#wait no I’d be a geek | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

somanyideassolittletime · 2 months ago

Text

To be loved is to be changed.

Pairings: Jack Abbot x Fem!Reader

Summary : 3 ways you changed Jack, and one time Jack changed you.

Warnings: fluff, Jack is in love with his wife, language, grammar inaccuracies (maybe? idk), so much fluff I felt giddy writing this.

Author's note: I love Jack so much, enjoy!

| one

Jack, albeit all of his typical stereotypes people use to box him into, is secretly tech-savvy. It comes with the job, he supposed. Working in a field where technology is always evolving, he learnt to adapt, and he learnt to love it. It started with geeking out when the newest, most updated machine was delivered to the hospital, up to buying himself handheld medical pieces of equipment delivered to your door – he would wait for you at home before unboxing the most recent ‘toys’ he ordered, and he would talk your ears off about how cool and innovative it is.

You loved it, you loved hearing him talk passionately, you love that even after all this time working in his job, he still finds wonders in it (it doesn’t help that he looked so hot with his forearms flexed, knife in hand, while opening the package).

He understands technology, he does. But he doesn’t get the idea of FaceTime. He wasn’t a big texter himself; nothing beats the good old phone calls, where you can get your point across without fear of miscommunication on both sides. Even when you dated, you never went as far as FaceTime; it was always a phone call with a promise of meeting each other, and now that you are married, sharing his home, he still doesn’t get it.

“Why do you even need to look at their faces when you call? What matters is what you say, y’know, besides, it’s awkward to call someone with your phone far away from your ears,” He once said while holding you tightly in his side, cuddling in his far too comfy leather couch. Both of you watching a movie, where the scene of people facetiming each other just finished. You laughed at him back then, nudging his sides, “Eh, don’t knock it till you try it, hon.”

What a turn of events now for him, as you were called away across the country for a few guest lectures and seminars for two weeks. Away from Pittsburgh, away from him – that he finds himself thankful for whoever invented the damned thing. He’s sitting on his bed, currently deprived of your presence beside him, when he decides to try out FaceTime.

“Hi, handsome,” you pick up on the first ring, he’s greeted with the face he’s been missing for the past few days, smiling at him. He sighs in contentment, he finally gets to see your face. “Hi, sweetheart.”

He can hear you rustling around, looking for something to prop up your phone before you settle on your water bottle. Your screen is now steady. You grin at him, “Finally getting the whole FaceTime thing now, huh?”

He huffs, “Don’t wanna get used to it, i’d rather have you here.” he starts, “But yeah, thank god shit’s exist. Been so long since I've seen that face.”

“I’ve been here four days and you turned grumpy, huh?” You tell him, referring to the text Dana sent you earlier, “Your husband is Mr. Grumpy. Med students scared to approach him all day”

“What do you mean?” You’re still grinning at him, you’re afraid your cheeks might be too sore to talk to the faculty tomorrow. “Dana texted me, said you were being bad teacher.”

He groaned, “I’m annoyed at everything, it seems.” he mumbles just loud enough for you to hear him on the other end. He’s holding the phone a little too close to his eyes, he squints to look at you. You noticed it, “Wear your glasses, hon.” He hates wearing his glasses, which you know, but he’s squinting so hard you’re afraid he’s gonna get a headache later on. He’s contemplating debating you, but he knows that you’re right; he’s getting too old to see something so close to his eyes now.

“Ugh, fine. Wait,” he puts his phone in the bed, now his screen is showing the ceiling of the bedroom you share back home. A few rustling and groans later, you find yourself looking at Jack wearing his glasses. Your breath hitched. The sight of him in his glasses always gets to you, even after all this time. “Looking good, Dr. Abbot,” you joke. He smiles, “You’re Dr. Abbot yourself.” You frowned mockingly. “I was looking at my reflection, y’know.”

He laughs, and your heart aches to be with him. You missed him as bad as he missed you, it seems. You lift your phone, standing up now, he’s curious, “What are you doing?” You reverse the camera now, showing your room. “I’m doing a room tour. Now shut up and listen to me yap.”

He gladly obeys, he loves listening to your voice, he watches as you explain everything in your room, from the bathroom, the wardrobe, the bed, all the way to the balcony. His eyes caught something when your camera points at your desk, a familiar bottle of cologne – one he’s been wearing for ten years – so he decides to jab at you. “Is that why I can’t find my cologne in my bag?” You turn the camera facing you, and he’s glad now that he can see your face again. “I miss you. Sue me.” You stick your tongue out at him. How he wishes to wipe that shit eating grin from your face.

“I’m suing you for that with a lifetime with me,” he says earnestly. You look at him fondly, “Jack Abbot, I didn’t know you get sappier the further we departed.” He puts his phone on the nightstand, angled so that you can still see his face, pulling the comforter up to his chin.

“I miss you so much, baby,” you blegh at the nickname, phone now back at your desk, “You sounded like a teenager,” he chuckles, he looks at you putting on your glasses, the light from the laptop reflecting in your eyes. “Talk to me,” you say.

So he did, he tells you about the shift he’s had today while you’re typing away at your laptop, looking at him every once in a while. He tells you about the boy who went berserk, hands flailing around, making Langdon drop the scalpel in his hand, dropping it to his prosthetic feet, panicking the entire trauma room, only for him to be unfazed. You laugh fondly at him, eyes twinkling with the same mesmerization you only hold for him (and for a crazy innovation that you find interesting).

He’s holding his yawn, but you know better. His eyes are glassy now. “Go to sleep. It’s late,” you say, he obeys you, taking off his glasses, relaxing into his pillow. “Don’t turn it off,” he says softly, eyes fluttering. You shake your head, “I’ll turn it off when you snore,” he huffs, “what? You snore.” you start, “But I need to hear you snore to sleep nowadays.” you explain.

His eyes are half-closed now, and he finds himself relaxed, hearing your breaths on the other side, keys clacking softly. “I love you,” he whispers to you. You stopped your typing, now looking at his eyes fully closed, “I love you too, goodnight, hon.”

For the next 7 days, he finds himself loving FaceTime, finds himself looking forward to FaceTime with you every night before he sleeps, and like other technology he once frowned at, he finally gets it.

| two

Jack is not a man of pop culture, he never understands the appeal of it. He rarely watches movies by himself, let alone pop culture movies or series. But you loved it to no end, you often ask him to watch those movies with you, ranging from sci-fi, fantasy, to superhero movies, whatever you want to watch, he’ll gladly oblige. He’ll pretend to be uninterested in your series whenever you watch it alone with him moving around the house. But you always find him standing behind the couch, watching the show intently, before finding him beside you, starting to give commentary on what's happening on the screen. And slowly, he finds himself enjoying watching those movies and series with you.

He loves watching you explain to him about the complexity of a character you like, loves hearing you badmouth a character you hate, and when you both find yourself watching sci-fi movies with futuristic technologies, he finds himself falling a little harder, hearing you explain to him the concept of the technology in said movies. “I don’t understand a single word you just said. Is this what you feel when I explain procedures to you?” he once asked you. You nodded, “Yeah, pretty much, but you’re hot when you’re explaining it. So I love it,” you said to him. And he agreed with you on that one.

Jack was covering the night shift tonight, it’s Halloween night, so he’ll find himself drowning in patients in costumes, no doubt. You had dropped him off earlier with a kiss on his cheek and a promise to pick him up later in the morning.

He’s talking to a ten-year-old kid in a yellow uniform, one he recognized as a Star Trek uniform when Ellis enters the room, “I got this, Abbot. You go ahead,” she says to Jack. Jack nods at her before saying, “You’re in good hands, kiddo.” Ellis looks at the boy in the bed, saying, “Well, what do we got here, Mr.Spock?” The kid was about to protest when Jack reactively says, “He’s Captain Kirk,” Earning a look from Ellis. He fistbumps the kid and leaves the room, fully trusting Ellis.

The rest of the shift is pretty slow, filled with kids getting food poisoning from the candy being given away, typical drunks, and some OD patients from parties. It was now one hour left in the shift, everyone was either hanging by the hub or just doing a frequent check for their patients. He was charting when Shen and Ellis approached him.

“Hey, Abbot. How’s the stormtrooper guy?” Shen asks him. He’s currently scanning through his memory, not finding a single stormtrooper costume in his recollection of the night. “We haven’t got a stormtrooper,” He frowns at Shen. Shen points his fingers over Jack’s shoulder, he turns his head – now looking at a man in a Mandalorian get-up, his helmet on the chair beside the bed – he turns back to Shen, “That’s a fucking Mandalorian, good to go in a few hour, ” Shen doesn’t say anything, opting to look at Ellis beside him. Who, for the second time that night, gave him a weird look. He’s been doing medical procedures that might be crazy ballsy for some, but never once he received that look from either Ellis or Shen until tonight.

“Okay, you know what, what the hell?” Ellis starts, “You corrected me earlier cause of a fuckin costume, and now, what the hell, man?” Jack shrugs, “What?” Shen points his finger at Jack, his voice accusatory, “Dude, you only ever turn your TV on for penguins games, now you tellin me you know fuckin sci-fi shit, now.?” Jack looks at him, “Wrong, I turn on my TV for the Steelers and Pirates too,” he says casually.

“Ugh, you know what we meant. Since when do you even watch that stuff?” Ellis says exasperatedly. Jack crossed his arms, shrugging, “My wife likes that stuff.” He says that so casually that Shen and Ellis might combust at his tone.

Shen laughs at him, “Holy shit, you’re whipped.” Jack smirks, “Yeah, I wouldn’t get married if I weren’t.” his hands find the ring in his necklace now. Fully smiling at Shen and Ellis, both of whom groan at him. “Ughhh, please be a simp somewhere else, not here.” Shen rolls his eyes.

Shen and Ellis walked away from him before he muttered, “God forbid a man is in love,” smiling to himself with the thought of you in his mind.

So slowly but surely, he understands the appeal now that he can see how your eyes lit up every time he referenced something. And like any other form of entertainment, he once cringed at, he finds himself enjoying and looking forward to the next time he has you curled up beside him, whispering theories he doesn’t get. Anything that makes you happy, it seems, makes him happy.

| three

Jack is a man of many talents, but not of many coffee orders. He takes his coffee as plain as possible. Black, no sugar. He never ordered his coffee sweet, not before he met you at least. For him, coffee should be something simple, he doesn’t need extra flavor in his coffee, he just needs it to fuel him through the day.

But you? You take your coffee as abstractly as possible. Though you do enjoy a plain black coffee once in a while, once the occasion calls for it, you actually prefer some flavor and sweetness in your coffee.

“black , no sugar, please. What about you hon,” he asked you, ordering for himself to barista; he never ordered for you since he knew he would botch the task. “Uh, let me think. I ordered the almond latte yesterday. I think I’ll go with hazelnut today, please. Thank you,” you answered to the barista, who punched in some buttons. Jack tapped his card to pay before moving over to wait for your order.

“Here, try this. You’ll like it.” you said to him. He shakes his head, refusing to take a sip. “Just try it, I swear” he takes the coffee in his hand, sipping on it. Fuck. that’s good. He thought. He bites the inside of his cheek to hold back a smile, not wanting to give you the victory. You pointed at him victoriously, “aha! You like it don’t you.” he shrugged, giving you back your coffee. “Eh, black’s still better.” though you know that he actually enjoys it.

But now that it’s been a while since the two of you went on cafe dates, he finds himself missing your random coffee order. So when the opportunity comes for him to drink your coffee order, he’ll take it.

“Hey, I’m ordering coffee, your usual?” Robby asks him, typing in his notes app to list everyone’s coffee order. Jack thinks for a second before answering him, “I’ll have a vanilla latte,” earning a raised eyebrow from Robby, who types it down without question before moving over to the others. Making a mental note to ask him later on.

