nervous you were about seeing him and confronting him again. he was glad things went well, for your sake and his. as much as it would’ve scared him, bob would’ve stepped in and defended you against walker, even if you didn’t need him to.

after the conversation died down, you’d realized how late in the day it had gotten. it was nearly 11, and you’d yet to eat. you noticed the way your stomach began to growl, how you felt a little lightheaded. you’d lost a bit of blood from the stab wound. not eating anything other than a little fruit in a day and a half was beginning to catch up with you. thankfully, bob seemed to catch on. you weren’t sure if it was obvious you weren’t feeling too well, or if he’d simply just knew you hadn’t eaten in a while, though you were glad he’d realized.

“would you, maybe, wanna go get pizza with me?” bob asked, looking at you full of hope. “we can go get a box to share at that place you’ve been eying up. the one a block or two away.”

you nodded quickly, almost too quickly. your eagerness to be around him continued to grow more and more apparent the longer you were around bob.

that’s how you two ended up walking the streets of the city, side by side, deep in a conversation about the book you’d been reading together. it wasn’t often the two of you were able to talk like this without any interruption. you savored every last minute, clinging to every last one of his words like they’re about to run away from you. during this walk, you’d made a note of how he’d taken the side closet to the road, something that made your heart stutter in your chest. it may not have been intentional, or even something bob put a lot of thought in to, but it had you swooning.

when you’d made it to the pizza shop, he’d ordered you two just a simple pepperoni and cheese. the shop was a little crowded, and it forced the two of you a little close to each other as you stood and waited for it to be made. you didn’t mind in the slightest. the warmth you were searching for earlier in the morning had found its way to you again, inviting and intoxicating. you wondered if he had even the slightest idea the effect he had on you.

an effect that you so happened to have on him, too. you’d just missed the way bob swallowed nervously as you shuffled a little closer to him. your pretty eyes were staring up at him as he spoke, and it had him stumbling on his words a little. bob wanted nothing more than to reach a hand out to you, to feel your warmth against his fingertips. he had to stop himself from doing that often.

after your pizza had finally finished up, the two of your readying to step outside, you noticed how the sky started to darken. bob groaned as you guys pushed out the doors and onto the street, eyes scanning the sky passed all the large buildings. your trip back to the tower was a lot quicker than your trip from in hopes to beat the rain. and, lucky for you two, you had. the moment you’d scanned the both of you in, slipping inside of the building, heavy rain let loose against the streets. you and bob shared smiles as you hustled towards the elevator, heading right up to the living quarters.

the pizza was eaten in the silence of bobs room. you’d say on the ground at the foot of his bed, backs resting gently against the cushioned bed frame. silence with him was just as nice as a conversation. it was almost never awkward. you were able to just exist next to each other in a way you couldn’t with the rest of the team. when the two of you finally finished up your meal, closing up the box now empty box, you’d gotten the urge to touch bob. to feel his warmth up close this time. before you could lose the confidence, you turned to him.

“thank you for helping me out last night,” you whispered, hand slowly finding its way to his elbow. bobs eyelashes fluttered while he looked over at you, sitting the box to the side as his heart began to pick up in pace. “for cleaning up my knee and for listening and stuff.”

“of course,” bob said, head bobbing slightly as he tried to think of the right thing to say. his brain short circuited a little at the feeling of your hand sliding up his bicep. he watched as you leaned into him, your arms moving to wrap around his neck, gently pulling him into a hug. his arms were hesitant in the way they wrapped around your waist, hands finding a comfortable place on your back. he was careful not to brush against your wound, resting his touch just around it. bobs face pressed gently into your shoulder at the same time yours tucked into the crook of his neck, beginning to mumble against your hoodie. “i’m always here for you.”

you sat in this hug comfortably for a few moments, relishing the feeling of his touch and his warmth. a part of you expected him to pull away, to cringe and tell you to stop. all bob did was lean in closer, holding onto your body with such care that it made you a little ill. what he was about to protest was the fact that you’d pulled away from him. that didn’t happen, no. he couldn’t seem to find the words now that your face was only inches away from his.

your breath fanned against his face, eyes staring right into bobs. his hands moved to carefully steady you at the hips, his grip gentle, just enough to keep you upright. your chest was brushing right up against his, his mind swimming back to the night before, remembering the sight of you in your bra. and just when he’d thought you were going to lean in, to close the gap between your lips, a loud knock interrupted your moment. both of your heads snapped towards his door, hearts stammering in unison as you looked. it was yelena, seemingly annoyed.

“team meeting in 15, val’s orders. you lovebirds better be there.”

#munsonify #bob reynolds #robert reynolds #bob reynolds imagines #bob reynolds imagine #bob reynolds x fem!reader #bob reynolds x you #bob reynolds x y/n #bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds fluff #robert reynolds x fem!reader #robert reynolds x y/n #robert reynolds imagines #robert reynolds imagine #robert reynolds x you #robert reynolds x reader #robert reynolds fluff #john walker #john walker x platonic!reader

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typewritingyip · 23 hours ago

Text

Arcturus Three

Part Five - Connection

Part Four

———

The fourth human spaceflight program of NASA (the U.S. National Aeronautics and Space Administration) was the Space Shuttle Program, which accomplished routine transportation from Earth to Orbit crews for thirty years.

In general, the space shuttle was composed of an orbiter with two solid rocket boosters and an external fuel tank; which could carry up to eight astronauts and 50,000 pounds of payload into low Earth orbit.

Upon reentry of the Earth’s atmosphere, it would glide to a landing either at Kennedy Space Center in Florida or Edwards Air Force Base in California.

It was the first reusable crewed space ferrying vehicle that was able to make multiple trips to and from Earth.

Two major accidents were registered during the time of the Space Shuttle program; Challenger in 1986 and Columbia in 2003.

In January of 2004, the retirement of the Space shuttle was announced, dependent on the rate of complication for the ISS (International Space Station). TO ensure that the ISS was assembled properly and safely, the Space Shuttle would be used for at least sixteen more missions which would resume in March of 2006.

Other missions would later be scheduled.

The initial decision for the Artemis missions was going to reuse the two solid rocket boosters from the Space Shuttle and four main engines, and the Orion spacecraft’s main engine was to be all previously flown Space Shuttle main engines.

Until the Artemis missions were postponed in place of the MECHA sanctioned Arcturus Missions. The Odyssey for Arcturus One being a traditional Space Shuttle in design, followed by the Iliad which the base structure being Space Shuttle like and the final re-design for the Aeneid for Arcturus Five.

Arcturus Two and Four would fly up on more traditional rockets that do not require the same level of space.

It is unknown when the shift for the Artemis program would take place.

—

Strapping into seats had never felt more stressful than in this moment, orange suits shuffling around awkwardly, before he pulled down his visor and took slow, deep breaths. Laying back in the seat, he tightens his seat belts before turning on his microphone, “Captain, any murmurs from headquarters yet?” When he was in the zone, he could be serious at least, and Cecilia sighed slowly, “Nothing yet Jesse, but I’ve got NASA on the line. We’re taking off with or without their clearance.” Nodding a bit, he grasps his straps.

How did Arcturus One just feel so calm launching into space?

His heart was in his throat for the moment as his headset clicked back on, “Alright crew Arcturus, we are going to be starting the launch sequence shortly.” Watching as everyone shifted around uncomfortably, they were supposed to have some time before this. Even if it was for the news and such, even if they’d said goodbye to the people they cared about already, this was a lot to take in at once. Digging his feet into the seat, he tried to calm down, glancing towards Percy.

The poor man had his eyes closed and looked like he was praying. That was not a good sign either.

Nodding a bit, he turns to his station and starts to watch the launch sequence instead, waiting. Sighing slowly and tapping his fingers against the belts on his chest, “God, let this be the right choice.” He’d never questioned anything Mecha had asked of him, had taken every mission he was ordered to and wrote his name on every dotted line. Maybe that was stupid of him, naïve even, but right now he was starting to regret it for the first time.

Even knowing he was facing death on this mission, as they thought had happened with the last two crews, at least he was supposed to be doing it for a good cause. Now, without communications with Mecha, it felt like they were flying blind.

“One minute till launch.” He was quick to mute his output microphone and glanced towards Percy, then Cecilia and Rusty, “Is this actually happening?” Percy slowly nodded and gripped his belts tightly, “Yeah.” Rusty sighed and shifted in his seat, “Kid, now is not the time for second thoughts. We’re on this suicide mission whether we like it or not.” He pauses, “It’s better than any of us being back on Shockwave’s operation table.”

The silence in the crew cabin was deafening.

“Thirty seconds.” Closing his eyes again, he leaned his head back against the chair and breathed slowly, “You know, there isn’t anyone else I’d want to die alongside then you all, so there are worse ways to go.” Rusty glanced back, “Jesse, shut up.” Nodding a bit, he smiled, “Shutting up.” But he kept his eyes closed.

There felt like an eternity of silence, “Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one. Lift off.” And they were all pressed back into their seats as the rocket pushed them up towards orbit. Jesse kept his eyes closed, and chose at that moment to pray.

As the radio crackled, everyone around him was speaking quietly, checking over their stations and he just ignored his, could not be bothered to look at it. It wasn’t exactly the most important for the lift off sequence anyways. That was Cecilia’s job as Captain, though he opened his eyes after a few minutes and slowly started to work at his station.

They were supposed to orbit before docking with the rest of the Iliad, then use the main rockets there to push them out of Earth’s orbit. None of it really made sense to him, but the people at NASA ensured that this was the safest Arcturus mission yet.

He wasn’t sure how much to believe when it came to that, but they were halfway to space already so there wasn’t a way to turn back.

Time felt like it was moving at a snail's pace, eventually they were able to unstrap from their seats, then remove the helmets of their spacesuits. They’d have to put them back on during docking but floating around in space was kinda cool.

Jesse was choosing this moment to try and relax, so floating upside down was helping with that. They were all smiling a bit at the hijinx, even Ratchet seemed to be excited about it, though he was pressed up to the windows, staring out at space.

Still no word from MECHA, which was becoming a worry he’d face at a later date he was sure, but right now the focus was on being in space, “Hey Percy, mind taking a picture of Cecilia and I?” Spinning a small camera towards him, Jesse kicked off one of the chairs and hugged Cecilia close with a grin.

Even Percy was smiling as he took the picture, “Alright, I am not afraid to admit that this is interesting.” Nodding with a smile, Jesse moved towards the front to look out the window, “How many orbits till we link up with the rest of the Iliad?” Rusty sighed slowly next to him, staring out the window, “Three, I believe.” Nodding a bit, as if he knew what that meant, he tucked into a ball and spun lazily.

Just trying to stay calm.

—

Flipping a few switches and adjusting the telemetry, she pulled the headset back on and turned on the microphone, “Mission control, telemetry positive and maintaining orbit.” There was a pause, “Roger, Arcturus, maintain the current movement.” Sighing, she takes off the headset and leans back. Dragging her hands down her face.

Most of the others had moved into the rest of the ship, it was safe with everything still being sealed off, the little bit of cargo the shuttle was bringing to the Iliad was strapped down so it wouldn’t flow around. That didn’t change the fact that right now they were basically drifting through space with just the initial mission notes.

Rusty leaned forward, just into her field of vision, “Arcee, take a moment and breathe.” Nodding a bit, she sighed and took a deep breath, “Yeah, I’m trying.” He forced a smile and clasped her shoulder, “Kid, this is just what we expected, what we were told to expect. It’s the waiting game, yeah, it sucks but we’re going to be fine.”

Nodding some, she shifts back over the seats and starts towards the hold, “Well, come on then. I think Roddy is making food.” Humming, Ratchet follows. Both floating through the hatch to a ruckus of noise, coming from a floating speaker.

Percy looked pained, while Jesse was shaking a silver bag, which probably had rapidly heating food in it. Ah, the joy of space innovation that would let them have a hot meal. Moving over to the microphone set up in the cargo bay, Cecilia was quick to pull the cord on it, “Oops.”

Now the only camera was the one in the cockpit and same with the only microphone.

Everyone smiled and Jesse kept shaking the bag, “Alright, we’ll have what I think is chili here shortly. Ratch, mind getting the door?” Chucking a bit, Ratchet moved over and adjusted the door enough to block the camera.

Sighing a bit, Arcee nodded, “Alright, so, the thing on all our minds. We’ll see him in a day at the longest, but we have to get in there and make it seem like the microphones and cameras broke when we connected. Percy, can you handle that?” He was already nodding, “I’ll be able to connect to the ship as soon as we dock, just need the right system distraction.” Jesse’s hand goes up, though technically down.

He was grinning, “I call dibs on being a distraction, how does a seat belt emergency sound to everyone?” She couldn’t help but groan along with the others. But his grin was wide, “I’ll make it work.” With a shake of her head, Cecilia moves over, “Alright, alright. I’m hungry, shut up and let's eat.”

Moving carefully along the strapped down gear, she moved and snagged one of the water pouches strapped to the wall. Spinning around carefully, she looked out at everything, at all of them.

They ranged in ages, in lives lived, and in every way possible basically. But they were all there, floating in space, and hiding one of the biggest secrets in the whole universe but she wouldn’t trade places for an instant.

To protect Deadlock, to have been protecting the innocent, to give Earth a chance, she’d choose this path over and over again.

Eventually, once they had all eaten, she shifted back to the cockpit to try and relax. If that was even possible, Jesse was listening to music through some headphones now, Percy was working on one of the computers to prepare for docking and Rusty was trying to get some sleep in one of the sleeping pods. She’d always find those still strange, floating in a sleeping bag inside a box, she couldn’t help but be grateful that she wasn't claustrophobic. Poor Percy was, slightly.

Closing her eyes again, she sighs slowly, “God, let this be the right choice.” Turning slowly towards the camera, she faces it, crossing her arms a bit, “Alright, so, this is not meant to be a direct transmission but fuck it.”

Nodding a bit, “So, might as well. This is Captain Cecilia Arnold of Arcturus Three. We launched July tenth of 2016. It has been two years since the launch of Arcturus Two and three since Arcturus One. I have been a mech suit pilot for six years this year, and made the wrong kind of enemies.” She glances towards the other side of the ship, sighing slowly before looking back.

”You're killing good pilots because we got in your way. You're killing a fucking phenomenal biomechanical engineer and medic, along with one of your own scientists, because we somehow got in your way.” Staring down the camera, her nod was slow and glare intense, “Someday, the people will find out about you and what you do, and you’ll regret getting rid of us.”

Sighing again, she brushed a hand through her hair, moving to tie it back, “Anyways, um, to everyone else that isn’t a psychopath.” She chuckles a bit, shaking her head, “Just know we’re doing this to end this damned war, any data we can send, information, we’ll get it to you.” She nodded a bit, “Yeah, we’ll get it to you.”

She wanted to say something, to her friends, to her family, but she didn’t know what to say. Even when she had been on Earth, she hadn’t known way to say, nodding slowly, she moved and strapped herself back into her seat.

At least the view was good.

—

He woke up around thirty minutes before they would be docking with the rest of the Iliad.

His heart was in his throat as they all strapped into their seats for the docking and initial thrusters, if the launch from Earth had been stressful this would be nearly doubly so. There wouldn’t be any turning back at this point, which he had known. Of course there was no turning back, thinking so was just naive but it still pulled at his mind. They were still in Earth’s general orbit but still far enough out that there wasn’t a rescue if anything went wrong, no real way back.

Sliding the visor on his space suit helmet down, he tightens down his belts carefully as he helped Cecilia direct the ship into the additional ring, “Mission control, we are in position for remote access.” Cecilia’s voice didn’t waver, waiting for the response before lifting her hands from the controls.

They drifted and he stared.

Behind him, Percy adjusted his computer next to his seat, plugging in carefully and waiting.

It was like they all were holding their breaths.

Minutes ticked by, the ring and suits inching closer before it was barely visible in the window anymore. Then came the thunk, jolting them in their seats a bit as they were strapped in tight.

The release of air as the tunnels connected to the cargo bay was stressful, none of them spoke before Mission Control came back over speaker, “Alright Arcturus, you are clear. Secondary thrusters will activate in a minute, once done you will be free to roam again.” The only other sound in their cockpit was Percy, hitting keys rapidly on the keyboard.

There was only a slight delay, “Uh, Arcturus, there had been another disconnect in cameras within the ring, please run diagnostics once able.” He slowly let out the breath he was holding, closing his eyes.

Only a few more seconds flicked by before the roar of secondary thrusters came to life and they started to move, move away from orbit, “Arcturus, you are clear for movement.” The quick clicks of belts releasing was one of the greatest reliefs.

Carefully, Cecilia was the first to move back and open the door back to the cargo hold, only a slight shift in pressure was noticeable as she moved back out, then kicked off to head down one of the tunnels.

”Hey Arcee, wait for me!” Jesse was right behind, attempting to seemingly swim through the air.

He remained for a few minutes, unable to bring himself to move. The unknown was beyond the door and that was not something he was willing to face yet. Percy reached forward and patted his shoulder, “Come on, lets see what made it on board.” It was subtle enough for the cameras, sighing and nodding, Rusty finally unbelted and followed Percy out.

Once they were in one of the tunnels, Percy glanced back, “I have footage looping, they’ll get nothing for the first day then we’ll record some basic interactions in here before cutting the lines completely.” Smiling a bit, he nodded, “Good job Perc’.” They both floated from the tunnel and looked around.

The space wasn’t terribly large, but it was full of strapped down cargo, including a large black box that Cecilia and Jesse were uncovering, “Hey pal.” Jesse had the visor of his suit lifted, the grin on his face was bright.

His heart clenched painfully as they drifted over and waited.

It had been three months since they’d seen Deadlock, the poor bot had been stuck as a box for that whole time, in something called stasis but it didn’t make it any less terrible sounding. Rusty moved over and rested a hand on Deadlock, “We’re here kid, we’re here.”

Seconds dragged on, before a faint light glowed and carefully, Deadlock seemed to stretch out like a cat. His eyes opened and blinked slowly, before a smile (though it looked like a sneer) took over his face. Rusty smiled, pushing up the sunshade visor he had, “How’s it going?” Jesse hugged Deadlock’s arm, Cecilia was grinning and Percy nodded slowly.

They somehow managed to get him here, unnoticed and unharmed, that was a win.

—

Two weeks today, two whole weeks and he wasn’t entirely sure of how to feel.They were in the middle of space, the middle of actual nowhere and this was roughly the estimated time period of when Arcturus One disappeared. Months from when Arcturus Two had reportedly been destroyed. He’d gone ahead and override the launch sequence for the relay satellite; it was nearly four hours behind them now, maintaining its location in space. It’s slow orbit through their solar system.

Though if he had to listen to yet another game of fifty questions with Jesse and Deadlock, he’d lose his mind. He was starting to regret the translators by the five-hundredth round of twenty questions.

At present, he was working on Rusty’s assistance suit, the older man was wearing the helmet and adjusting the visor along with the oxygen mask to be a more comfortable fit, “Everything feeling okay so far?” Nodding a bit, Ratchet pressed a button on the side and the visor went from opaque to clear.

“Yeah, better than it was in the shop.” Smiling a bit, Percy shrugged, “It’ll be lighter for now, if we manage to get somewhere, anywhere, then it probably will be uncomfortable again,” He paused, “You’ll get used to it, just like any other pilot.” Rusty shook his head a bit and pressed the button again, face disappearing from view.

Deadlock loomed, leaning forward with a frown, “I do not like the visor.” Rolling his eyes a bit, Percy adjusts his own helmet slightly, checking the connection on his implants, “You said your kind has a prejudice against organics, if they are the ones who save us from the void of space then we all need to appear as though we are not organic.” Deadlock hummed, though it sounded more like a growl.

Already shaking his head, Ratchet sighs, “Ignore him, he doesn’t like anything.” Deadlock grumbled before shifting away. There wasn’t enough space for him to stand upright but there was at least enough for him to move, shifting back over to rejoin the game of questions with Roddy and Arcee.

“Alright, let's test this then.” Shifting forward, he gestures to Rusty, “Take off the helmet and put this on.” Nodding a bit, Rusty took off his helmet and let it hang next to him while putting on the assistance suit.

Assistance suits were bulky, but easy to get on and off, comfortably enough to wear for an extended period of time but not like in a sweatsuit kind of way, just in the not unbearable kind of way. Rusty’s had a lot more gear in it than the typical suit, but they both wanted it that way. It would be heavier, but Percy had figured that, adding hydraulics to help with movement and adjusting the joint areas to have more free motion.

It was just too bad it couldn’t be double jointed like so many of their own mech suits were.

Sliding on each piece, Percy helped with the boots and gloves before the helmet was put on as well, “Go ahead and move around in it, let me know if anything is pinching or uncomfortable, I’ll try to fix it.” Rusty nodded and moved about, shifting a bit in the suit, pinwheeling his arms with ease, “No, it feels good Percy, fits well.” Nodding a bit, he watched Rusty move, trying to see anything he was missing.

The ship shuddered and everyone froze, drifting in weightlessness for a long moment.

A green light seemed to flash all around them, through the small windows and practically through the ship as it shuddered again and an alarm started to blare. Percy looked at Ratchet and quickly grabbed his shoulders, “Stay here with Deadlock!” The older man started to shake his head before being snagged by said oversized cat and hauled close.

The lights flickered as the ship wheezed uneasily, small thrusters slowly sputtering out.

He hissed something to the medic as Percy pushed himself back up the tube towards the shuttle. Arcee hot on his tail, followed by Roddy as they scrambled towards the cockpit.

”Try to get Mission Control on comms, now!” Arcee shouted as she hauled herself into her piloting chair, Percy moved to snag up comms and activate them. A blurt of static then a garbled mess of noise, rapidly making the speakers pop and die on the comm.

Whatever this was, was far from good.

Roddy went straight to one of the windows to look around, “Do you think it’s Kiaju?” But he was already shaking his head, trying to re-tune the radio, “No, this isn’t them. I’ve never seen them kill a comms device before unless one was stepping on it.” There was a nearly subtle shift before the distinct drag of gravity pulled them all towards the floor. Percy’s ass hit the seat hard while he fought with comms.

It didn’t take long for Jesse to fall into his seat, just behind Cecilia, staring ahead like he was seeing something no one should.

”Oh shit. What the hell?” Cecilia’s voice came over the ship's speakers, which hadn’t been killed in whatever had just damaged their tech, “Either get to a suit or brace!” He was quick, moving back into the cockpit as everything seemed to. Explode with noise.

Speakers throughout the ship blaring painfully loud with unknown transmissions.

—

“Holy shit!”

”Ah fuck!”

”What the hell is that?!”

”Turn off the fucking notifications!”

”Abort the sensors!”

”Will someone just shut the damn thing off?!”

Everyone’s voices were coming through the speakers along with every other noise in the damn ship, it was both dizzying and painful.

The ship shuttered once again and promptly died, though no one stopped panicking, “Oh fuck me!” There was even more shouting as the lights cut, then the emergency lights came on.

Climbing from his seat, Jesse stumbled a few times, trying to get to the suit tunnels, “What the hell is happening?” Cecilia looked over as she was doing the same, “It feels like we’re entering an atmosphere.” She climbs into the tunnel as the Iliad banks hard in the opposite direction.

They’d just spent the last two weeks without gravity and now it felt like it was dragging them down. They tried to move quickly.

As soon as their tunnels sealed, he heard the distinct sound of ripping metal.