It was a while later when the order came in, and everyone stopped by the break room to take their coffee. Jack is greeted by Langdon and Robby inside, both holding their coffee. Langdon doesn’t even think before handing him a black coffee, one that Jack doesn’t take. “It’s not mine,” he says, walking over to the table, reading the labels in each cup before settling on his order.

He holds it in a way that the label is visible to Langdon, who looks at him weirdly, “a Latte? Really? Vanilla latte?” Langdon asks him. Jack sips on his coffee before entertaining Langdon, “What? It’s good,” he answers. Langdon, who looks at Robby as if saying, dude, you seeing what I’m seeing???. Robby teases him, “Yeah, I don’t think that cuts it, brother.”

Jack huffs, sipping some more, “Fine. My wife takes her coffee like this.” he wants to look annoyed, but he can’t bear himself to do it; not when he just drank your coffee order, being reminded of you seems to have that effect on him.

“I’m a married man myself, but I never even order my coffee her way, man.” Langdon laughs at him. Robby smiles at him, putting his hand on Langdon’s shoulder, slightly leaning toward him. “I believe we are seeing Jack in love. What is it? To be loved is to be changed?” says Robby to Langdon’s who laughed at Jack.

Jack wants to retort something smart as usual, but somehow, he doesn’t want to. So he opted to just smile at both of them before taking his coffee outside the break room.

Because yeah, he might realize himself that his preference is changing, but what Robby said earlier was right, that he’s in love and that he’s loved – and he wouldn’t change that for the world.

But the next time the two of you went on your cafe dates, he would still order his usual, not because he wanted it, he ordered it because for him, nothing beats the mischievous smile you gave him after asking him to try your coffee. (and it doesn’t help that he liked seeing your lip product mark on his cup after you drink his coffee, and that both of you just did an indirect kiss) Though that was a thought he’ll keep to himself forever.

“How do I look?” you walk into the living room, twirling your body to Jack, who is sitting on the leather couch, now looking at you. You were sporting a Penguins jersey with a big 87 on the back, CROSBY above it. You were offered a sideline ticket to the Penguins game by your friend, which you excitedly accepted. So here you are, getting ready for the game with the Penguins heartbreaker’s Jersey on you.

Jack smiles at you. “Well, you look like you’re drowning in it, Mrs. Crosby,” he says coyly. You frown at him, walking over to him, “Jack, as much as I love Sid, I actually prefer being Mrs. Abbot,” you say to him, leaning down to give his lips a peck.

Jack puts his hand on your waist, capturing your lips on his. Pulling back, Jack let out a breathy chuckle, “Yeah? Say that after you see him, hon. You know I’m straight, but he’s hot as hell,” he jested. You laugh at his confession, about to say something when you hear a honk in the driveway. Jack walks you over to the door, opening it for you.

Jack pecks your lips once again before saying, “Stay safe, okay? I love you.” You smile, kissing his cheek, “I will. Love you too.”

It’s almost midnight when you come home, and the Penguins won, so it was a victorious night out in your books. You open the door slowly, not wanting to disturb Jack, who should be sleeping by now. You can hear the TV still turned on in the living room, so you decide to check it out.

Jack was sprawled over the couch, the light from the TV illuminating his figure, his prosthetic placed by the table, as much as you want to move him to the bed because you know that his back would scream at him tomorrow if he spends as much as an extra hour on the couch, he looked so cozy you can’t help yourself, so you lay down on the couch, joining him.

Your movement startles him at first, but upon seeing that it’s you, he relaxes, “Hey,” he whispers into your ear. “It was fun, wished it was with you though,” you confess to him. His arms now caging you, drawing soft circles on your back. It was quiet before you started.

“Jack,” you whisper softly, he hums, acknowledging you. You continue, “I think you broke me.” Jack stops his hand, pulling his head just enough to look you in the eyes. “What do you mean?” you snuggle further into his chest before saying, “I don’t find Sid attractive anymore.”

“Huh?” Jack asks, You sit up, placing your hand on his stomach. “Imagine, I was that close with him, I could practically see his pores, Jack.-” You put your hand in front of you, in an attempt to emphasize just how close you are to The Sidney Crosby earlier. “But all I can think about is eh, he’s okay. Jack’s way more attractive.” Jack’s entire body warms at hearing your confession.

He’s about to comment before you put your hand that was previously on his stomach to his mouth, not allowing him to speak, “No, you don’t get it. It's THE SIDNEY CROSBY, Jack. You know how much I love him, right?” he nods against your hand, now smiling as wide as ever. You lift your hand from his mouth, continuing your explanation. “I was supposed to be entranced by him, Jack. But I kept on thinking that he had nothing against you.”

“You’re putting me on a damn high pedestal now, hon,” he says jokingly, though his eyes shows nothing but adoration looking at you.

You lie back on the couch again, cuddling him. “Nah. I think I just love you too much that I find any other guy to just be….mid.”

He chuckles, resuming his hand motion on your back. “I love you too, so much.” You don’t say anything after that, you're both snuggling, the TV playing softly as background noise – the intimacy of this moment has nothing against anything else.

You both stayed that way for a while until you mentioned to him that you needed to move before you both fell asleep on the couch, so you walked over to the bedroom, Jack behind you, searching for the remote to turn it off, seeing the highlight of the day on the screen, with crosby’s goal earlier. He smirks proudly at the TV, remembering your earlier admission.

Sid 0 - 1 Jack.

#jack abbot x reader #the pitt #jack abbot

824 notes · View notes

therogueflame · 3 months ago

Text

Claimed

hi my little freaks and geeks!

here is the long awaited aemond x little sister!reader x aegon I promised ages ago. The original request doesn't ask for aegon but like..its set in a brotherl. bffr.

✨ My Masterlist ✨

🖊️My AO3 🖊️

📝 My WIP List 📝

❄️ My ASOIAF/GOT/HOTD Discord Server 🔥

Summary: You weren’t supposed to stay. But when lines blur and hands linger, silence becomes something else entirely.

WC: 6.0k

Warnings: 18+, hard smut (p in v, oral m!recieving, fingering, threesome, creampie, facial), targcest, drunk and disorderly, a lil bit of fluff at the end, no description of reader, no use of y/n

Aemond Targaryen x Little Sister!Reader x Aegon II Targaryen

MDNI!!!

You were always just a step behind Aemond. Before he had a sword, before he lost his eye, before you knew how to keep your head down when Aegon was in one of his moods. You would cling to the edge of Aemond’s tunic, small fingers curled tight in the fabric, too afraid to let go. He never asked you to. He rarely said anything at all, but he let you trail behind him through the halls and gardens and courtyards, never once leaving you behind, never once telling you no. You didn’t understand why Aegon’s laughter made your stomach twist, or why Helaena grew quiet when he entered a room. You just knew that being near Aemond felt safer than being alone. So you stayed close. You still do.

You didn’t know why you were afraid. Not really. You only knew Aegon’s laughter made your stomach twist. That his games never felt like games. That Helaena never laughed during them. But Aemond never hurt you. He never teased, never pulled away, not even when you cried. He didn’t say much back then. He still doesn’t.

Now you’re older. The court sees you as grown. Your dresses are nicer. You’ve learned to speak only when spoken to. But none of that has changed the way you watch him. He spends most of his days training or reading. Sometimes you find him with his dragon, sometimes in the library. You don’t always speak. You just sit nearby. He lets you.

That afternoon, you catch him alone in the library. He stands with his back to you, head bent over a scroll. One hand braces the edge of the table. His hair slips forward with the angle. He doesn’t look up.

“You’re following me again.”

You smile. “You noticed.”

He exhales. “You’re not subtle.”

You step into the room. “You didn’t tell me to leave.”

“I don’t have to.”

You still cross the room. You still sit down across from him, hands folded neatly in your lap.

He keeps reading. You watch him. You don’t say anything else.

You don’t leave when he sighs. You’ve learned to tell the difference between when Aemond wants to be alone and when he just thinks he should be. This is the second kind.

He reads. You sit. The quiet settles between you like it always does.

Eventually, he speaks again. “Did Mother send you?”

You shake your head. “She doesn’t know I’m here.”

That makes him glance up. Only briefly.

“She wouldn’t like it.”

“No.”

He looks back at the scroll.

You don’t ask what he’s reading. You never do. You just watch his fingers move as he turns the page. His rings catch the light. His nails are clean and neat, like always. You used to hold his hand when you were little. Now you just look at them. The fire crackles in the hearth. Outside, the wind howls along the stones.

“You’re not afraid of him anymore?” he asks, eyes still down.

You don’t ask who he means.

“No,” you lie.

He nods once, but doesn’t believe you. Later, when you’re leaving the library, you see Aegon at the end of the corridor. He’s half in shadow, leaning against the wall like he’s been waiting. His cup is empty. He watches you walk past.

“You’re always trailing after him,” he says. “Like a dog.”

You don’t answer.

“Does he even look at you?” Aegon grins. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “He’s always reading or sulking. Doesn’t seem like much fun.”

You keep walking.

“I’d look at you,” he calls after you. “Properly.”

You don’t stop.

That night, you don’t sleep. You wait until the halls go still. When the torches burn low and the servants are gone. You’re not sure what you expect when you slip out of your chambers. Only that you’re used to following him. You’ve done it before. He never notices.

But this time, he moves quickly. Quiet. Through side halls, out into the city. You stay back, careful, steps silent against the cold stone. He doesn’t go to the library. He doesn’t go to the dragonpit. He disappears into the dark.

The brothel smells like wine and incense and heat. The kind that clings to your skin and settles in your lungs, thick and cloying. The lighting is dim, all soft candles and red drapery, the walls close and heavy with smoke. Laughter drifts through the space, slow and indulgent, layered with something sharp underneath. You slip in through the side, heart already pounding, the velvet curtain brushing your shoulder as you ease into the shadows. You shouldn’t be here. You know that. But you keep going anyway.

You see him almost right away. Aemond sits toward the center of the room, half-lit by candlelight, a woman in his lap like she’s always belonged there. Her dress has slipped off one shoulder, her fingers are spread across his chest, and her mouth presses to the side of his neck, slow and familiar. His hand rests on her thigh. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. He just sits there, silent and still, letting her touch him like she’s done it a hundred times. His expression doesn’t change. He looks cold, distant, completely unreachable. But he’s here. And he let her.

You stay where you are, quiet and out of view, too stunned to look away. It isn’t that he’s smiling. It’s that he isn’t. And still, he doesn’t stop her.

Then you hear it—too close, too loud. “Gods. You really are obsessed with him.”

You turn fast, but Aegon’s already there. He sways where he stands, cup in one hand, the smell of wine rolling off him like rot. His eyes are red and unfocused, and his grin is wide, mean, and far too pleased with itself. His tunic hangs open, and there’s something sticky on his collar. You don’t want to know what it is.

“Didn’t think I’d find you here,” he says, already talking over himself, voice raised far too loud for how close he is. “Little sneak, following big brother through the streets like a stray. Look at you.” He laughs, open-mouthed and wet. You try to step back, but he’s already throwing an arm around your shoulders like you’re in on the joke. His breath hits your face, hot and sharp with wine. “You thought he was different, didn’t you? All dutiful and noble and above it. And now you’re watching him let some whore suck bruises into his neck.”

You try to pull away, but he’s stronger than he looks when he’s drunk, all dead weight and heavy limbs. He steers you forward so you're angled toward the room again, so you have to see. “Go on,” he says, voice rising, “have a good look. She’s got her hands down his breeches and you’re standing here like a kicked dog. What did you think would happen?”

A few heads turn. You wish the floor would open up beneath you. Aegon tips his cup back and spills half of it down his front, unbothered. “You follow him everywhere, all moon-eyed and quiet like he’s your knight in shining armor. But here he is, fucking some common cunt like you don’t exist.” He chuckles again, slurring now. “Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe that’s the problem.”