“Holy shit.” The world was exploding around them, even in his suit it was concussive. Falling into his piloting seat, he put on his helmet, adjusting his assistance suit quickly and bringing the cameras online for the first time in months. Implants connecting with a snap.

It had been months since he’d stepped foot in his suit, had spent as many waking minutes in the simulator on Earth as he could but nothing compared to this feeling.

Gasping as he finally shifted from being Jesse Nelson, back to Hot Rod, Roddy to his friends and allies. His systems come back online as a landscape rages below them, “Alright, this doesn’t look like Earth or Mars!” His comms connect easily, Arcee and Preceptor coming up on cameras and comms in the corner of his screens as they too reconnected with their suits.

All their expressions had brief shifts of pain, the rolling of shoulders as the weight hit them again. Like a bus into a brick wall.

”No, no it does not.” Arcee got her suit loose first, looking towards the ship, “Anyone have eyes on Deadlock and Ratchet?” He twisted around too, trying to see but over on this side was just him and Arcee. Percy was quick to nod though, “Yes, I do. But you won’t like where they are.” Climbing up the falling ship, Hot Rod takes a long look at the landscape.

Wherever they were was under attack by kaiju, and Deadlock had just landed himself and Ratchet in the middle of a fight, “Oh great.” He continued to scan though, trying to see something, anything, and he took a slow breath, “Alright Arcee, what’s the plan?” She took a breath, “I’m gonna try to get the ship to the ground safely, you and Percy should go figure out what’s happening on the ground.”

Nodding, he glanced over his shoulder to Percy, “First to the ground calls dibs on new cool alien stuff.” Preceptor grinned, “You're on Hot Rod.” And they both jumped like idiots.

The ring around the shuttle shook briefly from their departure but stayed connected, likely to prevent the Iliad from having a smooth landing unfortunately.

As much as he enjoyed jumping around in his suit, the ground wasn’t as far as it looked, which he didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing, rolling in his landing. Plating scraping harshly on the ground. He landed on his back with a groan, “Fuck…” Closing his eyes for a moment, he sighed even as his comms pinged loudly.

”Alright then.” Pushing up from the ground, he had to scramble back as a kaiju hurdled towards him, “Holy shit!” Like a bomb going off, the ground between him and it exploded. Blinking against the blast, a hand reached through the smoke towards him, and he took it quickly, “Thanks Perc’.” He stood and stared.

There were fewer things he’d expected right now than this, a lightning visor, “Hey Hot Rod, welcome to the party, finally. So, another Arcturus crew finally decided to show up?” Sideswipe’s voice was full of sarcasm, “Took you all long enough, hope you brought some decent shit— oh wait.” He hurdled over Jesse’s suit and dug his bracers into a kaiju behind him.

”We’ve got a lot to fill you in on, join the main frequency when you have a moment.” And like he appeared, he disappeared, following several other mecha towards more of the fight. The Iliad, still soaring above them in the distance, “Oh Kay then…”

He could just make out Arcee hanging onto it, trying to ensure that its landing wouldn’t destroy the entire thing, but then again, the ring was always meant to remain in space. It didn’t exactly have landing gear at the moment.

Bending he took several slow breaths, “Focus Hot Rod, focus.” Dragging a hand down his face, he nods and moves to follow Sideswipe.

Switching channels without another thought he almost crashed when more voices filled his ears, ones he didn’t think he’d hear again. Ones he didn’t really recognize too, but the translator handled with ease.

Yeah, this was entirely normal and they didn’t obviously die in a fiery ball of death. Of course not.

———

A/N

MUHAHAHAHAH!

Welcome to my personal hell, where I decided that writing for four character wasn’t hard enough, it is now eight.

*insert, Haha I’m in Danger, meme here*

Anyways, yeah. I actually finished writing this chapter before Part 50, so Part 51 as well.. Though I had part of that written already before hand. 🤷‍♀️

I am an impatient person who loves to write the dramatic moments.

I don’t know whether I love or hate this chapter, so let me know what you guys think… I know Arcturus Three had a lot of jump cuts as it was but this one can probably be a lot.

TAGS

@lunarlei68 @whirlywhirlygig @loop-hole-319 @pixillandjester @alek-the-witch @not-a-moose-in-disguise @goddessofwind8water @neurologicalglitch @dersereblogger @pixel-transformers @mrcrayonofdoom @wireplaces @twilightfreefaller @original-blog-name-2 @devilangel657 @robbin-u @miniartistme @starwold @tea-enthusiasm @valeexpris606 @celticdoggo @bird599 @agentsquirrelsgotrobots @aquaioart @thatwandercat @artdagz @seisha974 @halenhusky309 @leethepiper @cat-cassette @sirassban @cosmique-oddity @garbageenthusiast @xervias @azulabutterfly @fryseem @spring-mc @echo-circuit @aghostsnail @wooblewooble @ask-glory-haddock-and-others @nonsscrapheap @magichats @iminahole247 @omgflyingderpywhale @thetrexartist @naaaafam @elegantmantaray @emichusai @waterlilykitty @diabolichare @ham4ponyo @osqindaxend @sunnyvibesanddoodles @ratatatata248 @ijustneedausernaneplease4444444 @sprook-children @fooolisher

And once again thank you to @Keferon for this amazing AU

#transformers #maccadam #tf mecha universe #tf mecha au #mecha pilot jazz au #mech pilot jazz au #the arcturus missions #arcee #Hot rod #rodimus #perceptor #ratchet #deadlock #drift #sideswipe

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seeminglyunconcious · 1 day ago

Text

My Muse (your smile, our time)

Pangi falls away from the world as Youtube and Streaming work don't come together. Statistics fall in sync with his expectation and emotions. Luckily, with a quick call from his sister, someone comes to do an impromptu wellness check!

tw: depressive symptoms Also, if you want listen to "My Muse - Owl City" on the part where it describes a cascade of tears. The song ambushed me whilst I was writing the end... still haven't recovered.

Once again, inspired by Skam and peoples request for more fluffy times for these two.

Read below or online!

It hurt Pangi for Lukey to see him like this; broken, weak, disgusting… incompetent.

—

He’d been in a rut for a while now, imposter syndrome, but then it got worse and worse as the videos he put out didn’t hit expectations or completely fell through. The symptoms started off with late meals and missing the walks; usually opting for his sister to take Binky for a walk instead of him. Before long it all started adding up: he sent Tertel a termination letter, constant headaches, and the once vibrant calendar fell empty to endless hours stuck in bed.

His sister called their mom over out of worry, but he played it off well as a quick fever from overworking. With empty promises to eat properly and getting more rest she left to Pangi’s relief, which then turned into daily acts of pretend with his sister as he swallowed food, but regurgitated it in shaking fits after. He felt empty. A fraud.

Multiple times he left messages from friends on read and calls unanswered, feigning sleep and illness to pacify their overt worries. The lies kept adding up as the days went on and eventually tangled up to a point with a surprise visit from probably the only person he least wanted to see him like this. Lukey.

—

Pangi’s room had pretty much been shut off from the rest of the world. The doors always remained closed, windows slightly open, and the curtains drawn only enough to let a sliver of light through. Up until the door was opened and the familiar scent of apples invaded his senses.

“Hey…” It was a careful greeting, quiet and to the point, yet Pangi could tell it held the heavy weight of concern. “I’m not gonna lie, I almost didn’t believe your sister when she said you’d locked yourself up here. But- well nevermind, it’s nice seeing you again Pangi.”

Lukey stood by his door, slightly hovering between entering and leaving. He wore an all-white sweater and sported a fond smile. It would be a lie if he admitted that the scene didn’t give him butterflies.

Pangi closed his eyes nonetheless, exhaustion washing over him followed by guilt which killed any other rising emotion.

“What are you doing here?” His voice was hoarse and rapped from disuse.

There wasn’t a response, only the silent padding of footsteps and the sinking feeling of the bed’s edge before a slightly-cold palm lightly touched his forehead.

“Well, good to know you aren’t sick with fever.” His tone was shaky.

Leave me alone…

“At least everyone can chill out, ya know they were all worried right? I had to hold them all back with the promise I’d visit and take care of you.” Lukey narrated his trip slowly, a hand finding its way to Pangi’s shoulder- his thumb gently petting him: from the people worrying about his health, Tertel’s concern, a call from his sister, and then booking an overnight flight over— it almost seemed like some shitty movie plot.

Why do you care? Why do they care?

Pangi covered his head with the abundant blankets around him. He wanted Lukey to leave and forget everything he saw. He wanted to apologize for being a burden on everyone. He wanted so desperately to be the Pangi they all knew and loved, but he couldn't. He just wanted– wanted…

To die?

“I’m fine, you should go. Don’t you have a movie you’re working on or something?” The words came out faster than he’d thought, sharper than he’d intended.

Please don’t…

Lukey sighed and chuckled lightly, “It’s not your call to make, mister. You’re stuck with me, this is what you get for ignoring me for 17 times in a row.”

That’s not true–! I wouldn’t ignore… I would. You did.

Although Pangi couldn’t see what was going on from under the covers, the shift in weight and temp suggested that the other boy had chosen to stay true to his word and laid down beside him. No sooner, he felt an arm lay over his waist and reached around until Lukey found his hand that wasn’t hidden under the blanket cocoon and held it.

“I’ve got you.” It was a muffled whisper just for him to hear.

Pangi grasped the hand and pulled it closer to his chest as tears silently spilled down his cheeks.

Thank you…

They spent the rest of the day like that undisturbed.

—

To Pangi’s surprise, Lukey was serious about sticking to him. It’s been three days since he’d arrived from out of the blue and for most of it, he was the one next to him: silently taking care of him and chatting about the nonsensical things he’d missed.

To which was usually met with silence. The nagging voices in his head had slowly quieted down a lot since then though.

The older gentleman never pushed him to do anything, only ever offering suggestions and riling him up in some sort of rage baiting fashion to get him to eat small amounts of food that he’d otherwise disparage.

At one point, they got into a super heated argument which resulted in warm soup spilling over Lukey’s sweatpants he’d chosen to wear that day. Pangi was then met with one of the most terrible moments of his life, Lukey’s disappointed glare. He quietly finished a bowl of soup without complaint that evening.

This continued on for about a week, all the while Pangi only ever offered small grunts of approval or silent objection to most forms of interaction. Yet, the ever present Lukey was patient throughout it all. It warmed his heart that a friend would do so much for him, but the guilt also became overbearing as time passed between them…

One-sided conversations became the breeding ground for those dark thoughts that never left.

“Ya know Tertel and Aimey are the most worried about you? They actually call me every now and then when you’re asleep and ask how you’re doing.” Lukey was folding some of his laundry, another hard fought battle of wills to which Pangi listlessly gave up on. Turtle is probably better off with someone more successful to work for….

Lukey was absently scrolling through videos on his phone one day and attempted to show him a fancam of them two with a light laugh. “Everyone misses you Pangi. You have no idea the amount of messages I get asking if you’re okay. Seriously, how did they even know I’m with you?” They probably don’t care. They only care if they get their stupid gay yaoi. It’s not like that anything was real….

“Look, I bought a new shirt! Your sister was nice enough to suggest some new colors for me.” Lukey came into his room wearing an off-white button up shirt, on the chest where a pocket should’ve been was a stitched in pattern of a cornflower. Why… Why do you torment me with glimpses of what could never be..?!

It was the evening of whatever day- Pangi had lost count- Lukey had convinced him to watch the sunset from his window with him with the promise that they wouldn’t have to go out to the dining room for dinner.

“Kinda romantic if you think about it,” the older boy said between bites of lasagna. “We’re here in your room, alone, watching the sunset and eating the same food we had for our first dinner date on the realm, remember?”

Pangi watched him in silence as he almost choked mid-laugh to the memory. His own plate had long been empty, Lukey was kind enough to never give him portions that would be too daunting.

Romantic?

Do you even think Lukey would ever have those sort of feelings to someone so pathetic?

He has models and movie stars as friends, you’re nothing!

Lukey couldn’t ever lo—

“Pangi!” Warm hands had cupped his face and a gaze filled with concern watched him. “Ar- Are you okay?” It was barely a whisper yet it shook the regretful feelings crowding his chest, agitating them even more. He tried to turn his head away, but he didn’t realize how strong the young producer was.

LEAVE ME ALONE!!!

“You zoned out and weren’t responding to anything. I didn’t mean to yell...” Lukey apologized in a soft voice and pulled him into a hug, nothing tight, but he could feel Lukey’s quickened heartbeat.

Please… I don’t want you to see me like this… please……..

They sat there, letting the silence speak in their stead, just finding the comfort in being so close.

“I-” Pangi’s voice faltered and his shoulders started to shake, “I feel like a failure…”

And before he knew it he couldn’t stop.

“The cha- channel wasn’t doing well. I had to drop Tertel as an editor… everything feels like it’s falling apart and I just couldn't—” His voice broke as the words escaped him.

“I didn’t want to be a disappointment- I didn’t want to drag him down with me- nothing was going right- everything was just— and you, I feel like y-you…”

“Shhhhhh…” Lukey interrupted him, guiding him to his shoulder, “It’s okay…”

A cascade of liquified fear, worry, and guilt came bursting forth in waves, followed by shuddering shoulders and deep gasps for air. Pangi was drowning, yet he was also in the safest place in the world.

Pangi wept, he wanted to stop, he really did. Yet everything kept pouring out onto the shoulders of his best friend; it was quiet, torturous, and everything hurt. He didn’t notice when the arms around him shed the blanket that held him together, when they rubbed slow concentric circles on his back, or when they pulled him close enough to hear the whispers of someone who’s heart was breaking to see him like this.

“We can take it slow, ya know? Small steps.” Lukey’s voice cracked, “I’ll be there with you every step of the way. Just- don’t ever think of yourself that way again. Please…”

—

It was midnight when Pangi awoke all crusty-eyed from the dried tears that overwhelmed him before. He found himself wearing a new shirt, pajama bottoms, and— a familiar blue flannel… it smelled nice, comforting, safe.

Beside him was the boy who’d stayed with him at his worst, wearing a standard white tee and black pajama bottoms. Typical. One arm strayed across the small gap between them to his hip, the other tucked beneath the pillow which his messy head lay. A little bit of drool quietly pooled out the corner of his mouth.

Pangi held back a laugh. He wished he had his phone with him, it was rare to see Lukey so open like this and so close. But he couldn't even recall what had happened the day before, yet he felt… free.

He settled back in the blankets that covered them, opting to close the distance that had split them before. To his surprise, Lukey’s arms pulled him in a secure hug.

“Don’t ever leave me…” A groggy mumble broke the quiet.

Pangi felt a warmth drift through his stomach, climbing higher. “Why would I do that?”

“Mmmmm good,” the arm around him grew a little tighter and he felt the warm breath against the nape of his neck. “I promised you and you said yes.”

“What did I promise?” He really couldn’t remember, his own fingers played with Lukey’s. He opened his hand and threaded theirs together, putting it against his chest.

“We’ll deal with everything together. One step at a time.” Lukey seemed to be waking up now, the slurred speech from before had become more coherent. Pangi could feel the change in his heartbeat.

“That if it was too much, we’d take it day by day. And if that is too much, hour by hour. Minute by minute. Second by second, and so on until we get through it together.”

I would. I want to. I will.

“Really? I promised all of that… that doesn’t sound like me man.”

He was met with a low, extended groan. “Pangi, pleeeease…” There was a pause, “you also promised that you’d eat downstairs tomorrow and eat anything I give you.”

Pfffft. Liar!

He held a laugh back, smiling into their intertwined hands as he shook his head. “Minute by minute, I like that.”

I love you.

“Mmmmmm… I love you too.”

#pangkey #pangkey rpf #rpf #lukeytv #pangi #fanfic #skam inspired #skam x pangkey #my tear ducts still ache

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sisaloofafump · 2 days ago

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So you want to write Lois/Clark/Bruce (or similar)...

Here are some ideas of things that I like to keep in mind when writing Lois and poly or exes cloisbat. It is far from a checklist, and I have absolutely no judgment for those who follow different approaches, but this is the advice I would give to exploring cloisbat writers.

First 2 points are about conscientious writing. The rest are relevant information about Lois.

1. Be intentional and respect your own character arcs.

A common pitfall that cloisbat or exes!clois fics fall into is using Lois solely as a tool to get superbat together*, and then abandoning her without resolution. Regardless of your thoughts on Lois, this can be quite weak writing as it leaves a plot thread conspicuously untied.

So, if you're using her as a major supporting character, be intentional with her arc. To be clear, she doesn't have to be part of the endgame. But what does she get out of it? Does she find solid ground in single life? Do we see glimpses of her working on a story even as her and Clark are still struggling to recover from a break up? She deserves a spot in the epilogue.

If you want her to be a minor character/cameo, then ask yourself why she is the right fit for the scene, and what dimensionality you can allude to her having so her minor inclusion makes sense. Be intentional about her minor role - why isn't she in the main part? Why is she allowing x to happen? Why choose to cameo her in the first place?

There is no right or wrong reason to give for her inclusion or lack there of, but being intentional with why you chose her, what she brings to the story, and how to provide her a resolution, will keep her the fleshed out character we know her to be and your writing stronger itself.

*see later points for expansion on the wingman Lois trope

2. Tell us why they are together.

While the statement "everyone is a little bit in love with Lois Lane" is canon, that doesn't mean it's solid enough proof for a story.

- Yearning -

Consider a fic that starts off in modern comics with a yearning Bruce. It sets the scene by saying that everything is the same as standard canon, and that Bruce has fallen in love with both Clark and Lois.

Immediately, that feels unbalanced. Clark and Bruce have decades of close history to draw from, we can see how/when Bruce would have fallen in love. But we can't easily picture it with Lois who interacts with him so rarely.

Instead of telling us what features Bruce has fallen in love with in vague terms "her brilliance, her beauty, the way she keeps Clark on his toes*" (which reads much more as superficial admiration rather than love), tell us when he fell for her. It only has to be a single throwaway line, but it gives us the implication that they've actually had time/opportunity to fall. Maybe it was when Lois saved Superman in battle, or maybe when he caught her sneaking around the back halls of a gala, or even over the course of monthly family dinners with Clark and Lois. Give us a reason to see Bruce's love for Clark and Lois as even approaching equal in his eyes.

*"her fierce personality, her determination, her fight for the truth" was my original list of attributes, but I liked it too much. It doesn't make her sound as much like a Barbie whose main purpose is to love Clark in a way Bruce approves.

- Dating -

It's an acknowledged problem in canon comics that they struggle to properly show why Clark fell for Lois*. It's even harder for Lois and Bruce.

So tell us: how do they have fun together? Why are they dating? Show us that they genuinely and uniquely enjoy each other's presence.

Some ideas for what keeps them coming back:

A sense of shared adventure, team-ups, or information sharing

Enjoyable conversations, sex, shared activities (like finding refuge together at high class events)

Tension and dares. Constantly getting in each other's way, poking each other's buttons, challenging each other to do things. Enjoying the chase and the catch.

Emotional connection - being the one who truly seems to understand the other, or who they can share (at least some of) their secrets with. Coming together in grief over a third's death

Ulterior motive - fake dating, revenge on the third, manipulation to get information, rebounding after a break up.

Note: Lois isn't actually super materialistic - at least not as a major character trait in comics. She loves to dress up, and she loves her Maserati (and stealing Bruce's) but she isn't swayed by riches and even asks Clark to stop giving her fancy gifts. As such, Bruce's tax bracket likely wouldn't be a primary reason for attraction. Instead, she's often attracted to features like charm, bravery, compassion, heroics, adventures, and proof of an interesting/exciting life - whether this is found in superheroes or in civilians like actors, astronauts, and fellow reporters.

* read the forward to Man and Superman by Marc Wolfman to see how one writer confronts this

- Married + third -

It's a common default that Clark and Lois are already married. It's also common for fanfiction to then add Bruce on as a third - often just for Clark.

Polyamory can come with added complications, extra communication*, and equal respect for all sides. It isn't a blank slate where their first-established relationship (in this case, married Clois) has no effect. Even if they're in a "don't talk, don't tell" open arrangement, a long term marriage will still have a foundational impact on the characters, regardless of how short it's time in the overall plot is.

*I say this, and yet my favourite trope to write is polyamory miscommunication. Just because they need to communicate to be healthy, doesn't mean you have to write them in a healthy relationship. Let them be dumb and hurtful and confused and never know what the other is thinking

Honestly, I'm all for a superbat story where it mentions that Lois and Clark are still married. But if superbat are getting together while clois are married - why? Let us hear from Lois. Tell us why it's in this form, and why each player enjoys it (or not).

If it's already a pre-established arrangement, and you have space for it in your story, remember the unfeatured pairings! Even in a throwaway line, let us know what the unfeatured character (in this case, Lois) is doing. And remember: she won't be all "go get 'em, tiger!" all the time. She'll be busy, she'll have her own life and concerns, and this arrangement may be routine to her. Give her three dimensionality instead of only existing to cheer on superbat.

(Also you should totally let her kiss Bruce too, and tell us why she likes him... but I'm biased like that)

(actually no fuck it this is my post. if youre not writing cloisbat where loisbat is a central feature, what in the hell are you doing. believe that they can love each other. now.)

- Exes -

If any of them are exes, that sets a distinctive stage. It automatically makes us ask: why were they together? why did they break up? and what will make this next relationship different?

The three of them share a lot of similar flaws - too busy, too stubborn, too prone to isolating themselves. They are constantly invasive and have little respect for boundaries, while keeping their own so high. As such, if you make two of them exes, what's to say that the next arrangement won't have the same flaws that drew the first one apart?

Having a semi-prominent ex relationship is almost a Chekhov's gun in a romance story - consider giving us the resolution in how the characters face similar problems and overcome it, or why this one is different. (Here's a hint: the next relationship can have the same flaws. But this time they will have grown and learned from their past mistakes and know how to navigate it better) (or maybe they haven't, and it stays delightfully messy)

3. What happens when they break up?

Lois and Clark have broken up a lot (or gone on major separations after fights), and three things almost always happen:

The initial conversation is civil. It is sad and 90% Lois talking and calling the shots because she has already made up her mind. However, this usually comes after many failed attempts to get Clark to talk through their issues before.

Lois leaves for weeks/months. It's the same thing she does after nearly every tragedy, and alludes to her childhood growing up constantly moving. Sometimes she goes backpacking herself, sometimes she goes to visit/travel with her family, almost always she tells Clark not to contact her and doesn't pick up the phone. (If Clark is already travelling, she'll stay where she is and ask him not to come back).

They struggle being friends. This is the main thing I see fanon depart from, but in canon, exes!clois are incredibly messy. Their lives are so intertwined that sometimes the months of space isn't enough. They fight often. As Lois Lane (1986) says, "They had gotten too close. It was easy to get hurt, to misinterpret moves". Consider that the primary reason they break up is Clark not opening up to her and Lois fighting for her independence.

Sometimes Lois leaves after they fail at being friends (post-crisis engagement break off), sometimes the failure takes place repeatedly over the many years after she returns (bronze age). As for canon reasons Clark and Lois fight/break up:

Independence - Lois fighting for her to not just be "the wife". Clark trying to stop her from publishing certain stories when they have a difference of political opinions. Superman not wanting to marry her because he knows she would hate being a stay at home mom.