You try again to twist out of his grip, but he just laughs harder, keeping you pressed to his side. “Don’t tell me this was the plan. You came here hoping for this, didn’t you? Thought if you caught him like this, he’d finally see you.” His hand slips lower, not quite indecent, but close enough that you flinch. “Bet you want him to touch you like that. Want to know what it feels like. And now you do, don’t you?”

That’s when the silence hits. Aegon goes still. You don’t even realize you’ve stopped breathing. Across the room, Aemond has lifted his head. He’s looking right at you. Not at Aegon. Not at the woman still curled against him.

You.

His gaze moves lower—to Aegon’s hand, his arm around your waist, the way you’re held there like something cornered.

Aemond is on his feet before the room can breathe.

The woman in his lap stumbles back, her voice catching in her throat as she reaches for him, but he doesn’t spare her a glance. He brushes her off like she was never there. His eyes are on Aegon, and they don’t move. Not once.

Aegon lets go of you with a laugh that’s too loud, too pleased with itself. He holds his hands up in mock surrender, wine sloshing down his sleeve. “There he is,” he says. “Didn’t think you’d mind. She’s not a child anymore.”

Aemond doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to. He crosses the room in four slow steps. Grabs Aegon by the front of his tunic and slams him back against the nearest wall hard enough to make the plaster crack. The wine cup hits the floor and rolls away. No one in the brothel moves. No one dares.

Aegon just grins. His breath is unsteady now, but he still talks. “You gonna hit me, little brother? Over her? Thought you were the one who didn’t want her.”

Still nothing from Aemond. His hand stays tight in Aegon’s collar. His shoulders don’t move. The silence stretches. Then he turns to look at you. And something changes.

You don’t speak. You don’t breathe. You only meet his eyes. You expect anger, or disappointment, or something colder. What you find is worse. It's unreadable. Aemond holds your gaze like he’s waiting for something. Maybe permission. Maybe a reason not to tear the room apart.

“She followed you,” Aegon says, his voice lower now. “All the way here. Watched you like it hurt her. Maybe she wanted to see it. Maybe she liked it.”

His eyes slide to you. His grin never fades.

“Didn’t you, sweet thing?”

Your mouth opens. Closes. No sound comes. Aemond turns back to Aegon. His grip shifts, sliding higher, fingers curling tight at the base of his throat. He doesn’t squeeze. Not yet.

“She’s not yours,” Aegon says, voice rough. “Not unless you take her.”

Aemond lets go.

Aegon stumbles forward, catching himself on the table. There’s laughter in his breath, but it’s quieter now. You feel the shift as it settles around the three of you, thick as smoke. Aemond doesn’t look at Aegon again. His attention is on you. He steps toward you slowly. No anger in his expression. No rush. Just something dark behind his eyes that you can’t quite name.

He stops in front of you, close enough to touch. You can feel the heat coming off him, the tension coiled in every part of him.

“Is this what you want?” he asks. “Tell me.”

Behind him, Aegon laughs again, softer this time. “Maybe she wants both.”

Your breath catches. You don’t answer right away, not because you don’t know what you want, but because the words won’t come. Aemond is too close. You can feel the heat of him, the strain in his shoulders, the way he’s holding back like touching you would mean something he couldn’t undo. His eyes don’t leave yours. He’s waiting. Not impatient. Not pleading. Just still. Watching. His hand hovers at your waist but doesn’t settle. Not yet.

You nod. It’s small. Barely there. But it’s enough.

His fingers brush your side. Just the tips. You feel the breath go out of him, soft and steady, and when he leans in, it’s not rough. It’s careful. His forehead rests against yours like he’s grounding himself. Like he’s making sure. Behind him, Aegon laughs again. Low, amused. He sinks into a chair like he’s settling in to watch something he’s already seen coming.

“I told you,” he says. “She came all this way.”

Your eyes slip shut as his hand rises to your face, fingers curling at your jaw, thumb brushing slow across the corner of your mouth. He doesn’t look gentle, not the way he’s holding himself so tightly, but the way he touches you is measured, precise, like he’s memorizing each point of contact before it even settles. You open your eyes again, and his gaze is already waiting for you, steady and unreadable. He doesn’t speak. He just leans in and kisses you.

His mouth is warm against yours, steady and sure, like he's been waiting for this. Like he's thought about it before. You reach for his shoulders without meaning to, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, and he makes a sound in the back of his throat that you feel more than hear. The kiss deepens, slow and deliberate, his hand sliding back to cradle your head, to hold you where he wants you. There's nothing rushed about it. Nothing desperate. Just the careful press of his lips, the heat of his palm at your waist, the way his breath catches when you lean into him.

The room around you blurs. The sounds of the brothel fade to nothing, and all you can feel is Aemond—his breath, his hands, the steady beat of his heart under your palm. The kiss grows deeper, hungrier, his fingers tightening in your hair, tugging just enough to tilt your head back. When he finally breaks away, you're both breathing harder. His eyes search yours, still careful, still measuring every reaction.

Aegon shifts in his chair, restless and amused. "Don't stop on my account," he says, reaching for another cup of wine from a passing servant. "It's about time someone showed her what she's been missing."

Aemond doesn't look at his brother. His eyes never leave yours, his thumb tracing the curve of your bottom lip, his breath warm against your skin. Without warning, he takes your hand and pulls you toward the back of the brothel, through the velvet curtains and down a narrow hallway lined with doors. You follow without hesitation, your pulse racing beneath your skin.

Behind you, Aegon's chair scrapes against the floor. You hear his footsteps, uneven but determined, trailing after you. Your stomach twists with something like anticipation, like fear, but Aemond's grip on your hand is firm and certain.

He chooses a door at the end of the hall, pushing it open to reveal a small room with a large bed draped in crimson silk. A single candle burns on a bedside table, casting long shadows across the walls.

Aemond pulls you inside, his movements fluid and deliberate. You expect him to stop Aegon, to shut the door in his face, but he doesn't. Instead, he watches as his brother stumbles in after you, that same knowing smile still playing on his lips.

"You don't have to do this," Aemond says to you, voice low enough that only you can hear. His thumb traces circles against your wrist, a steady, grounding pressure. "We can leave."

You look between them—Aemond with his controlled intensity, his careful restraint; Aegon lounging against the doorframe, all loose limbs and predatory amusement. You should feel afraid. You should want to run. But instead, you feel something molten and dangerous unfurling within you.

"I want to stay," you whisper, and Aemond's pupils dilate slightly.

He nods once, a barely perceptible movement, and then his hand is at your waist again, steadier now, more certain. Aegon's presence fills the doorway, his shadow stretching long across the floor. You feel trapped between them, but not in a way that frightens you. It's something else entirely—a tension that pulls taut across your skin, that makes your breath catch in your throat.

"Tell me what you want," Aemond says again, his voice low and measured. His thumb brushes against your hip, a small circle that sends heat spiraling through you.

Before you can answer, Aegon laughs softly, pushing himself away from the doorframe. "She wants what everyone wants," he says, moving closer. "To be seen. To be touched." His gaze slides over you, hungry and amused. "To feel something."

Aemond's eyes narrow at his brother's words, but he doesn't contradict them. Instead, he watches your face carefully, reading every flicker of emotion. His hand remains steady at your waist, warm and grounding.

"Is that what you want?" he asks you, his voice so low it's almost a whisper.

You nod, unable to find your voice. Your skin feels too tight, too hot. You've spent years trailing behind him, watching from a distance, and now he's looking at you—really looking—with an intensity that makes your knees weak. Aegon moves closer, circling around until he stands behind you. You feel the heat of him at your back, not quite touching but close enough that his breath stirs the hair at the nape of your neck. Aemond's jaw tightens, but he doesn't step away.

After all those years, there’s something almost intimate in the sound of Aegon’s voice. He’s behind you now, close enough that you feel the warmth of his breath against your neck, the way it sinks into your skin and lingers. One of his hands rests at your waist, fingers spreading lightly, not holding but not letting go either. You don’t lean away.

Aemond is still in front of you, close enough that the space between your bodies feels more imagined than real. He doesn’t look at his brother. He only looks at you, eyes locked to yours, sharp and unreadable, like he’s waiting for something you haven’t said yet. Your breath catches. The heat from both of them settles around you, pressing in from either side, leaving nowhere to go but still.

Aegon shifts behind you, slow and steady, the curve of his chest brushing your back. His voice is lower now, all warmth and wine, curling soft against your ear.

“Let her speak,” he says. “She came here for something.”

You feel Aemond’s gaze drop, just for a moment, like he’s following the path of Aegon’s hand. The tension in him doesn’t ease. If anything, it sharpens.

"I want this," you say, your voice barely audible even in the quiet room. "I want..." You trail off, not sure how to name the feeling that's been building inside you for years.

"Show her," Aegon says to Aemond, his voice a low purr against your ear. "She's been watching you long enough."

Aemond's hand slides up from your waist, tracing the curve of your side, your shoulder, until his fingers curl around the back of your neck. His touch is firm but gentle, holding you steady as he leans in. This kiss is different from the first—deeper, hungrier, with none of the careful restraint. You gasp against his mouth, and he swallows the sound, pulling you closer until your bodies press together.

Behind you, Aegon's hands settle more firmly on your hips.

Aemond doesn't push you away, doesn't try to separate you from his brother. Instead, his fingers tighten in your hair as Aegon's hands begin to wander, sliding around to your stomach, pulling you back against him while Aemond keeps kissing you. You're caught between them, Aemond's mouth hot and demanding against yours, Aegon's body solid behind you. The room spins slightly, and you're not sure if it's from the lack of air or the realization that this is happening—that both princes have their hands on you, that neither is pulling away.

"She likes it," Aegon murmurs, his lips brushing against your neck. "Look at her."

Aemond breaks the kiss, his breathing ragged, his eyes dark with something you've never seen in him before. He studies your face, searching for any sign of hesitation, of fear. He finds none. Your lips are parted, your cheeks flushed, your eyes glazed with want. You reach for him, fingers curling into his shirt, and he lets out a sound that's almost pained.

"Please," you whisper, not sure what you're asking for, only that you need more—more of his hands on you, more of his mouth, more of this feeling that's threatening to consume you from the inside out.

Aegon's hands drift higher, brushing just beneath the swell of your breasts, his touch teasing and deliberate. "She's begging already," he murmurs, his lips trailing along the curve of your shoulder. "And we've barely started."

Aemond's jaw tightens, but there's something else in his expression now—a heat that matches your own, a hunger that he's no longer trying to hide.

"Take her to the bed," Aemond says, his voice rough with restraint. It's not a command for you, but for Aegon. His brother smiles against your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there before he guides you backward, his hands firm on your waist. The backs of your knees hit the mattress and you sink down onto it, Aegon following you, his body pressing yours into the silk. His lips find your throat, your collarbone, his hands working at the laces of your dress with practiced ease. You should feel shame—this is the prince you've always feared, the one whose laughter made your stomach twist—but there's only heat now, a burning need that crowds out everything else.

Aemond watches from where he stands, his gaze tracking every movement of his brother's hands on your body. There's something dangerous in his stillness, in the controlled way he breathes. When your dress loosens and Aegon pushes it down your shoulders, exposing the thin shift beneath, Aemond's fingers curl into fists at his sides.

"Come here," you say to Aemond, your voice barely above a whisper. You reach out a hand to him, an invitation he can't refuse.

He moves forward, slow and deliberate, like a predator approaching prey. The bed dips under his weight as he kneels beside you, his gaze never leaving your face. Aegon's mouth continues its path down your throat, his fingers pushing your shift aside to expose more skin. You shiver, caught between them again, Aegon's weight pressing you down, Aemond hovering above, watching with that unreadable intensity. Aemond's hand reaches out, his fingers ghosting over your flushed cheek. The contrast is stark—Aegon all heat and urgency, Aemond measured and restrained. Yet his eyes betray him. There's hunger there, raw and undeniable.

"You shouldn't have followed me," he says, his voice low enough that only you can hear. His thumb traces your bottom lip, still swollen from his kiss.