Secrets/Emotional Availability - Clark/Superman not opening up. They both know his identities, but he will never admit it. He says its to protect her, but they both know that's a flimsy excuse just to keep his own self-isolation

Infidelity/Jealousy - Clark and Lori kissing while clois is engaged. Lana interfering with their relationship - with words and kisses. Clark's dubious attraction to Wonder Woman. Superman failing to appreciate Lois/stringing her along for years while he seriously courts other women as well. Similarly, José breaks up with Lois because he knows she's in love with Clark

Physical Availability - Their constant busy schedule. Clark spending a year away from her and then immediately leaving again. Superman failing to save her father's life (she knows it's not his fault but the blame and resentment still grow).

Bruce and Lois date and break up much less often. But their reasons have been: because she finds out Bruce is Batman, because she finds out he isn't Superman, or because Bruce is no longer amnesiac.

Because of how big jealousy can be in their relationships, and how messy their breakups and attempted friendships are, I really advise steering away from the "ex is happily my wingman" trope for clois without intense consideration over how to make that work. However! When she's dating someone else and they're best friends (à la N52)? She canonically tries to be his wingman then. Wingman!Lois is not at all impossible, but in my opinion it's very hard to make work in character when they are exes.

4. Lois + Jealousy

Lois has an incredibly complicated relationship to jealousy - and in various eras (especially the Silver Age) it was considered one of her primary traits. However, what she does get jealous at or not is very specific.

What makes her jealous?

Self-comparison - Lois can be very insecure, especially when compared to powerful, beautiful women. The primary example of this is Wonder Woman, who was long a source of insecurity for Lois before they became friends. Famous actresses, models, and princesses can also spark this comparison-fueled jealousy.

Emotional Infidelity - For years, Superman never committed to either Lois or Lana (or any other), and actively courted them both, promising that one of them would be the one he would marry. And Lois was jealous. As a whole, her bouts of jealousy are when seeing Superman/Clark actively pursuing other women (Lana, Cat, etc) or being pursued by an ex (Lori, Simone, etc). She also caught him and Lori kissing when engaged—but curiously, she never brought it up when she dumped him a few weeks later (because she saw Clark put a stop to it? It's up to interpretation as to why). But, in summary, she is jealous when there is a genuine romantic threat.

Secrets - Lois is incredibly curious; honesty in her partnerships is very important to her. She worries what Clark is doing when he's not with her—she'll watch him walk out of her apartment arm in arm with Wonder Woman and wonder what goes up when they're off together. And it is a valid worry, as Clark does keep secrets—belatedly telling her that him and Lana kissed, never telling her that him and Lori were engaged, working behind her back with Perry, etc

What doesn't make her jealous?

Tricks - For decades, Lois was pushed into many scenarios where her and Superman could get married, but she never took them. She would never marry him based on a trick, and doesn't believe in anyone else who uses tricks to get him. And, so, she has set him up in fake relationships, and (modernly) has felt nothing but compassion for when he has been kissed by strangers without consent. (In contrast, Superman would set her up on fake relationships (including with Bruce), and then, despite knowing it's fake, still become very jealous)

When she is taken - This varies depending on the story, but the biggest example is in the n52. Lois and Clark are each other's missed chances, and Lois instead dates Jon Carroll, a war correspondent. She isn't jealous over Clark dating, and even tries to set Clark up with her sister, despite considering him "the guy I almost fell in love with".

The other lovers themselves - A very important note is that Lois becomes friends with her "competition". They may initially start as jealous rivals, but eventually they settle into a balance. Even after catching Lori and Clark kissing, she still stays friends and roommates with Lori. After getting to know Diana, she becomes the one Lois asks to take care of Clark when Lois is gone. Lana is... complicated. But when Lana isn't actively trying to sabotage their relationship, well, Lois put it best: "We'll always be good friends even though we're both in love with the same guy." There are even imaginary endings where both Lois and Lana are happily dating Superman together.

Which comes down to the question: does Bruce make Lois jealous?

It's up to interpretation, and each person's reading of her tone. For example, consider the classic exchange from Checkmate vol 3:

Do you read bitterness in Lois' voice? Is it over Bruce's closeness, or the fact that Clark affords more freedoms to him than he does to Lois? Is Lois mentioning their closeness in support, or in jealousy?

She has actively supported Clark and Bruce's friendship in the past and pushed for them to become even closer. I think you could write it either way, but I don't think she often is. She looks down on Bruce just enough not to compare herself, and she knows the ins and outs of Clark's relationship with him sometimes better than Clark does. She is allowed to intrude on Bruce's space, and that is the biggest signal of trust between them.

5. Lois is invasive (and that isn't necessarily bad)

One of my favourite aspects of Lois, Clark, Bruce (and Selina), is that all they have very skewed ideas of boundaries. And yet, it comes with a few major aspects:

It is mutual/consensual - Lois expects Clark to spy on her, just as Clark expects her to read his work notes and steal his stories. Bruce has no issue with Lois stealing his car, just as Lois knows that Bruce is tracking where she takes it. As Lois Lane (1986) says, "She grew to appreciate [Superman's help], even use it to her advantage. But that was okay, they were both reporters. It was part of their job, using people. So he knew what she was doing and he went along with it." It becomes their symbol of trust and of the highest respect. They know that the other will use these knowledge and tools in important ways. And often, they love each other, it isn't an imposition.

(Sometimes Lois' pushing can also be interpreted as threat—if Bruce shares everything with Clark, then he must with Lois as well, and if not she might draw Clark away).

I think its also important to note that the Lois who takes what ever information or tools she wants (in modern comics at least) is Work!Lois. At home, information is something to be given, never hidden and needing to be pried. Work!Lois and Batman get along splendidly, but Home!Lois and Batman don't—in her space, they follow a different set of rules.

She requires absolute honesty in her protected space, and for it to be a haven away from the rest of the world. When Bruce or Kara brings bad news, she demands answers, then treats them as invaders and tells them to get out. In my opinion, one of the worst things you could do is lie to her in her own home.

As such, you can extend this mentality outwards and choose to go with post-crisis Lois who respects the sacred nature of others' home life too. She is surprised that Batman expects her to know who he is under the mask. Bruce thinks that Clark would have shared everything with his wife, meanwhile Lois never asked—she respected his non-work privacy.

So consider what they are and are not invasive about, and to what extent they would share that information. There are many variants. Lois doesn't often leak Superman's identity—but would she try to figure it out? Would she leak it under dire circumstances? Does Clark treat Lois' invasion as a game to playfully undermine, or does he go the other route and spy back? Does she consider Bruce an invader when its the Batman who knocks on her door? Lois takes objects and information and breaks into public buildings—would she break into a home?

6. Lois and Sex

Lois and Clark have a decently active (stymied by very busy schedules), and often playful, sex life. (Side note but: Lois mostly sleeps in the left side of the bed - Clark on her right). How active it is when she's single varies depending on canon, but it can range from seemingly nightly dates with random suitors, to fast hook ups with old friends, to having sex with Clark on their first date but not with anyone else she was tentatively seeing.

Would she easily hook up with Bruce when Clark was dead? Potentially—it was in Snyder's plans, and she does kiss Jeb in the comics. But this kiss comes after turning his more explicit advances down, and is racked with guilt after. One common through-line in post-crisis comics is that it is very hard for her to do anything more than share a kiss and spend some time together with anyone other than Clark. However, this is very much not the same in other eras! Do whatever you want, forever.

- Kinks -

A character's sex life is often incredibly up to interpretation, and has lots of room to play around with and take creative control. Lois is no different.

It's very common to write Lois taking a dominant dynamic in bed, and there is some canon basis for that! While incredibly fun, and often in character, I want to take a moment to promote vanilla and sub Lois too.

As mentioned numerous times before, Work!Lois and Home!Lois can be different—home is a place Lois rigorously defends for the right to relax. Half of her macho bravado is taken to the extreme in public for the sake of getting what she wants in the way her fathers (General Lane and Perry) modelled and taught her. At home, she lets the intensity (and mask, if you want to call it that) slip. As such, I believe she should occasionally have simple vanilla sex when she is with someone she loves and trusts, and allow herself to relax in bed like she does elsewhere at home.

And for sub Lois... you can 100% lean into the playful brat route. You can also lean into the fact that she is incredibly attracted to an incredibly big strong man. Bottom line is, don't think you're stuck to dom Lois!

That said, we do know 2 of Lois's kinks:

Exhibitionism (and flying sex around the city)

Roleplay (sometimes as pre-reveal Superman and herself, or both as other characters)

----

Pretentious conclusion:

An interesting thing about fanfiction is that it does not exist without outside context. While in original works you could get away with using a girl best friend as a cameo tool to get the main male characters together, Lois is already a fully fleshed out character in canon. You are not introducing an NPC when you mention her in the background, you are flattening a primary. It's up to your fic and your plans to figure out how much you want to include her in a cloisbat or exes!clois fic—but be intentional. If you want to strengthen the reading of your fic, try to allude even briefly to her complexity.

In my mind, Bruce loves Clark partially because he loves Lois—it reassures him that Clark can love a human. And Lois loves Clark partially because he loves Bruce—it reassures her that Clark can love someone so flawed.

I personally think Lois can be very interesting in polyamorous situations. For it to be healthy, it would require intense honesty, the respect to let the other pry, and the respect to leave when the boundaries around her space are slammed down. I also think she needs to look down on Bruce, just a little, just enough to bring him to her level, if she is to share him with Clark.

I referenced a lot of things here, if you want me to expand on any of them i can, but it might take a while to find the exact issue number.

thank you for reading this large sampling of a small number of my cloisbat considerations

#posting this now and regretting it in the morning #wahhoooo #dc comics #batman #superman #clark kent #bruce wayne #lois lane #my rambles #cloisbat #clois #loisbat #superbat

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aliensupastar · 2 days ago

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for a show that has a motto of "every second counts", it sure does love to waste my fucking time

why has it taken two whole seasons for carmy and richie to make up? why was carmy not wanting to do restaurants anymore an idea introduced at the beginning of THIS season instead of built up seasons one, two, and three? sure, back in season one there's a mention of his motivations being tied up in wanting to fix his family, but then we see him gain hope for the restaurant at the end of the episode, and then be inspired in season two and determined to challenge himself and his staff in season three (for better or for worse). it just feels like he's doing the same thing again, running from good things in his life, removing himself under the notion that he'll get in the way of good things happening. that's the same thing donna did, removed herself from the bear because she was afraid she'd get in the way of a good thing! and it's not inherently a bad thing for your main character to run into the same issue over and over again, it's called having a fatal flaw! but that doesn't mean your main character can stagnate in the way that carmy does. in season one, carmy progresses, he learns that he hasn't been abandoned by his family and mikey and that he's not a hopeless cause. in season two, he backslides, avoids responsibility and uses claire as an escape and it ultimately leads to him failing his family, and it's devastating to watch. season three should've spent time with him apologising and then reintegrating himself into the function of the restaurant. have him slide back into the mentor role again (for sydney, tina, and marcus), learn how to collaborate with richie so that the front of house and back of house communicate with each other properly, start learning to be there for natalie like she tells him she wants him to in season fucking one. he calls her to apologise for not coming to see the baby and she still ends up comforting him, and SHE still has to bring the baby to HIM.

and carmy is my favourite, so he's the only person i'm talking about here, but the other main characters also have disappointing arcs. i like richie learning how to deal with frank being in his family; it could've happened in one season instead of two. i like sydney's dilemma between shapiro and the bear a lot, it feels like she's the only character that's been really progressing. i like natalie's baby storyline, i think "ice chips" is the best episode of season three... i think francie fak could've stayed a gag instead of having her appear onscreen for the first time and then have her issue with natalie be resolved in one day, with no actual details of what betrayal took place. there is quite literally nothing for nat to do in season four, and sure she can't be at the restaurant considering she's just had a baby, but y'know, mothers are human beings with a lot of interesting things going on, too, and i don't think having a child means nat should be demoted from main character to recurring character (though i get that it's probably tied up in the fact that abby elliott had a baby in real life and couldn't be on set as much).

but, instead of giving its characters or the pace of the show any sort of momentum, the writers devote way, way too much runtime to the fucking Faks. do any of us give a shit about ted fak telling his new girlfriend kelly that he loves her? i'm serious. this show used to be a genuine dramedy, now it's a melodrama that cuts to its family of comedic relief characters fucking around a few times per episode.

i've been a fan of the bear since it premiered, it is without a doubt, my favourite show of all time; there's no other show out there that means this much to me. and i know tons of people hated season three, but i thought its worst crime was being imperfect when the first two seasons were perfect, and i figured if the showrunners/writers could learn from the criticism of season three, then season four could really turn things around and it would come back better than ever.

i realise now that seasons three and four being filmed at the same time was a bad sign. i think there's still hope for season five, it hasn't been filmed or even confirmed yet, and the show has a tendency to switch up its style, but i am beyond disappointed that we've had two dud seasons. this is still my favourite show ever, and i will be writing more carmy fanfiction ASAP, and continuing to hope that season five is better.

p.s.: i very much stand by all my opinions in this post, but i would love to hear other opinions and have discussions about season four/the show in general!