"I always follow you," you whisper back.

Something shifts in his expression then, a crack in that careful control. He leans down, capturing your mouth again as Aegon's hands continue their exploration beneath your shift. The sensation is overwhelming—Aemond's kiss deep and consuming while Aegon's fingers trace patterns on your bare skin, pushing the fabric higher until your thighs are exposed to the cool air.

You gasp into Aemond’s mouth as Aegon's fingers slide higher, tracing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. Your back arches involuntarily, pressing you further into Aemond's kiss. He swallows the soft sound you make, his hand moving to cradle your face, holding you steady as his tongue slides against yours. The dual sensation is dizzying—Aemond's careful, consuming kiss and Aegon's bold, wandering touch.

"She's wet already," Aegon murmurs against your skin, his fingers brushing teasingly close to where heat pools between your legs. "Been wanting this for a long time, haven't you?"

Aemond breaks the kiss, his breathing ragged. His eyes meet yours, searching, questioning. You nod slightly, unable to form words. That's all he needs. His hand slides down your throat, your collarbone, pushing aside the thin fabric of your shift to expose your breast to the cool air of the room. Aegon's lips immediately find the newly exposed skin, his tongue circling your nipple as his fingers finally brush against your core, drawing a gasping moan from your throat.

Aemond watches your face intently, cataloging every reaction, every flicker of pleasure that crosses your features. His hand covers your other breast, thumb grazing over the hardened peak in slow, deliberate circles. The sensation of both brothers touching you simultaneously sends waves of heat through your body, pooling low in your belly and between your thighs.

"You're beautiful like this," Aemond murmurs, his voice deeper than you've ever heard it, rough with something he's no longer trying to hide. His eyes track your every reaction as Aegon's fingers slip inside you, drawing another gasp from your lips. You reach for Aemond instinctively, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer.

"She wants more," Aegon says, his voice teasing but thick with desire. Your shift is pushed up to your waist now, bunched around your hips as Aegon positions himself between your thighs. He looks up at you, a wicked smile playing on his lips as his fingers continue their slow, torturous exploration.

"Please," you whisper, the word half-plea, half-demand. You're not sure what you're asking for—just that you need more, need everything they're willing to give you.

Aemond's expression darkens at your desperation. His hand slides from your breast to your throat, fingers spreading wide, applying just enough pressure to make your pulse jump beneath his palm. The gesture is possessive, commanding, so unlike the boy who let you follow him silently through corridors. His thumb traces your jawline as he watches Aegon's fingers working between your thighs.

Aemond begins to untie his breeches, his movements unhurried despite the tension visible in every line of his body. Aegon watches his brother with amusement dancing in his eyes, his fingers still working inside you, drawing soft, desperate sounds from your throat.

"Never thought I'd see you share," Aegon says, his voice rough with desire.

Aemond doesn't answer. He doesn't need to. His eyes meet yours as he frees himself from his breeches, his length hard and straining against his palm. Your breath catches at the sight of him, at the controlled hunger in his expression. He moves closer, until his face is hovering above yours, his breath warm against your lips.

"Show me," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "Show me what you want."

You reach for him without hesitation, fingers curling around his length, and the sound he makes is almost pained—a sharp intake of breath that catches in his throat. His eyes close briefly, jaw tight with restraint, before they open again, darker than before. Your touch is tentative at first, exploratory, but grows bolder as you watch his reaction. His hand tightens at your throat, not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you of his control.

“Stand up. Both of you,” Aemond says, his voice low but steady. “I want her.”

Aegon pulls his fingers from you, slow enough to be deliberate, and you can’t stop the sound that escapes your mouth, soft and desperate. The loss of him makes you shiver. Aemond doesn’t look at him. His eyes are only on you.

“Switch,” he says, the word landing hard in the space between you. “Now.”

Aegon laughs under his breath, lazy and pleased, but he doesn’t argue. He moves around you, brushing against your shoulder as he passes, and you feel the weight of both of them shift. Aemond steps in without hesitation, his body flush with yours, his hand already rising to your throat, not tight, just enough to make you look up at him.

“You let him touch you,” he says. “Now you’ll let me.”

His gaze doesn’t leave yours. You expect him to lean in, to kiss you again, but instead his hands move fast. One curls behind your knee, the other grips your shoulder, and in a breath he flips you over, pressing your chest down against the mattress. Your cheek grazes the sheets. The sound that escapes you is soft and startled.

His hand spreads across your back, warm and steady, keeping you there. He doesn’t say anything at first. Just lets you feel the shift, the silence, the weight of him behind you.

Then, lower, rougher, right at your ear— “Stay like that.”

You nod against the sheets, unable to form words as you feel his weight shift behind you. His hands move to your hips, lifting them slightly, positioning you how he wants you. The air feels cool against your exposed skin, making you shiver with anticipation. You feel vulnerable, displayed, but there's power in it too. In the way Aemond's breath catches, in the tight grip of his fingers digging into your flesh.

Aegon settles beside your head, his back against the headboard, watching with lazy interest. His hand reaches out to brush the hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear with surprising gentleness.

"Look at you," he murmurs, his voice thick with wine and desire. "So eager for him."

Aemond's hands spread your thighs wider, his thumbs tracing the sensitive skin there. You feel him position himself behind you, the blunt head of his cock pressing against your entrance. He pauses there, teasing, making you wait. Your fingers curl into the sheets, a whimper escaping your throat as you push back against him, silently begging.

"Patient," Aemond murmurs, his hand sliding up your spine to grip the back of your neck. "Always so patient." There's something like reverence in his voice, a quiet acknowledgment of all those years you spent following him, waiting for him to see you.

When he finally pushes inside, it's with one slow, deliberate thrust that fills you completely. Your mouth falls open in a silent cry, your body stretching to accommodate him. He's larger than you expected, the sensation overwhelming and perfect. He holds still once he's fully seated within you, giving you time to adjust, his breathing harsh and controlled.

"Good girl," Aegon remarks from his relaxed spot just above you. As Aemond starts moving, a flicker of envy appears in Aegon’s eyes. Shifting from his laid-back position, he lifts himself onto his knees and releases himself from his trousers. His cock stands thick and hard before him, the tip glistening with precum as he strokes himself lazily. "Open," he commands, pressing the head against your lips. You comply without hesitation, your mouth opening to accept him as Aemond continues his steady rhythm behind you.

The sensation is overwhelming. Aemond's thick length stretching you, filling you completely with each measured thrust while Aegon slides between your lips, his taste salt-sharp on your tongue. You're caught between them, used from both ends, and the realization sends a wave of heat through your core. Aemond's pace increases slightly, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to leave marks.

"That's it," Aegon murmurs, his hand tangling in your hair, guiding your movements as you take him deeper. "Look at her, brother. Taking both of us so well."

Aemond lets out a grunt and holds you more firmly. Aegon guides your movements with one hand on your head, while using his other hand to brush back his damp, wavy silver hair, releasing a moan in the process. Aemond watches your lips stretch around his brother's length, his eyes darkening with something primal and possessive. His rhythm falters for just a moment before he drives into you harder, deeper, drawing a muffled moan from your throat that vibrates against Aegon's cock. The sound makes Aegon hiss in pleasure, his grip tightening in your hair.

"You like this," Aemond says, his voice low and certain. It's not a question. His pace is relentless now, each thrust pushing you forward onto his brother's cock. The dual sensation is overwhelming—being filled from both ends, used and wanted by both princes. Your mind goes blank with pleasure, reduced to nothing but sensation and need.

Aegon's hips begin to move more insistently, fucking your mouth with increasing urgency. "Look at me," he commands, tugging your hair to tilt your face upward. Your eyes meet his, glazed with pleasure, and his lips curve into a satisfied smile. "Always thought you'd be good at this."

Aemond's hand slides around to find the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs, circling it with practiced precision as his thrusts grow harder, more demanding. The dual sensations overwhelm you, pleasure building in waves that crash through your body with each thrust. You're suspended between them, caught in a rhythm that leaves you gasping and moaning around Aegon's length. Your fingers curl into the sheets as Aemond's skilled touch drives you higher, closer to the edge.

"She's close," Aemond observes, his voice strained with his own approaching release. His fingers move faster against you, circling with precise, relentless pressure. "I can feel it."

Aegon's grip in your hair tightens, holding you still as he thrusts deeper. "Let her come first," he says, his voice rough with desire. "Want to feel it when she does."

The permission is all you need. The pleasure crests suddenly, violently, tearing through you in waves that leave you trembling and crying out around Aegon's cock. Your walls clench around Aemond, pulsing and squeezing as you shatter beneath them. The sensation pushes Aegon over the edge, and with a guttural groan, he empties himself down your throat, his hand holding you firmly in place as he rides out his release.

Aemond's rhythm grows erratic, his fingers digging into your hips with bruising force as he chases his own pleasure. You're still trembling from your orgasm, oversensitive and overwhelmed, but the feeling of him inside you, claiming you so completely, sends aftershocks of pleasure rippling through your body. With a final, powerful thrust, he buries himself to the hilt and stills, his release hot and pulsing inside you. The sound he makes is unlike anything you've ever heard from him—raw and unguarded, a moment of perfect surrender.

Aegon's breath quickens, and his body tenses as he reaches the peak of his desire. With a final, shuddering exhale, warmth splatters across your cheeks, leaving a glistening trail in its wake. For a moment, no one moves. You're suspended between them, every nerve ending alive with sensation, your mind hazy from pleasure. Aemond's breath comes in harsh pants against your back, his forehead pressed between your shoulder blades, his fingers slowly loosening their grip on your hips. Aegon is already pulling away, tucking himself back into his breeches with practiced ease, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips.

"Both of you," Aemond says after a moment, his voice rough and low. "Get up."

You feel him withdraw, the sudden emptiness making you shiver. His hands remain on your hips, steadying you as you push yourself up onto trembling arms. The evidence of Aegon's pleasure still glistens on your face, and Aemond's eyes darken as he takes in the sight of you—disheveled, marked, claimed by both brothers.

Aegon laughs softly, already reaching for the wine cup he'd set aside earlier. "Look at her," he says, voice thick with satisfaction. "Told you she'd want it."

Aemond doesn't respond. Instead, he reaches for a cloth by the bedside, dipping it in the basin of water before turning back to you. His movements are careful, deliberate as he cleans your face, wiping away the traces of his brother's release with surprising tenderness. There's something possessive in the gesture, in the careful way his thumb traces the curve of your cheek. Aegon watches with amused interest, sipping his wine as he leans against the headboard.

"Come here," Aemond says when he's finished, his voice softer than before. He pulls you against him, positioning you between his legs, your back to his chest. His arms wrap around you, one hand splayed across your stomach, the other curling loosely around your throat. The position is protective, possessive, a clear statement to his brother.

Aegon raises an eyebrow, that same lazy smile playing on his lips. "Marking your territory now?" he asks, swirling the wine in his cup. "A bit late for that, don't you think?"

Aemond doesn’t answer him. He leans in instead, mouth brushing the side of your neck, slow and deliberate.

“She was never yours,” he says, just loud enough for Aegon to hear.

You feel his breath at your ear, the way his grip steadies as his body settles behind yours. He holds you close, like you’re already his, like he’s done pretending otherwise. Aegon doesn’t push. He watches for a moment longer, then tips back the last of his wine and turns away. The room quiets again, but Aemond’s hand doesn’t move. It stays right where it is, fingers resting gently at your throat, his thumb tracing a slow line over your pulse.

And when he exhales, the sound is soft. Almost content.

@kckt88 @ylva-syverson @venusbyline

445 notes · View notes

tinyshyteacup · 2 months ago

Text

Taglist: @jozzieblood @buckysteveloki-me @dragonoftheshadows @plaidconvers @kateawolf13 @keira-kaz2y5 @frog-fans-unite @doilooklikeagiveafrack @verynormalsstuff @nynxtea @iminyourceiling @seventeen-x @mgchaser @y0urgirl @lovely-seb @laughterafter @mysuperlaserpissnumber1fan @irasciblemogwai @svtbpbts @vivalas-vega @chonkybonky @bmyva1entine @6urmom @gullableh @homiesexual-or-homosexual @aoi-targaryen @bitter-semi-sweet @soflegacy @kath-666 @hiireadstuff @nyxthedeity @highhopes1008 @sineminuse @hxsxxk-180294 @wordacadabra @hawkinsavclub1983 @buckingforbuckybarnes @purplefluffycows @raikan624 @avengemepercy @killerwendigo @winterjaysoldier @magnoliamoogle @fandomsearcherforcuntymen @huang-the-geek @joewhs @witchywannabe3263 @iyskgd @ironenemycollective @bumblebeebutter @sizzlingstarlightsky @buckybarnesslutshop @starstruck-cowgirl @angelicdarkn3ss @confused-simp-jpg @hufflepuffsforjoy @nicolebarnes @avatarobsessedgirly @escapismurmom @paige0103 @dollface-xoxo @read-just-cant-stop @sycamoregirl444 @raikan624 @iwritememesnotprophecies @imissbenswolo-blog @lcolumbia1988 @paintmekala @knowingnothingnoel @captain-shannon-becker @jainaeatsstars @mm4t @houseofthechaos @chachkid @escapefromrealitylol

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

Tw: Cussing, Fluff, Angst, Tension, abduction, medical procedures.

Part 19

Words of Command - Part 20

The kitchen is bright and humming with low ambient noise. A small speaker tucked behind a fruit bowl plays an old Sam Cooke tune, low enough that you can hear the gentle sizzle of olive oil in the pan.

You’re standing at the counter, stirring a pan of vegetables, your sleeves pushed up.

Bucky enters quietly, like he always does—soft-footed despite the heavy boots. He doesn’t speak at first. He watches.

You don’t notice him right away, which means he gets a few seconds of just seeing you. You, completely at peace, humming softly along with the music.

The pan sizzles as you toss in fresh herbs, and the smell—lemon, garlic, thyme—spills into the air like memory.

He finally steps closer, enough that you feel the shift in the room.

You look over your shoulder and smile gently. “Hey, Bucky.”

He leans against the counter, metal hand tucked under his elbow, thumb grazing his jaw. “You always cook for everyone"

You hum softly in response but go back to stirring, but he doesn’t move away. In fact, he steps closer, eyes on your hands.

Then, he clears his throat. “Can I cook for you sometime?”

You blink, glancing back at him.

He’s still calm, but there’s a certain tension under the words—hope, uncertainty.

Before you can answer, Agent Collins strolls in holding a tablet and a half-eaten protein bar.

He immediately picks up on the atmosphere but—unsurprisingly—completely misreads it.

“Oh! You two playing house again?” he grins. “That’s adorable. Can I get you m-matching aprons?”

Bucky freezes.

It’s subtle—but unmistakable. His body goes from relaxed to alert in half a second.

The set of his jaw hardens, his blue eyes flicking toward Collins with restrained calculation.

Not danger.

Just control.

And irritation.

Your voice, soft but steady, cuts in before Bucky has a chance to say anything.

“Hey Collins, could you give us a minute, please?”

He blinks. “Oh—uh. Yeah. Sure. S-sorry.”

As he leaves, Bucky doesn’t watch him go. His attention is on you. Like he’s waiting for a signal.

You place the spoon down gently and turn to face him. Head tilted back slightly, that open expression Bucky always reacts to like it’s sunlight.

“You want to cook for me?” you ask with a warm smile.

He nods, serious now. “I been learning. Watching videos. I even asked Steve to help. Don’t laugh.”

“I’d never laugh, Bucky.”

He exhales slowly. “I figured… it might be a good way to say thanks. For everything. For… being patient with me. Letting me figure stuff out at my own pace.”

You wipe your hands on a dish towel, then reach up—very gently—and brush a thumb against his cheek. He closes his eyes for a beat. Doesn’t lean in, but doesn’t pull away either.

“I’d love that,” you whisper.

He opens his eyes. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He takes a deep breath, then reaches—delicately—and takes your hand in both of his.

He cradles it gently. Thumb grazing over your knuckles like they’re something fragile, precious. His touch is reverent.

“and I sort of want to—” he begins, eyes flicking up to meet yours.

He clears his throat again, like preparing for a speech, his brows twitch just once, then he bends—slowly, hesitantly as he lifts your hand—and presses the softest kiss to your knuckles.

It lingers, for just a moment. He draws in a breath as if memorizing the shape of your hand against his lips.

When he straightens, he doesn’t let go.

“I want to take care of you too, Doll.”

Your breath catches.

His voice is low and gravelled with emotion.

Not urgent.

Not needy.

Just true.

It’s a simple sentence, but it carries weight—guilt, tenderness, and something he hasn’t yet named for himself.

The golden hour light filters through the tall windows, warm and soft. The compound’s kitchen is quieter now—the after-dinner lull has settled in.

Dishes are drying on the rack, the radio has been switched off, and the only sound is the occasional hum of the fridge.

You’re at the counter, tying off the trash bag with practiced ease. Bucky’s nearby, drying his hands on a cloth towel. He hasn’t said much since the meal, though there’s a lingering softness in his eyes.

And a warmth in your chest.

You turn to lift the bag, but Bucky steps forward, hand out.

“I’ll take that,” he murmurs.

You tilt your head. “Its all good, I got it”

He hesitates for a moment, then chuckles under his breath, brushing his metal hand through his hair. "I'll come with you"

You chuckle almost to yourself "I think I can handle a trashcan Bucky"

“C'mon Doll, where you go I go right ?" He grins, using your line against you.

“Not this time" you giggle "I'll be right back.”

Bucky blinks, as if returning from somewhere distant. "Yea, right ... of course"

You thread your fingers through his flesh hand and give a quick squeeze. "Ten minutes tops"

As you walk away, you don’t see him watching you. You don’t see Collins slink further into the corridor. And Bucky—still standing in the low light, metal thumb brushing flesh where your skin had just been.

The elevator doors hiss open with a mechanical sigh. The hallway is colder here—dim lighting, exposed pipes trailing overhead, and the sharp antiseptic bite of a place too sterile for comfort. You step into the corridor, trash bag in hand, the soft shuffle of your slippers the only sound.

The bins are down a short corridor, but a faint scrape of a shoe against concrete freezes you mid-step.

"How was dinner?"

You turned to see Agent Collins leaning against a concrete pillar, his uniform slightly rumpled and askew as always.

"Collins. You scared me." You forced a smile, but something about his posture doesn't seem normal. "What are you doing down here?"

"Waiting for you." His smile didn't reach his eyes.

"Been waiting a long time, actually. Watching you with Barnes. Interesting development today—a date, is it?"

He straightens slowly. Too slowly.

Your eyes adjust.

Gone is the clumsy smile, the fumbled clipboard, the half-stammered apologies. He stands tall now—calm, deliberate.

There’s a glint in his eye that wasn’t there before. His tie is loosened, his posture firm.

Calculated.

He smiles.

But it’s not kind.

“Funny, isn’t it?” he says, voice like oil. “How easily people believe what they want to see.”

You freeze, trash bag still in hand. “What do you mean?”

He steps forward, hands folded behind his back like a lecture’s about to begin.

“I mean... all it took was a slouch, some bad posture, and a few jokes about coffee machines. And poof—I’m harmless. Endearing, even.”

He chuckles.

It’s empty.

Your heart begins to thrum. You set the trash down slowly, deliberately.

“You’ve been watching us ?,” you say quietly.

“Just you. You’re the key, sweetheart.”

He takes a step closer.

“That’s what you don’t realize. He doesn’t even realize it. You’re not just the Asset’s handler. You could break them in half with a whisper.”

Your lips part, but no words come.

“Thing is…” Collins continues, circling a little. “I don’t think you even know how much control you have. Affection? Tenderness ?” He scoffs. “Loyalty? That’s real control.”

The air feels too tight. The pipes overhead groan faintly, the shadows stretching unnaturally across the floor.

“And don’t worry. I’m not going to hurt you... Not personally."

A chill ran down your spine. "I don't know what you're talking about," you said, your hand sliding into your pocket for your key card or your phone.

Collins chuckled. "Looking for this?" He held up your phone, then tossed it to the ground, crushing it under his boot. "Sloppy. Really sloppy."

You backed away slowly. "JARVIS," you called out, hoping the surveillance extended to the parking garage.

"Disabled on this level," Collins said, advancing toward you. "For about fifteen minutes. More than enough time."

You glanced toward the emergency stairwell. Maybe thirty feet away.

"Don't," he warned, but you were already running.

You made it fifteen feet before something sliced through the air and wrapped around your ankles. You slammed onto the concrete, pain exploding in your palms and chin.

"They always pick the hard way," Collins sighed, strolling toward you casually as you struggled with the bola wrapped around your legs.

You swung wildly as Collins approached, your fist connecting with nothing but air.

His laugh cut through you as he easily dodged your desperate attempts. "What exactly are you trying to do?"

"Get away from me," you gasp, scrambling backward.

"Adorable."

His first blow caught you across the face, snapping your head back and filling your mouth with blood.

You swung wildly again, a panicked flailing that Collins barely needed to block.

"This is just sad, you live with the Avengers ... can't even defend yourself" he said, not even breathing hard while you gasped for air. "But I suppose that's why you're perfect."

Perfect? The word made no sense through the haze of fear and pain.

You tried to crawl away, fingernails scraping against concrete. Collins planted a boot on your back, forcing you flat against the cold floor.

"Bucky, Tony ... the team ... they'll find me," you managed to say, tasting blood. "They'll come for you."

Collins pressed his boot harder, making it difficult to breathe. "They won't, and Barnes ... He's still the Asset—he just doesn't know it yet."

He leaned down. "And you're going to help us."

He flipped you over with his foot, and you saw the syringe in his hand.

"No—" you tried to scream, but his hand clamped over your mouth as the needle plunged into your neck.

"You should be honored," Collins whispered as your vision began to blur. "You're exactly what we've been looking for."

The last thing you saw was his face hovering above yours, his expression almost reverent.

"Hail Hydra," he whispered.

And then darkness.

Cold.

So cold.

Your eyelids felt like lead as you forced them open.

Harsh white light stabbed into your retinas.

Metal restraints bit into your wrists and ankles.

The antiseptic smell burned your nostrils.

Your stomach cramped painfully with hunger, a hollow ache, you must've been unconscious for far longer than just a few hours.

"...perfect candidate physically," a clinical voice was saying. "Psychological profile matches all parameters. Proximity to the Asset is an unexpected bonus."

"What about the previous failures?" Another voice—Collins, though not the Collins you where used to there was no stammer, no awkwardness this Collins was still cold, precise.

"Subjects One through Six all exhibited fatal cerebral hemorrhaging during the procedure," the clinical voice replied. "But those were older subjects with established neural pathways. This one's more... malleable."

"Recovery time?" Collins pressed.

"If she survives the procedure—which I believe she will—Asset 437 could be operational within 8 months."

"Too long," Collins said. "We need her ready before the Asset recovers fully."

"The chair is prepped and ready," a third voice interjected. "But Dr. Lindstrom wants to run baseline tests first."

"The chair worked on the Asset in less than 24 hours," Collins countered. "We know the technology is sound."

"The Asset required memory suppression only," the clinical voice replied. "For Asset 437, we need complete memory erasure followed by new implantation. More complex, more dangerous. The chair needs to be recalibrated."

A face appeared above you—a woman in a lab coat, cold eyes behind thick glasses.

She noticed your open eyes and smiled thinly to the other people in the room

"Subject is conscious," she announced, making a note on a tablet. "Beginning preliminary assessment for Asset 437 program."

You tried to speak, but your voice didn't come.