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nezuswritingdesk · 2 days ago

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aspen's first bowlcut

tags: domestic fluff, family content, just overall fluff and happy stuff, papa zayne and mama reader (in this fic, reader is gender neutral but gets called mama by aspen), part of my lads parenting au, possibly ooc zayne, not proofread

a/n: helloo everyone! based on the polls last time , the zayne parenting au won so that means we'll be able to see little aspen once more with his father! for anyone new here or unfamiliar as to who aspen is, he's zayne's eldest son (based on my parenting au which you can read here if you wanna know more about him). additionally, this post was inspired by this one i made early onto my acc)

i'm sorry that it took so long for me to finish it, im still stuck in writer's block and i was still busy with uni augh and i kept on rotting instead of writing, im sorry it took too long i hope its okay

wc: 1.0k (1,092) words

content warnings: a very cute little boy, the overall asian childhood experience of a bowlcut, zayne thinking about his growing baby boy whos still a tiny marshmallow in his eyes,

“Mama!” Aspen calls out to you.

You had placed his younger sister, Aurora, down for a quick afternoon nap, and was heading back to the living room when he called. Little Aspen sits down on the floor, legs cross, and his hazel eyes going through photos of his father, Zayne , that his parents–Aspen’s grandparents, had sent from when Zayne was little.

“Yeah sweetheart, whats up?” You answer, approaching him. You sit down beside him, your eyes going through the various photos of your husband as well.

Aspen holds up one to you. It was of Zayne, perhaps when he was around the age of five, his round cheeks makes him look like a chipmunk storing food, his bright hazel eyes shine through the decades old photo, but what made Aspen curious is Zayne’s hair. It was a bowlcut.

“Mama, why is papa’s hair like that?” He asks.

“Like what, honey?” You ask back. He points at the photo again. You nod your head.

“That was papa’s hair when he was younger,” You explain, “I remember when he came to play with us and your uncle Caleb starts to laugh at his face. He calls papa Coconut head.”

“ Papa nut?” He asks.

You stifle a laugh, “Something like that, hon.”

“ I want that.” You pause, trying to see if you heard it properly. Aspen, your sweet respectful and kind boy that looks and acts like his father, wants a bowlcut. Just like his father when he was little too.

“A bowlcut?”

He nods. “Can I, mama?”

“If you want so, honey. You can get a haircut like that. Do you wanna surprise papa with it?”

He nods excitedly, clapping his hands. “I wanna have coconut hair! I want coconut hair, mama!”

You smile, nodding along. “Are you sure about that, honey?”

He nods, certain of his decision. You nod along, telling him that he can get his haircut during the weekend, giving it time to settle before heading back to kindergarten on Monday.

Aspen couldn’t wait till Saturday.

All he talked about was his upcoming haircut to anyone who’d listen- his parents, Aurora, his teacher, his best friend, Thalassa, anyone. His eyes light up with excitement, counting down the day till he can get the haircut he desires.

On a Saturday afternoon, you brought him to the hair salon you’d brought him since, asked the usual hairdresser Aspen liked, and waited patiently with other waiting parents, kids, and everyone in between. Aspen sits down in a blue car, looking ecstatic.

“What haircut do you want kiddo? Did you bring a picture?” You can hear the hairdresser ask Aspen. Aspen looks to your direction, his black hair tousling as he glances over at you with the same excitement he and his father have when a tasty macaron was offered.

“Can you show it to them, mama?” Aspen asks. You nod, getting up to stand behind him and get the old photo of Zayne that he insisted as reference. The hairdresser cracks a smile before nodding.

“You want a bowlcut like your papa, kiddo?” The hairdresser asks him. He nods. “I want coconut hair! Like papa!”

You and the hairdresser laugh again.

“Alright then kiddo, let’s make that possible.”

The hairdresser begins to work through Aspen’s thick hair, a gift from both you and Zayne. Aspen tries his best to stay still, occasionally giggling from the feel of scissors brushing past against his hair. He talks to the hairdresser, telling him everything that had happened the past few days– how he read books, played with his sister, the shows he liked on TV, anything to keep the hairdresser company and with a bundle of stories.

You had been bringing him to the same hairdresser and salon since his first haircut, making him comfortable and assimilated with others, resulting in his little chatterbox self breaking free from his usual quiet and shy nature.

After a few minutes later, the hairdresser takes the cape off Aspen’s neck.

“Tada, a bowlcut like your papa!” The hairdresser beams. Aspen gasps in awe, his eyes glued to the mirror as he admires his new haircut. His bangs went across his face, and the length was equal. It made his chubby cheeks even rounder like a round marshmallow. A very cute marshmallow.

“I look like papa!” He beams, “But like…mallow papa…” He squishes his cheeks, gasping again before looking at the hairdresser once more, “Thank you!”

You helped him down from the chair, paid the salon and left a tip to the hairdresser before leaving the salon, hand-in -hand with him.

“You like your hair, baby?” You ask, heading over to the bakery you and Zayne would meet up at. Aspen nods, his head bobbing.

“I love it mama!” He beams, his smile reaching the ends of his cheeks. You nod, glancing down at him. He had that same smile Zayne has when he too was little, even if your husband claims that your son got yours.

“I love it as well, it makes your cheeks even rounder like a cute marshmallow,” You remark, ruffling his hair, “Let’s go to your dad and sister, and get a macaron for your new haircut.”

“Yay!” Aspen beams, walking alongside you as you both headed to the bakery where Zayne and Aurora were waiting.

“Papa!!” Aspen beams, letting go of your hand as he runs to Zayne’s direction. You chase after him, calling his name but Aspen is faster, and immediately sits beside his father.

“Look papa!” Aspen smiles, “Same hair!”

Zayne laughs, ruffling his hair gently. Aurora was looking at her brother with a surprise and a bit confused expression, perhaps surprised by his haircut.

Zayne smiles, seeing his son’s content and happy expression, knowing how much he loved the haircut. He observes Aspen’s eyes, the same hazel ones as his but is so full of life and excitement. He observed the way he talks, bubbly but gentle and kind.

The same things Zayne was when he was younger.

The same manners and personality that his parents adored, that his friends cherished, the same things you and the children love.

All in the small body of a four-year old boy that he and you call their son.

“Papaaaa” Aspen calls out to him, breaking Zayne’s train of thought, “Do you like my hair?” He asks softly.

Zayne smiles, his vision a bit misty. He hums, softly placing his lips against Aspen’s forehead.

“Mhm…we have the same hair now, Aspen. We have the same hair now.”

#love and deepspace #nezusdesk #lads #zayne love and deepspace #nezuswriting #lads zayne #zayne fluff #zayne li #lnds zayne #family au #dad zayne #li shen #zayne lads

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hikariyaps · 2 days ago

Text

coffee dates

word count ☆ 1.3k pairing ☆ megumi x fem!reader [college au] content ☆ pure fluff a/n ☆ i'm baaaaaaaackk

megumi fushiguro needed coffee right now. it was a cold, foggy morning in the middle of november. it was six and he was awake, thanks to his stupid alarm that he forgot to disable the night before. since he was already awake, he figured why go back to sleep? after all, a little extra studying wouldn't hurt.

currently, he's fighting to keep his eyes open, all bundled up in a warm sweater and scarf, walking to the on campus café. apparently, yuji managed to blow up the coffee machine in the boy's dorm common rooms. only god knows how it is always that imbecile that manages to do things like this.

so here he was trekking throught the biting wind, bag on his shoulder, hands in his pockets because his best friend blew up his source of sustenance.

the café is warm and smells strongly of coffee and butter, it's comforting. he sighs stepping inside. he just hopes that the barista knows how to make coffee properly. ever since the machine blew up, he's been here a few times in the morning. every single time the barista has been sleep deprived. and every single time the barista has messed up his coffee.

he takes his usual place near the window and sets all his study material up. the place is quiet, save for the mellow music playing softly from the speakers. he walks over to the counter, expecting to see the usual barista's face.

but there you were. all soft and glowy and awake. he needs a moment to process this. 'hi, what can i get for you today?' you ask, voice like honey, a polite but genuine smile on you face, booting up the computer to punch in his order. it takes a few seconds for his brain cells to recover before he answers.

'i'll have a large black coffee and a croissant, please.' 'okay, that'll be 700 yen.' you say, typing the order into the ancient looking computer.

megumi pays and takes a seat, he was supposed to be studying but his eyes were on you. you looked like an angel, or maybe that was just his foggy brain. but something about you didn't let him take his eyes off of you. he watches as you make his coffee and warm up his croissant. and instead of calling him to the counter, you bring his order over to where he was sitting.

he mumbles out an awkward thanks and his eyes flit back to his laptop screen. as soon as you were gone though, he immeadiately went back to observing you. the coffee was immaculate, just the way he liked it. most people assume its very easy to make a black coffee, but he was very specific and this might be one of the best coffees he's ever had.

pretty soon, he became a regular at the cafe, started dropping in more than once a day, hoping to catch you, so he could have the coffee you make again, of course. funny thing is, you were always there. he doesn't know your name, you don't wear a nametag. but he told you his and he loves the way it sounds when you say it. you talk to him more than the other customers since he's been coming here a month.

most people don't usually come here so often, so you were pretty excited about him. he was very polite, really pretty and honestly, very cute. he might seem quiet, but he had the prettiest smile on his face whenever you talked to him.

yuji and nobara know about you. they found out through stalking him when he started leaving immeadiately after class to visit the café before closing time. it was pretty obvious that he found you pretty, his gaze said it all. he did not hear the end of it once he came back to the dorms.

they became regulars at the café too. mostly for the purpose of gathering information for megumi. his love life was more than just dry, it was like the afternoon in the sahara. they were more than happy to stalk- get to know a girl he finally liked.

it wasn't through them he heard your name though. it was a sunday, early january. the café was not really empty, but not really full either. he hears someone call out a name, and then you respond and disappear into the back. he repeats your name multiple times softly under his breath, committing it to memory. not like he could ever forget it.

it isn't until february, that something happens between you both. you were sick of just looking at him work and making small talk. for once, you actually wanted more.

so when megumi's waiting for his coffee to go, you decide to woman up and ask him.

'so, do you have a valentine?' you ask, tone totally conversational, nonchalant if you would, while making his coffee. which was a stark comparision to how fast your heart was beating.

he hums. 'nah, i have my eye on someone but they haven't asked' he replies, thankful that your back was turned.

'who?' you ask, and he swears he can hear disappointment in your voice.