You tried to move, but the restraints held firm.

All you could do was lie there, a scream building inside you with nowhere to go.

Your stomach growled loudly—an oddly intense hunger gnawing at you considering you'd eaten just before leaving the tower.

The woman raised an eyebrow and noted something on her tablet.

"Subject exhibiting unusual metabolic response already. Estimated time since last meal, only 2-4 hours, yet showing signs of advanced hunger. Promising indication of compatibility with the initial dose of serum."

Through the glass wall of your cell, you could see more labs, more equipment. More people in white coats moving with purpose.

In the adjacent room, partially visible through a doorway, you glimpsed a nightmarish mechanical chair with restraints and a halo-like apparatus that hung ominously above it.

The floor beneath it was stained dark in places, despite obvious attempts to clean it.

And on a whiteboard across from your cell, written in red marker.

ASSET 437: STAGE ONE IN PROGRESS

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you finally understood what Collins had meant by "perfect."

They weren't going to use you to get to Bucky.

They were going to erase you completely and build something new from what remained.

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

A/N: this concludes 'Words of Command' but there story continues in the next part, everyone who has been tagged in this will be tagged in the next part, a small warning it does get dark for a while, but it will have a positive ending.

229 notes · View notes

hxney-lemcn · 9 months ago

Text

Not so Long Distance — Idia Shroud x gn! reader

summery: with the seconds ticking down, everyone has a certain amount of time before they meet their soulmate, you just hope yours is your online crush.

tw: awkward encounters, reader isn't Yuu.

a/n: I'm in my Idia phase, help. Also, my first soulmate fic I'm proud of.

wc: 2.6k

Master List

The countdown on your wrist that had once been a beacon of hope and excitement slowly turned into one of doom. The idea of meeting your soulmate was terrifying yet exciting. Meeting someone that you fit perfectly with was mystifying, and the underlying fear of rejection scared you, but overall you would accept your soulmates wishes. But now? Something you never even thought of happened.

You’re falling for someone you met online, but your timer is still ticking.

With the internet still being new, and research into how it could affect the soulmate mark is still going on, you’re not sure if you should lose hope yet. For all you knew, the mark didn’t register when two people meet from separate distances…but you felt like you were coping with that explanation. You had met him online months ago, and every bad joke or insult towards a shitty player made you laugh, everytime he laughed at your bad jokes your stomach fluttered. It was embarrassing in a sense, you were falling for someone you hadn’t even seen yet. What if he was tricking you and he was some old man? But you doubted it, he sounded young and the way he talked was even outdoing modern slang. In fact, you even brought up this train of thought one day while you were on a call playing separate games.

“Y’know, for all I know you’re some fifty year old guy,” You said in a joking tone, farming your crops in game.

“Hah?” Gloomuri, or Gloom as you’ve dubbed him, let out a noise of confusion. “Are you really that dumb?”

“What’s that supposed to mean!” You huffed, accidentally hitting a plant that still needed to grow mature causing you a slight profit loss on your farm. “I just mean that I’ve never seen your face. Even though I know you, if I saw you on the street I’d never realize.”

The call fell silent for a few seconds, but to you it felt like minutes. You were propositioning something that felt like crossing a small boundary that was set. A video call. Something you were nervous about as well since that meant showing your own face. But IGloom had snuck his way into becoming one of your top, if not closest friend over the past few months. He’d drone on about some game drama you had almost no idea about, while he’d listen to your ‘normie’ drama (as he dubbed it) about school or friends. Although you’d say the best moments were when you’d both geek out over games or anime together, fighting on who the best character is and what your favorite part was.

“Y-you wanna do a…video call?” Gloom hesitantly asked, you could hear the nerves in his tone which caused you to backtrack.

“We don’t have to if you don’t wanna, I’m not trying to pressure you,” You assured. “I’m just a bit curious.

A few more seconds passed before he spoke up, voice even shakier than before, “Y-you’d show your f-face too…right?”

You fidgeted with your computer mouse, his nerves starting to get to you, “It’s only fair I suppose…” When you clicked on the call, unsure where this was going, you were surprised to see his camera on, but covered. “Wait, you mean right now?” You asked.

“D-did you not mean right now?” He replied back, his voice an octave higher.

“I-I just don’t…I’m not the most presentable,” You muttered back, looking at your reflection in the black of your phone screen. You pushed some of your hair back into place, fixing the collar of your sweater. Oh gosh, you were going to finally see what your crush looks like!

“I don’t either,” Gloom mumbled, continuing to mumble something under his breath that you couldn’t make out. “N-never mind, never doing this-”

“W-wait!” You called out, turning your camera on as soon as you were out of sight. “I’ll do it, just don’t judge me too hard, okay?” Another few seconds before he meekly replied a small ‘ok’. “On the count of three. One…two…three.”

Just like that, your breath got taken away. On the other side of the camera was a pale guy with blue flaming hair and…wait a minute…didn’t someone exactly like him go to your campus? You blinked at him with wide eyes, snapping out of your daze when he shied away from your gaze.

“Do I know you?” You asked dumbly, snapping Gloom out of his own daze. It was his turn to blink at you before he tilted his head.

If he moved his hand away from the bottom of his face you’d notice a sharp smirk overtake his handsome features, “I’d hope so, we’ve been talking for how long?”

“That’s not what I meant,” You huffed once more that night. “You look like a guy that goes to my campus.”

“Really?” Gloom asked, unbelievably skeptical. “‘Cus not many people have blue flaming hair.”

You rolled your eyes, glad that convo was back to your playful banter, “I’ve never actually seen him. Only heard about him once from my irl friends. And yes, he was described as having fiery hair.”

“...Where do you go to school?” He asked, suddenly serious.

You gave him a skeptical look, “And why should I give you my current location? So you can stalk me?”

“I could find out in one click if I wanted,” He shrugged, amber eyes showing he was completely serious.

“Thanks for not doxxing me I guess…” You grumbled, a bit put off. “I go to Night Raven College.” The silence was loud after that revolution before he broke it.

“I guess you do know me irl.”

That call had changed something in your friendship. The space between y’all had seemed to get smaller as you both grew more comfortable with one another, nearly having calls everyday. Now that you knew what eachother looked like, you’d have some video calls sprinkled in, and your raging crush seemed to only grow stronger. Now you had a pretty face to put to his lovely deep voice, and you wanted to strangle him for how attractive he was.

You now found yourself counting down the days till school started, and as you looked down at that damned timer on your wrist you found yourself hopeful again. You had fifteen days till school, and your soulmate timer was down to twenty days. You had been barely getting any sleep due to that, hoping that once you met Gloomuri, who you’ve come to know as Idia, the timer would hit zero. You both just clicked so well in a way you’ve never felt before, you just hoped he had the same numbers lining his own wrist.

…

With how excited you were with meeting Idia, you found yourself getting quickly overwhelmed with school work. The professors didn’t hold back when it came to work, and contact between you and Idia had devolved from video calls into texts. It wasn’t until you woke up the first Saturday of the school year, looked down at your wrist and noticing the time had changed from days to hours. You nearly had a heart attack seeing it, all your anxiety mashing together at one moment. What if you just stayed in your dorm all day? But then that would mean your soulmate was someone in your dorm. But if you went out there was a high chance it wasn’t Idia.

Before the dilemma could get to your head too much, your roommate asked if you wanted to tag along with them to Sam’s shop. Wanting to clear your mind a bit, you agreed, hoping to just ignore your problem instead of overthinking. You both ended up talking about classes, what you predicted you’d struggle in and do okay, who was in your classes and such.

You had to hold yourself back from buying something, though you do have to give Sam props for having almost everything you could think of. All was good once more…until someone with a head of fiery blue hair walked in. It wasn’t Idia though, no, but someone who looked eerily similar if not quite a bit younger. Your friend noticed your attention left them, falling onto the young technomatic humanoid and decided to speak up.

“Hey Ortho,” They greeted him with a smile. “How’s it going?”

“Hello!” He replied back quickly, “My morning is going well. How about you?”

“It’s been good,” They smiled. “This is my friend.” They introduced you, saying your name. To your surprise Ortho lit up, seemingly recognizing your name.

“Really?” He asked. You hummed while nodding in agreement, heart skipping a beat. Peaking at your wrist you noticed the time was cut down to minutes. Was this it? Was Idia actually your soulmate? Your hope was reignited tenfold.

“My brother talks about you all the time!” Ortho exclaimed excitedly.

“Wait, you know Idia?” Your friend asks, astonished. “The shut-in who uses a tablet to attend class?”

“M-maybe,” You murmured bashfully, crossing your arms as a nervous habit.

“Are you free after this?” Ortho asked, nearly jumping up and down.

“Yeah,” Your friend spoke up before you could. “We just finished actually.”

“That’s great!” Ortho exclaimed, his eyes shining. You were sure if he didn’t have the bottom half of his face covered he’d be smiling widely. “You should come over to Ignihyde, I’m sure Idia would love it if you came to visit.”

“Okay.”

It was out before you knew it, and like a whirlwind, you were suddenly swept to the front door of Idia’s dorm room, his little brother by your side. Before you could lift your hand up to knock, the door automatically slid open after Ortho’s face was scanned. You knew Ignihyde was known for its technical prowess…but this seemed like overkill. You stood outside awkwardly, unsure if you were allowed to step in yet, but you weren’t left to flounder for long as Ortho pulled you in by your hand. You glanced once more at your wrist and you nearly burst into tears. Only a few seconds left. A few seconds left until Idia was your confirmed soulmate and you suddenly didn’t feel as excited. Fear grasped your heart, unsure if he would be willing to be tied to you for the rest of your lives. You didn’t have much time to think of every terrible scenario as you faced the guy you had been fawning over.

As Idia turned to greet Ortho (and grab some snacks), he found himself having a heart attack when he saw your face. He knew you both went to the same school, but he wasn’t prepared to see you face to face…not irl at least. He barely comprehended Ortho’s rambling, too busy trying to hide his visage from your sight. He wasn’t prepared for someone to visit, not to mention you. Everywhere he looked he saw a different mess that would surely disappoint you, dirty clothes that scattered the floor, empty ramen cups that lined his desk, and empty cans of energy drinks that filled his trash can…yeah not the best first impression.

You, on the other hand, anxiously straighten your shirt while trying to not seem like you cared about your appearance too much. You were the first one to speak up after Ortho took his leave (seemingly ignorant of the tense atmosphere).

“Hey,” You greeted, an awkward smile on your lips. Instead of replying, Idia merely gave a weak whimper as he pulled his hood as far as it would go over his head. “I-I’m sorry, Ortho invited me, and I have been wanting to meet you in person, I hope I’m not overstepping too much…” Then, he let out a sudden shriek, causing you to nearly fall over from how loud it was.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, scared he might’ve hurt himself somehow.

“Th-the…y-your…I’m in a dream, this has to be. There’s no way this is real,” He muttered, holding his face in some sort of desperation.

“Not a bad dream I hope…” You chuckled awkwardly, not sure what was going on. Not the cute meeting with your soulmate like you wished, you just hoped this wasn’t him violently rejecting you. Instead of replying, he let out another whimper, and you felt like you’re intruding in something you shouldn’t be. Your awkwardness meter being at its max, you decided you should take your exit and hope he calms down soon so you both can talk the situation out.

“I’ll just…it was nice seeing you,” You stumbled over your words a bit. “I’ll let you uh…I’ll leave you to it…”

“W-wait!” Idia jolts up, eyes erratic. “You…w-we’re…” “Soulmates?” You supplemented.

“Y-yeah…how are you so calm about it?”

“Would…would it be weird if I said I was hoping for you to be my soulmate?” You asked in a whisper, eyes darting around his room instead of meeting his own. Not like he’d be able to make eye contact with you either.

Idia let out a squeak at your reply, his heart beating erratically. He found you too good to be true. You both liked similar games and anime, and when you didn’t play the same game you’d both play your own game while being on call. He found himself looking forward to your calls, something he would have never thought possible (he avoids calls like the plague). He found himself looking forward to something for once, finding solace in something that wasn’t fictional for once, and he wasn’t sure how to feel about that. It was scary, but manageable when you were just pixels like everything else he loved (Ortho wasn’t technically pixels, but he wasn’t human (anymore) either). But now you were face to face in person, and you were so much more attractive when he could see you fully, and gosh he’s not sure how much more he could handle this. Especially not with such bold remarks like that.

Idia never really cared about soulmates. If anything, he loathed the ink that marked his skin. Wished for the digits to just go away. His entire life was a curse, so cursed that he was forced to drag someone down with him. He didn’t deserve it, and no one else deserved his fate. And now, seeing you, a person outside of his family that he managed to grow close to…he felt conflicted. He too was happy you were his soulmate. You were so sweet, but not overly so. Not afraid to snap back at him with your quick wit. His heart would skip a beat when he heard the smile in your voice, or when you’d laugh at his lame joke. He would dream of a future with you when he closed his eyes, allowing him to envision a life with you and Ortho, living happily somewhere like normal people would. He was also guilty, you didn’t deserve a secluded life away from others.

“Yes,” He ended up answering. “That’s like…super weird.”

“Oh,” You felt disheartened. This was totally a rejection.

“You shouldn’t like me,” Idia continued. “Someone like me doesn’t get that ending…”

“Hmm,” You hummed, an idea forming in your mind. Perhaps you just needed to speak his language. “I guess you got the secret good ending then.”

“B-but-”

“No buts,” You tutted. “Now, last time we talked you mentioned that game, why don’t we play it?”

It’ll take a lot of time for Idia to fully warm up to the idea of having a soulmate, truly. Not just some numbers, but an actual person who smiled at him so warmly, like he was worth something. It’ll take even more time for him to warm up to you, your love, your affection…but he found something small burning within him. Like a small spark being lit deep in his heart…hope. Hope for the future, something he’s never felt before.

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst wonderland x reader #idia shroud x reader #twisted wonderland #twst #twst wonderland #idia shroud #x reader #imagine #one shot

386 notes · View notes

linaslivery · 10 months ago

Text

౨ৎ ALL-AROUND ౨ৎ

masterlist / rules / requests & talks with me!

SUMMARY౨ৎ Going to the Olympics was the best day of your life. Seeing your celebrity crush cheer you on? Even better! Your teammates saying how much you geeked out and made you say who your crush is in a interview..? Not so cool. Luckily, he seems interested.

PAIRING ౨ৎ Lewis Hamilton x Gymnast!Fem Reader

FACE CLAIM ౨ৎ Flavia Saraiva for most photos!

WARNINGS ౨ৎ cursing but that’s it lol, i started feeling a bit burned out at the end so I’m very sorry :(

A/N ౨ৎ decided to not make any specifications for where the reader comes from just to include everyone! (Y/C = Your Country) . Used Flavia because ever since i saw her in the Olympics, I’ve been obsessed. (the whole brazilian gymnastics team tbh)

TWITTER

INSTAGRAM

therealy/n_l/n ✔︎

liked by lewishamilton, jadecarey, and others

therealy/n_l/n It’s such a honor to be representing my country this Olympic Games. It was a lifelong dream I’ve been imaging as a child and couldn’t be happier. I’d like to take the time to thank my family, friends, and coaches who deemed this opportunity possible for me. See you in Paris. 🫡

tagged: yournationalteam, olympics

2,308 comments

user1 YES YES YES YES

user2 HARD WORK DOES IN FACT PAY OFF!!

→ lewishamiltonswife even mine?

→ user3 …

→ user4 …y’know, it’s okay to keep dreaming!!

simonebiles ✔︎ good luck on the floor 😉

sunisalee ✔︎ so excited to see everyone in paris!! 🥹 ❤️

→ therealy/n_l/n ✔︎ ME TOO! I’LL BE THERE SOON 🤞

→ sunisalee ✔︎ WELL HURRY UP THEN

user5 lewis hamilton in the likes..? 👀

→ user6 FR WHY IS NO ONE TALKING ABOUT THAT???

→ user7 because the world doesn’t revolve around f1 and she doesn’t care about lewis hamilton! i hope this helps!!

→ user8 man who tf pissed in your cereal this morning @ user7

therealy/n_l/n has posted a new story!

[story 1: on the move! 👀 ] [story 2: paris here we come!!]

therealy/n_l/n ✔︎

📍 Paris

liked by paris2024, sunisalee, and others

therealy/n_l/n when in paris! 🥐 ⚜️

1,850 comments

user9 she’s so pretty it’s not even funny

user10 proud to say she reps my country 💪

user11 emily in paris ❌ y/n in paris ✅

rebecarandrade ✔︎ eu amooooo ❤️ *liked by author*

user12 LEWIS IS IN THE LIKES AGAIN GUYS CAN WE PRETTY PLEASE TALK ABOUT THIS 😞😞😞

user13 can’t wait for her to dominate.

→ therealy/n_l/n ✔︎ …🤨

→ user14 STOP I DIDN’T MEAN IT LIKE THAT I MEANT LIKE THE EVENTS IN GENERAL 😞

jordanchiles ✔︎ we should like totally escape the olympic village and eat real food again.

→ therealy/n_l/n ✔︎ NOT ON THE INSTA PAGE JORDAN. THIS WAS MENT TO BE SECRET. (i’ll meet you outside in 10)

→ paris2024 ✔︎ What’s so bad about the village?

→ simonbiles ✔︎ everything

→ katieledecky ✔︎ everything

→ stephen_nedoroscik ✔︎ everything

→ carlitosalcarazz ✔︎ everything

→ henrikchristians1 ✔︎ everything (besides the muffins 🤤)

→ djokernole ✔︎ everything

→ paris2024 ✔︎ :(

TWITTER

INSTAGRAM

therealy/n_l/n ✔︎

liked by simonebiles, rebecarandrade, and others

therealy/n_l/n what. a. olympic. games. would have preferred to keep my face from bleeding though 😓

tagged: yournationalteam, olympics

1,304 comments

user14 getting injured and getting a medal the same day s actually insane

user15 she came to serve

→ user16 YEAH TO SERVE CUNT 🗣️ !!

teammate1 IM SO PROUD OF YOU 🥹🩷

→ therealy/n_l/n PROUD OF ME? IM PROUD OF YOU YOU GOLD MEDALIST

simonebiles ✔︎ truly amazing effort! 👏

→ user17 SIMONEEE

→ therealy/n_l/n ✔︎ QUEEN SIMONE 🥹 It was such a honor to be a rival against you!!

sunisalee ✔︎ YOU DID SO SO SO GOOD Y/N!!

→ therealy/n_l/n ✔︎ SUNIIIII MY BELOVED BARS AND FLOOR LOVER!! CONGRATS YOURSELF ON HOW AMAZING YOU ARE!!

jordanchiles ✔︎ free from the olympic village at last 🫡

→ therealy/n_l/n ✔︎ ABOUT DAMN TIME 😭😭

→ henrikchristians1 ✔︎ time to eat some real food again 🤤

user18 is no one gonna talk about the interview after the ceremony??

→ user19 interview what interview??

→ user20 the one where Y/N’s teammates leaked her being a HUGE lewis hamilton fan! like she has a mASSIVE crush on him.

→ user21 OMG NO WAY WHAT’S THE LINK???

→ user22 @ user21 here it is!! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dQw4w9WgXcQ

YOUTUBE

NEW!

OLYMPIANS AND THEIR CELEBRITY CRUSHES! - PARIS OLYMPICS 2024

TWITTER

IMESSAGES

INSTAGRAM

therealy/n_l/n ✔︎

liked by francisca.cgomes, lailahasanovic, alexandrasaintmleux and others

therealy/n_l/n rest and relaxation 🌺🌊

1,927 comments

lailahasanovic ✔︎ in love

f1gossipoffical the kika, laila AND alexandra like+comment?? 👀

francisca.cgomes ✔︎ lindaaaaaa ❤️

user23 she so fucking fine

y/n_l/nswifeoffical who tf is lewis hamilton and why are there rumors they are dating now.

alexandrasaintmleux ✔︎ 🐠 🩵

lewishamilton ✔︎ 🌞

→ user24 LEWIS SIGHTING

→ user25 ya’ll are freaking out over a emoji 😭

→ user26 yeah because lewis comments on every girls posts 😒

→ y/n_l/nswifeoffical she’s too good for you

→ user27 he’s a 7 time world champion??? @ y/n_l/nswifeoffical

→ user28 and she’s a fucking OLYMPIAN?? @ user27

→ user29 or…. they could kiss and have a d1 athlete @ user27 @ user28

→ user27 ….

→ user28 ….

→ user29 just a thought 😓

georgerussell63 ✔︎ ??? @ lewishamilton 👀

→ user30 george wants the tea too

→ user31 CAN WE BLAME HIM?? I WANT IT TOO

user31.5 the wags commenting and liking after the rumors with lewis start? interesting…

IMESSAGES

TWITTER

INSTAGRAM

lewishamilton ✔︎

📍 Monza Grand Prix, Italy

liked by therealy/n_l/n, georgerussell63, mercedesamgf1 and others

lewishamilton Decent results today! Very happy and we will continue pushing forward 👊 New surges of motivation can change everything in a person 😊

tagged; mercedesamgf1

2,394 comments

therealy/n_l/n 🩵

*liked by Lewis Hamilton*

landonorris ✔︎ new surges of motivation you say? 😏

→ user32 LANDO WHAT DO YOU KNOW

user33 lewis is not beating the y/n allegations

user34 y/n in the likes???

charles_leclerc ✔︎ glad to see this new “motivation” is helping you out 🙃

→ user35 CHARLES TOO?!?!?

user36 how much does everyone wanna bet this motivation is y/n?

→ user37 we don’t need to bet. we all know it’s true 💀

maxverstappen1 ✔︎ this motivation is doing some good work then 😉

→ lewishamilton ✔︎ very! 🥴

→ user38 WHATS THAT EMOJI FOR??? @ lewishamilton

carlossainz55 ✔︎ Motivation is always the key! 😊

user38 the drivers on the grid are NOT helping his case 😭

IMESSAGES

TWITTER

INSTAGRAM

lewishamilton ✔︎ and therealy/n_l/n ✔︎ have made a new post!

liked by y/n_l/nswifeoffical, landonorris, charles_leclerc and others

therealy/n_l/n feeling salty and it’s not just bc twitter ruined my amazing hard launch i was gonna do 😞

tagged; lewishamilton

2,385 comments

lewishamilton ✔︎ guess the surprise is out 😅 But you still look stunning, babe. wouldn’t want to be anywhere you aren’t 🩷

→ therealy/n_l/n ✔︎ STOP IT YOU’RE THE SWEETEST 🥹 i love you so much lew 🩷

→ user39 ”If you can't beat 'em, join 'em" ahh comment 😭

landonorris ✔︎ this is disgustingly cute i hate it

→ therealy/n_l/n ✔︎ just say you can’t commit to relationships and find real ones a dream

→ landonorris ✔︎ what makes you think that??? 🤨

→ therealy/n_l/n ✔︎ i don’t know… the rumors a certain blonde with first name of a M and the last name with a C tells us otherwise

→ landonorris ✔︎ not funny. didn’t laugh.

→ charles_leclerc ✔︎ 😂😂

→ therealy/n_l/n ✔︎ you’re not off the hook either you little date my ex’s friends

→ charles_leclerc ✔︎ …congrats on you’re relationship with Lewis, Y/N!!! 😁

f1 ✔︎ Definitely not part of the strategy…

user40 Twitter: 1, Y/N’s hard launch: 0

mercedesamgf1 ✔︎ not very mindful, or very demure of you twitter 😞

user41 still better drama than drive to survive 🤷

y/n_l/nswifeoffical that should be me holding your hand 😞😞

638 notes · View notes

luveline · 4 months ago

Note

Hello! If you are in the mood for it, I’d love to read some more hurt/comfort w zombie au Steve! Is it bad I love when reader gets hurt? Maybe she almost gets bitten and can’t run away for some reason, or if you have another idea that is better (my brain isn’t working rn) thank you! Have a lovely day, be kind to yourself!

zombie au | fem, 1.3k

“Ready?”