'you.' he says, the word slipping out before he could decide whether it should be said or not.

you on the other hand have just gone though the five stages of grief and then were quite pleasently surprised, celebrating inside your head while crying invisible tears.

you hide it quite well as you hand him his coffee and say 'my number's on the recepit. text me later?'

and he nods, small smile splaying on his lips. he texts you as soon as he steps out the café and you reply immeadiately.

you guys text each other very frequently and he's way easier to tak to on text. you get to know a lot more about him and you know this isn't just some silly little crush. you wanted him to be yours. and megumi feels the same way.

he takes you out on valentine's. it isn't anything too fancy but you know its genuine. its a small picnic, with your favourite foods. you're surprised that he remembers.

he remembers a lot of things, especially when it comes to you. he remembers your prefrences, your favourite brands, your schedule. he starts showing up to pick you after classes to drop you off to the café. at this point, both of you knew you had pretty strong feelings for each other, but there was no label for you guys.

not until you came over to his dorm for the first time. it'd been a year since you guys first met. you bring over hot chocolate and pastries that you made. there, lying on his bed, comfortably warm and feeling particularly fuzzy, he says it.

'i love you,' he whispers, soft and careful. he was acting as though it was a fragile, tangible thing that would shatter if not treated right. he was hoping you wouldn't break it, those three words symbolized his heart.

you didn't break it, instead you leaned over and presses your lips to his in a chaste kiss.

'i love you too,' you whisper back, forehead resting against his forehead.

you lay in the silence holding each other for a minute. until yuji and nobara start howling from the other room. 'I THINK FUSHIGURO FINALLY SCORED A GIRLFRIEND!' 'YEAH NO SHIT SHERLOCK, THEY SAID THE L WORD!' you wondered if his room was bugged.

and here you both were now six years later, on a coffee date, to the same café, reminiscing and reminding each other how much you loved each other, when he pulls out a ring and asks you to be his forever.

you say yes, of course.

and that's how megumi fushiguro got the love of his life, also known as his personal coffee maker.

#hikariyaps #jujutsu kaisen fluff #megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro #megumi fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujustu kaisen #fushiguro x reader #megumi x you #jjk x reader

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casuallyobssessed · 16 hours ago

Text

Made of Stone? — John Wick x GN!Reader ❥ 2.6k Words

"Hello, this is more of a prompt than a request for a fic, but how about John Wick seduces his target to complete a contract. Fem reader is preferred but anything you want to write about is fine ☺️ -anon"

A/N: Here's a finished request. I'm not sure if this was what you were looking for, but once I got the idea in my head, I couldn't let it go!! Thank you to @opheliainlove42 for proof reading!! 🫶🏻

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, self-harm and su!c!de mention, dubious consent to a degree, no use of Y/N, catnapping (cat kidnapping)

Fanfic and Mood Board requests are OPEN!

Archive of Our Own Link

John Wick was sent to kill you, but you just had to go and make things complicated.

John has been working on getting close to you for weeks. It started slow. He would follow you to work, to the coffee shop, to the store, and back to your house. Keeping tabs on you wasn't hard. Your routine was boring and predictable. He felt sorry for you, in a way.

He doesn't understand why someone wants you dead. John finds you quite beautiful and, based on what you read in your spare time, you have a wonderful taste in books. The problem for him is that… Well, you don't do anything else. You have no friends, seemingly no family. The only companion you have is one fluffy, gray cat that cuddles up with you every night.

There isn't a single thing that he's observed that could make someone put a contract on your head. As curious as he is, he doesn't need every single detail to take down a target. He has his instructions and he'll follow through accordingly.

Now, after those few weeks, he's going to make his first strategic move.

John waits until night falls. You're always in bed by ten, usually asleep by eleven. The window in your kitchen beside your back door doesn't lock properly (he's known that since the second night of his surveillance), so that's his way in.

He slides the window up and reaches an arm in to unlock and open the door. Once inside, he locates your cat. ‘Duckie’ reads the tag dangling from the collar.

Duckie, with all its fluff and suspicious green eyes, doesn’t make a sound when John scoops it into his arms. John strokes between its ears once, apologetically, then slips back out the door, into the dark.

The next morning, he watches from across the street as you emerge from your house in a panic, calling Duckie’s name. He can hear the edge in your voice even from the parked car. You check the street, the bushes, and your neighbor's yard. You look like you’re on the edge of breaking down.

John looks over at the cat in the passenger seat and pets it. Duckie is fast asleep, curled up and purring loudly.

You don’t go to work. Instead, you spend the day printing out flyers and taping them to every light pole and utility box within six blocks. He’s impressed by your persistence, considering most people probably wouldn't have gone through the effort.

That same evening, just before sunset, there's a hard knock at your front door.

When you open it, he's standing there, all tall, handsome, and quiet. Duckie is nestled in one of his arms, seemingly unbothered by its brief kidnapping.

“I believe this belongs to you,” He says, holding it out towards you gently.

“Oh my god. Duckie!” You squeal, reaching for the cat and cradling it like a child, “Where have you been?!”

Duckie blinks up at you and lets out a sigh.

“Thank you so much for bringing my baby back home,” You grin at him, happy tears welling in your eyes.

He gives you a small smile, “Glad I was in the right place.”

“How can I repay you? I don't have money for a reward,” You think for a moment, “Oh! You can come in and I can bake you some cookies or something?”

“Sure,” John nods and follows you inside.

Just like that, he's got his foot in the door.

You tell him to make himself comfortable on the couch while you go into the kitchen to prepare the oven. It's nothing fancy, of course. Prepackaged, chocolate chip cookie dough is all you have, but you hope it would be enough for him.

When you return to your living room, Duckie is curled up on his lap as he thumbs through one of the books you had on your coffee table. He's engrossed in the book, so you use this opportunity to take all of him in.

He's got long-ish hair, a neatly trimmed beard, and dreamy brown eyes that crinkle ever so slightly at the corners as he reads. He's wearing a cream colored henley that clings to his torso deliciously. You can tell that he's a very strong man underneath those clothes. You wonder what they'd look like on your floor.

He turns and sees you in the doorway, snapping you out of your self-indulgent fantasy. You don't even know the man's name, yet. You sigh and sit on the opposite end of the couch.

“Thank you, again, Mr…,” You pause, “Sorry, I didn't catch your name.”

“You can call me John,” He says.

“Okay, John.”

You tell him your name, expecting awkward silence, but the next thing you know, you’re deep in conversation. The cookies are long forgotten until you hear the smoke alarm going off in the kitchen.

“The cookies!” You yelp.

You jump up from the couch and race into the kitchen where smoke is billowing out from your oven. Thankfully, that's all it is and there's no fire. You turn the knob off, and open the oven door, coughing and waving away the smoke as you grab the cookie sheet. Charred, black discs smolder on the pan, mocking you silently. You groan.

“Everything alright?”

You jump at the sound of John’s voice behind you. The pan clatters to the floor, scattering burnt cookies like little coals.

“Oh, I'm- I'm so sorry. Time just got away from me,” You drop down to your knees and start shoveling the cookies into a pile, holding back tears. You felt awful. This man saved the most important thing in your life and you have nothing to give him in return.

“I don't have anything else to give you, John,” You blink fast, covering your eyes with your hands.

“It's alright,” He rests a comforting hand on your shoulder and crouches down to your level, “Hey. It's okay, I don't need anything.”

You drop your hands and look at him with teary eyes, sniffling, “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

John knows what he could have asked of you. In your vulnerable state, you would have agreed to almost anything. It would’ve been the perfect opportunity to lead you to the bedroom, stage the scene, make the whole thing look natural.

See, this isn't just any ordinary contract. It's supposed to be something of a ‘soft-kill’. They wanted you killed in a way that made it look like a suicide.

Unfortunately for John, when you looked at him with your big, teary eyes and that look of utter dismay painted across your face, you pulled at the heartstrings he didn't think he had anymore.

And that's a problem.

John takes a deep breath in before helping you clean up the mess. He uses the pot holder to pick up the still-hot pan and places it on the stove top. You watch as he grabs your broom and dustpan from the corner as sweeps up the cookies without a word.

You don’t talk. The only sound in the room is the soft sweep of bristles against tile, and the occasional clink of charred dough hitting the dustpan.

“I’m sorry,” you say finally, voice barely above a whisper.

He doesn’t look at you right away. He just finishes the last sweep, dumps it in the trash. Then he sets the broom aside and stands, brushing off his hands.

“You’ve had a rough day,” he says, “You don’t have to apologize.”

He offers you a hand and you take it.

The warmth of his fingers around yours makes your chest ache. They're grounding, way too gentle for a stranger. He helps you to your feet, and when you’re standing again, he doesn’t let go right away. You’re close. His gaze lingers on you. It’s not hungry, but there’s weight to it. There's something calculating in it.

“Can I get you anything else, besides burnt cookies?” you ask, flustered under his gaze, “Maybe tea? Water? Something?”

He shakes his head, “No. You’ve already given me more than enough.”

You tilt your head, “I haven’t given you anything, John.”

He doesn’t answer right away. He lets his eyes drop to your mouth, then looks up again. He steps in slightly, just enough to make your breath hitch.

“Haven’t you?” he asks.

There’s no kiss, yet. He’s too controlled for that, too focused, but you still feel the pull. The moment hangs there like a blade suspended in air above you.

He’s not seducing you because he wants you, necessarily. He’s seducing you because he has to… and the worst part? You don’t know the difference.

It should feel like moving way too fast way too soon, but it doesn’t. It feels inevitable, like the moment he knocked on your door this was bound to happen.

You reach up, fingertips grazing his jaw. He doesn’t move, he just watches you. You wonder if he’s waiting for permission from you.

“Come with me,” you say softly.

You tug on his hand and he lets you guide him through your house, down the short hall, into your bedroom. The room is dim and warm, basking in the glow of two bedside table lamps. It's quiet except for the soft thump of Duckie hopping up onto a chair in the corner, curling into a loaf.

You turn toward him, your back now to the bed.

“You sure about this?” he asks, voice low and even.

“Yeah,” You whisper, “Let me give you something in return?”

That’s all John needs.

He steps in, presses his mouth to yours, slowly and carefully. His hands find your hips, your back. You let him touch you. You want him to touch you, but you don’t see the calculation behind his movements. The way he shifts you just slightly. How his grip firms, guiding you toward the edge of the bed.

You sit, thinking it’s part of the moment. You reach for the hem of your shirt, but John is still in front of you. His eyes aren't on your body, they're bouncing from your throat to your wrists. Back and forth, like he's deciding what to do.

You don’t notice at first, you’re too focused on him. The warmth of his mouth still lingers on yours. You think he’s pausing for effect. You think he’s giving you a moment, but he isn’t.

John moves slowly. He reaches into his jacket and fiddles like he’s adjusting something, but when his hand comes back out, it’s hiding something small and sharp in his palm. You fail to see the glint of the metal in the low light.

“Lie back,” he says flatly.

You do as you're told without hesitation. You're too trusting.

John leans over you, pressing a knee on the bed beside your hip. His free hand grazes your collarbone then down to your wrist, lightly mapping out where the blade will go. You close your eyes and let him explore your body.

And then you feel something. It's wrong and sharp and cold against your skin. Your eyes fly open and your breath sticks in your throat.

“J-John?” You stutter.

He doesn’t answer, he’s too focused. His grip shifts and he catches your wrist firmly now, anchoring it down against the sheets. You struggle against him, confusion clouding your mind.

“What-?” You look at his face, but it's unreadable, “What are you doing?”

Your gaze moves to his hand and that's when you see it. He's holding a blade. Sleek, metal, and sharper than anything you've ever seen.

“Wait! Wait, please. Please don't,” Your voice cracks as you beg.

John does something he's never done before. He hesitates. This is what he does. Get close then make it quick and easy. So why does this one feel different? Is it because she’s not a threat? Because she’s just ordinary?

He shouldn’t hesitate. One deep, fast stroke across the wrist or the throat, and it’s done. Easy to stage, leave, and call it a job well done. He wills himself to focus on what needs to be done. He has to complete his task.

You’re crying now, gasping, still not understanding, “Why?! I don’t- please, I didn’t do anything!”

John grits his teeth and in one smooth motion, he slices the blade down your forearm vertically, from inner elbow to wrist. It's so sharp, you don't feel the sting at first. You only know it’s happened once the blood begins to bead up along the cut and slowly leak across your skin. You stare at your arm, eyes wide, your breath catching like a sob in your chest.

“What did you do to me?” You whisper, voice full of disbelief.

The blood is slow at first, then flows more thickly. He can see the moment you realize. The way your chest begins to heave and your lips tremble, you're in shock.

And John… he’s frozen. His hand is still wrapped around your wrist with the blade slick in his palm, and the mission pounding in his skull.

You whimper. You try to pull your arm back and fail, because you’re weak and confused and you trusted him.

“Please,” you sob, shaking now, “Why are you doing this?”

That’s the moment he feels it. Real, sickening shame crawls up his spine and digs out a hole in his chest, making its home there. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this. It never feels like this.

“I…” John lets go of your arm and the blade drops with a soft thud onto the comforter. He backs away from the bed like he’s afraid of you. Or maybe himself.

You curl your bleeding arm into your chest, gasping to catch your breath.

“Were you going to kill me?” you cry, “Oh my god. John, you were really going to do it?”

“I was,” he mutters.

“I don't understand…”

“I was sent here to kill you, supposed to make it look like a suicide,” He sighs.

“Why?” your voice breaks, “Why me?”

“I don’t know.” His voice cracks for the first time, “I’ve been watching you for weeks. You didn’t do anything, haven't done anything. That’s part of the damn problem.”

You shake your head, horrified and bewildered, “And you still tried.”

“I know,” His hands tremble at his sides, “I should have been done and gone before you ever realized.”

You sob harder. Your blood’s dripping down your wrist now, soaking into the blanket beneath you. You feel yourself losing a lot of blood, now. From the chair, Duckie mews softly, then hops down and rubs against your foot.

“But I didn’t finish it,” he says suddenly, his voice sharp and desperate, “I stopped. I’m going to fix this. I can still fix this.”

You flinch when he steps forward, “Don’t touch me.”

“At least let me take you to the hospital?” John urges.

“They'll never believe me if I tell them what happened,” You sniffle, beginning to feel lightheaded, “They're gonna- They'll think I did it to myself.”

John doesn’t argue. He knows you’re right. He steps back again, giving you space. His jaw works like he wants to say something, maybe he needs to, but there’s nothing he can offer that could possibly undo what he's done.

Your breathing stutters. Your lips part like you're going to say more, but then your body sways.

John lunges forward and catches you before you hit the mattress. He cradles you carefully with one arm beneath your back, the other pressing your bleeding arm against his chest, trying to stem the flow. Your blood soaks into his shirt.

“Stay with me.”

You’re crying and trying to stay conscious. The colors of your room blur together.

“Why didn’t you just do it?” you slur, “Why stop now?”

John doesn't answer you. That guilt in his chest is clawing away at his ribs. This isn't a job anymore. Fuck the contract. He has to fix this.

#john wick x you #john wick x reader #john wick #keanuverse #keanu reeves #request #keanu reeves x you #keanu reeves x reader

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ray935sworld · 4 hours ago

Text

happier than I have ever seen

marcmarc

Cw: allusion to sexual content

“You have been absolutely incredible.” With those words, Marc pulled his boyfriend into the safety of his motorhome. He grinned wildly, his hands immediately reaching for the younger one’s face before he half made it through the door.

“You're the one to talk.” Marco replied, his Italian accent more dominant after the race. He was exhausted and his Spanish was suffering under it.

It made him even more hot in his boyfriends eyes.

“I saw – your launch in turn one. You were there – next to me on the grid and suddenly – psssuuuuuuuh” he made a flight noise, his head moving from left to right as he laughed. “You were gone! It was so god damn hot.”

The Italian was being dragged down to the smaller mans height.

He felt Marc’s lips on his. He was greedily kissing him, sucking his lips in and slightly biting him.

He was rewarded with a loud moan from his younger boyfriend that he half swallowed. He smiled. It scratched a certain part in his brain to know that he was the one making Bez react like this. That he was the one making him make those sounds. That only he got him like this.

“Mmhh… Oh baby you have no idea” he whispered, he took a step back, finally trying to navigate the kissing from the hallway to his bed.

Marco immediately step closer again. He wrapped his arms around him, pulling him against his chest, letting his head fall down so he was resting against Marc’s shoulder while he spoke.

“You were right there next to me.” He whispered. “Sprayed me with champagne and on that podium - I could have just kissed. Just right there in front of your whole team and the whole world.”

“Yes. Yes please” “Yeah? Would you have liked that? Let everyone know your only mine?” he directed the younger to the bed and pushed him down. He felt marco’s hands still on his body as he let himself fall down.

The Italians hands were still resting on Marc’s side, eagerly letting his fingers slip on his shirt. “Yeah” he breathed out. He touched the slightly sweaty skin. Caressed it. And then let his first finger wander under the hem of the shorts.

At the same time, Marc took the one and only place that belong to him. On Bez’s lap.

He sat down, moving his ass a little more than necessary just to feel the bulge under him more clearly. He smiled. He liked knowing he could do this to the other one.

“So eager” he muttered. “Such a good boy… Now be my good boy and get ride of that shirt so I can look at you properly”

Within a second Bez hand disappeared from Marc’s body and instead he pulled his oversized shirt from his torso.

“Bello” Marc whispered as he got a good look at the younger one’s naked chest. “Such a beautiful man and all mine” He felt Marco twitch under him but he ignored it, knowing how the Italian reacted when Marc suddenly switched to his mother tongue.

It had been one of the many advantaged and new tricks he learned at Ducati.

He let his hand feel all over him, starting at his shoulders and slowly making his way over his chest and his stomach. “Maaaarc” the younger one whined. He decided to have mercy and leaned in to kiss him.

He kissed him hungrily, letting his tongue slip in between his lips without a warning. He claimed the wet heat of his mouth while his hand rested on his chest, slightly squeezing his skin of his tits.

The responds was Marco losing the last bit of grip on himself and therefore exactly what he had wanted. He let the Italian moan in the kiss, let his head fall back, muttering things under his breath while Marc kissed his neck.

He tasted the salty sweat. The rest of champagne that was yet to be washed away and he took it all as his little glory.

It tasted like winning because it meant he had Marco. It tasted better than any win.

He kissed his whole body. He kissed his chest, leaving bite marks around his nipples. He felt the younger man starting to twitch, his hard cock already pressing against the Spaniards thigh, begging for attention.

He let Marco move his hips under him, slightly moving up and down while he was still focused on his upper body. In his mind he was thinking about his next steps. He knew Marco had to ride tomorrow so he couldn’t do too much. And his own cock still hurt.

He grinned. But he was sure he could handle some pain so a little hand-

Suddenly the door was loudly pushed open. The door hitting the back of the small room. A voice accompanied the sound. Both flinching. Heads bolting up.

A voice broke through their bumble. “Marc, you are-“

Marc turned around with wide eyes, his hand still resting on the younger ones naked chest as if he wanted to cover his nipple up while he stared at his father.

Bez stared over his shoulder with even wider eyes at the older Spaniard while his hands already tried to find his shirt to at least try to pretend they weren’t making put like horny teenagers.

He looked around, his cheeks more red than Marc’s ducati but he had to realize his shirt was currently laying on the ground. In between Mr Marquez, his son and Bez who was sitting under said son. Rock. Hard.

“Hi Dad” Marc pressed out.

Julia stared at him. His eyes blinking. Mouth frozen in the middle of his word. Then he turned to look at the Italian who was currently brushing away the spit that had been running out his mouth and down his chin.

Suddenly his mouth twitched and his confusion broke into a loud laughter. It had a hint of the same crackling sound that the brother’s shared. “Your mom owns me 20€.” He said crossing as he shook his head.

“Teenagers” he sighed with a fake annoyance before he turned around. “Marc – when you guys are done – Ducati still wants some picture! See you, Marco!” “Se-See you!” the Italian managed to say as the door fell shut.

The two man however were still stuck in that moment. Marco stared at Marc while Marc still stared at the door.

The moment between them was ruined.

“What – Did your dad just –“ “Well – so much about telling my parents about you” he said with a chuckle. “What?!” “Yeah, trust me if he knows, my mom knows too.” “But. No. I… I wanted to be perfect” he said, his voice showing his annoyance.

“I wanted to be the perfect boyfriend and not – the P3 that your dad caught making out with after the sprint” he whined frustrated. Marc looked at him, he saw that it was actually upsetting him.

So he took his cheeks in between his hands and made him look up at him.

“You are my perfect boyfriend. Whether they find out while we are making out like teenager or with a proper suit introduction. You are my perfect boyfriend, because you are you. Okay?” “Okay” he whispered before Marc kissed him again.

“And that you are my P3 boyfriend with who I can celebrate is even better. My star” he whispered before getting up from his lap. He stretched, feeling Marco’s eyes on him.

“I gotta go. See you tonight… But maybe at your motorhome, less people” “Yeah” he replied with a chuckle and a last kiss. “I love you” “Love you too”

With that, Marc was gone.

Bez took a deep breath. He let a few seconds pass, his eyes scanning the room. Then he stood up as well, lifted the shirt from the ground and threw it back on. He brushed it off, making sure it looked as smooth as possible.

He let his hands go through his curls, trying to make them look as good as possible and he decided that this had to be acceptable.

He closed his eyes before exiting the room. He prayed he would be alone but as he expected he wasn’t. He spotted his boyfriends father just 2 steps in his try to sneak out. And worst – he saw him too.

He felt himself stiffen up as their eyes met.

“Hola Senor Marquez” he said quickly, his cheeks burning with embarrassment.

“Ciao Marco” Julia replied, his voice soft, a smile on his face. “I should apologize. I really didn’t mean to intrude.” “I – Ehm…” he said, the red shooting back in his face. “Yeah, sure. No problem”

“Next time I’ll knock.” Next time. The words were hollowing in his head. Did he assume or know the two were…

Bez wasn’t sure if he could ask but his question got answered. “Marc mentioned you two are dating…?”

“Yes Sir” he nodded. “We - We’ve been dating for a few months now and – I love him a lot. Really. Really much actually.” He wasn’t sure what to say so he just decided to say what he felt he should say.

“And I – I – I know that in the past- I wasn’t so… Kind. To him. But I am very sorry about that. I really, really love Marc and I want to be with him and make sure he is okay. I’m sorry that I didn’t always see that”

“Marco” The man said. “I appreciate that. Really. And it’s okay. You make my son happier than I have ever seen him.”

He gave him an honest smile. “Don’t think we didn’t notice he had been happier when he snuck back in. Or when he was just a little longer in Italy than usual. Or when he banned everyone from coming over”

Marco chuckled a little, feeling a lot more at ease now. “As long as Marc is happy, everything is fine. You seem like a good man, Marco. I am glad you two finally got your shit together.”

“Me too.” He said grinning.

Julia smiled at him. He was grateful that his son had found someone that made him smile. He wanted to protect his boys smile, especially after seeing him hopeless and frustrated for years with seemingly no end.

And the Italian seemed to be the perfect fit for him.

“Good. And I should tell you from my wife that you are welcome to join us for dinner any time. I’m sure Marc would be very happy.” Oh!” he blushed. So Marc had been right. “I – I’d love to, Mr Marquez. Thank you.”

“Always. Just... it’s Julia. Okay?” “Yes… Thank you”

#marc marquez #ray's writing #motogp rpf #marco bezzecchi #marcmarc #bezquez #Julia Marquez #We need more fluffy meet the parents fics

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