Steve kneels, offering his palms braced ready for your foot. “Ready.”

You take a running start and press your foot into his palms, gasping breathlessly at the sudden weightlessness of his strength underneath you, pushing you up as your hands scrabble for purchase at the top of the wall. Steve does his best to help you all the way over, on his tiptoes no doubt as he pushes the bottoms of your shoes and forces you onto the second story.

Your hands ache. The floor is cluttered with chunks of plaster that bite your skin as you struggle onto your knees.

“Anything stand out?” Steve asks from below.

There’s a vinyl player cracked and on its side by the wall, a shelf of albums in faded disarray beside it. You climb onto your feet, careful of the warped floorboards and the darkest mould of water damage to the right side of the room. “Uh, there’s a lot of stuff up here.”

The bed is sinking into itself, once pink sheets turning an unfortunate orange from sun and weather alike, the wardrobe spilled and sprayed in all directions. Any clothes worth wearing will be in the dresser on the dry side of the room, or through the door and in another bedroom. “I think there might be pajamas and underwear and stuff in the dresser. I don’t know how I’m gonna get you up, though.”

“I’ll look for something. Be careful, okay?”

You turn to the edge, peering down at Steve with a small smile. “Yeah, okay. Shout if you need me.”

“Sure.” He smiles back. “Seriously, be careful.”

“There’s not much in here.”

“That hasn’t stopped you getting yourself hurt before.”

“Is that snark I’m detecting?”

“Baby, when I get up there,” he threatens without heat.

You blow him a slightly uncharacteristic kiss and wave your fingers at him.

You and Steve work in a quiet tandem clearing the house for things you can use. You have a rather large list of things you’re going to need soon; underwear for both of you, socks, some pants that will actually fit Steve, soap, a bedroll or anything that could work as one, batteries for the radio, a torch, etc. The list goes on.

The underwear situation is dire. You’ve started wearing boxers in lieu of any better option. Steve says he likes the look of them —you can’t believe him sometimes. You have hair on your thighs and the boxers aren’t a cute look, the last time he tried to kiss your stomach you both realised you had a streak of dirt on your ribs you’d failed to scrub away in the stream. You never, ever feel clean, but it doesn’t mean Steve doesn’t find you pretty. Same way you find him handsome in his holey jeans or with enough grease in his hair to fry your cuts of rabbit.

The dresser proves hopeful. The top drawer has underwear that at first glance seem too small, but when stretched have enough give to work out fine. You won’t find boxers in here for Steve and you aren’t sure he’ll like the hipster cut of the panties you pocket. “Steve?”

“Yeah?” he calls.

“I’m gonna go see if there’s more bedrooms.”

“No, hey!” He comes running into the living room below you, looking severe. “Hey, wait for me first, you don’t know what’s up there?”

That’s why you’re going to be cautious. “Steve, I have the knife, and we would’ve heard by now if there was a geek up here,” you say, heading back for the door, “they’re pretty loud when they–”

You’re flat on your back before you’ve even really opened the door.

As urgent as things may be, the second you realise it’s a geek on top of you, you can’t stop yourself from thinking you deserve it for being so smug. And then you start screaming.

It’s a gnashing, gnarly mess of black gore and greened skin, the stink of it turning your stomach, it’s weight heavy and hard on your chest. Fuck, it hurts more than it scares you, all snapping, faltering teeth. Trapped. You squirm and shriek, your panic turning to rage as you slam your hand into the things throat and push it upwards, away from you, but it’s so fucking big —why is so huge? You shriek again as its teeth snap at your hand, but you’re not completely useless, not fully, pulling the knife from your shallow pocket and flicking it open one-handed like you’ve practiced. With a cry, you slam it as deep as it’ll go into the geeks neck. Miss, you pull it out and slam again, looking for the stem. You must stab the thing ten times before it stops grunting and goes still, your lips crammed tightly shut as blood gushes down its back and the ridges of your arm.

You realise Steve’s screaming your name in the quiet.

“Answer me!” He shouts. “Are you okay? Answer me!”

You pant. “Fine! Fine, it didn’t bite me!” Heat pools behind your eyes anyways, the memory of its teeth grazing your hand startling. You push at the body, needing to analyse your hand, quickly, there’s still time to cut the whole thing off—

You’re trapped.

“Steve, I can’t get it off me,” you say, squeezed and panicking, “I can’t move, I– I can’t–”

“No, no, baby, it’s okay, I’m coming up! I’ll be right there, I’m gonna be right there!”

It takes him ten minutes. You devolve into a frenzy of panic and defeat, trapped by such a monstrous thing. It must be four hundred pounds of gored decay. You can feel it wetting your clothes.

Steve eventually clambers up onto the bedroom’s weak floor with a groan and a frantic, “Babe!”

“I’m fine!”

He drags himself across the floor, throws himself at the geek to push it off of you, and it’s so heavy full of water or mould or whatever it is that’s inside these devils that you have to push as hard as you can beside him before the geek sags onto its side and releases you. You’re crying great shuddery tears as you flop into Steve’s embrace, his chest moving like a hummingbirds under your cheek.

“Sorry!” you say, clutching him tightly.

“Oh, no, it’s okay,” he says back, between gasps that sound painful. Still, he attempts gentleness. “It’s okay, you’re okay, it didn’t get you? Are you sure? Let me look, honey, I need to see.”

You twist away to let his gaze run over your neck and face. “My hands,” you offer.

“I can’t tell. I– you’re covered in fucking blood.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’s–” If it bit you, you’re dead already. Steve clutches you so hard that you’re worried your head is going to pop off of its stem. “Why can’t you just be careful?” he asks quietly.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why can’t you–” He cuts himself off, his nose digging into your ear. “It didn’t get you?”

“No. No, I don’t think so.”

Steve pushes you away from him far too quickly for your liking, but you forgive him when you realise he’s checking your hand against the light coming in from down below you. If you were bitten you’re sure you’d feel it by now, and if there were teeth marks in your hands, he’d see them already.

“What the fuck is that thing?” Steve asks in a mutter, pressing your bloodied hands to his chest.

You bite your lips. “I,” you say softly, terrified and tired and thankful your new underwear is still clean on the dresser, “don’t have a fucking clue.”

#steve zombie!au #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington drabble #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things

309 notes · View notes

kiwriteswords · 4 months ago

Note

So I have another request 🥸☝️

I had this idea about a 5+1 story and this is definitely your thing so I guess it’s the perfect moment to tell you about it and of course feel free to do it or not (I promise I won’t be sad if you don’t)

The thing was “5 times reader took Hotch on a date and one time he did” and in my head it was something like he hasn’t been on date for a long date or he always went on “simple” dates and doesn’t have anything special to tell or another amazing reason you’ll find because your brain is beautiful and reader decide to take him and of course the last one he’s the one who does

Not sure if it’s clear and maybe it’s not even a good idea 😂 but here it is and thank you for being amazing 💖

Everybody Knows You're All I've Got [Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader]

Ki2k Masterlist||MainMasterlist (not updated, sorry!)|| Ao3||Word Count: 5.3k|| AN: Ahh, I love this! Thank YOU for being amazing and always so kind! I really appreciate all of the support and requests! I hope this is what you were looking for! <3

Tags/Warnings: female reader, 5 +1, best friends to lovers, Oblivious Hotch, Grumpy x Sunshine, Reader has an ex-boyfriend, reader hints at being bisexual? (easy to miss tbh), fake dating, first dates, slow burn, Jack Hotchner TW (for those who don't like him included 🤷‍♀️) Hotch is a rusty boyfriend, Reader takes care of hotch bc he sucks at caring for himself

Summary: Five times you took Hotch on a date and the one time he takes you on one.

When you started at the BAU, it wasn't just the beginning of a new job but the start of an unlikely friendship with Aaron Hotchner.

To many, Hotch was a mystery wrapped in a suit, always reserved and meticulously professional. But to you, he was a puzzle waiting to be understood, a person who just needed a bit of sunlight in the often shadowy world of the BAU.

You were everything Hotch wasn't outwardly: bubbly, openly kind, and radiating empathy like warmth from a fireplace. Where the weight of the job furrowed his brow, your smile seemed to light up the room, often bringing a much-needed lift to the team's spirits.

It didn’t take long for you to notice the little things that could bring a momentary smile to Hotch’s often impassive face--a perfectly timed cup of coffee after a long night, a gentle tease to crack his professional veneer, or a supportive word after a tough case.

One chilly October afternoon, as the leaves painted the world in hues of fire and gold, you approached Hotch with an extra ticket in hand. There had been a buzz about the new play in town, something about it transforming the mundane into magic, and you thought it would be the perfect escape from the reality you both faced daily.

You had heard Hotch speak here and there about theater-related things. On the outside, looking in, he didn’t appear to be a theater geek at heart, but the subtle notes and references he made or picked up on had him found out by you fairly quickly.

"Hotch, you're coming with me to the play tonight," you declared with a grin, waving the ticket like a magic wand.

He looked up from his paperwork, the corners of his eyes crinkling just so, a sign you had come to recognize as intrigue mixed with resistance. "You should take a friend...or perhaps a date," he suggested, his voice steady but his gaze flickering away momentarily.

Hotch had always been a fortress of solitude, his emotions guarded like the secrets of the cases you worked on together. But over time, you'd learned to read the subtle shifts in his expression as if they were confessions.

You leaned against his office door, your smile unwavering.

"But I am taking a friend, and honestly, I can't think of anyone else I’d rather have as my date tonight. You deserve a night off, to be wined and dined and just...have fun." You shrugged. You knew this man, out of anyone in this building, likely hadn’t had a night out of fun since 1997. “How long has it been since you've done something just for the joy of it?”

Hotch paused, the word 'date' hanging between you like a challenge. His jaw set, a classic Hotchner move before surrendering to a situation outside his control. "I'm not sure I'm the best company for something like that," he countered softly, almost vulnerable.

"Which is exactly why you should come," you insisted. "You spend so much time taking care of everyone else here, Hotch. Tonight, let someone take care of you. Plus, I love your company, whether it’s here dealing with unsubs or outside where we can actually enjoy ourselves." You paused, “And you know me,” You smirked, “I’m really not going to let this go.”

There was a long pause, a silent conversation passing through the air as he considered your words. Finally, with a small, almost imperceptible nod, he accepted. "Alright, I'll go."

The theater was an antique jewel in the heart of the city, its walls lined with velvety red curtains and golden lights that cast a warm glow over the buzzing audience. As the curtain rose, the stage transformed into a magical realm, pulling you both away from the grim realities of your daily work.

The play was a vibrant affair, with actors breathing life into their roles with a passion that made you forget the world outside. Throughout the evening, you watched Hotch, too, seeing him genuinely engaged, a softness in his eyes that you seldom saw at work.

During intermission, over glasses of wine, you shared light, easy conversation that danced around personal edges, revealing layers of each other previously tucked away behind professional facades.

"Thank you for bringing me," Hotch said as you walked out under the canopy of stars. His voice was low, sincere. "It’s been...more enjoyable than I anticipated."

"You're welcome!" you beamed, feeling a swell of happiness at his admission. "See? The world outside the BAU isn’t so bad, is it?"

He allowed himself a small chuckle, the sound mingling with the crisp night air. "No, it isn’t. Especially not with the right company."

The evening ended with a promise of similar outings, an unspoken agreement that both of you would take turns pulling each other away from the shadows of your job into the light of life outside it. It was simple, an easy friendship blossoming quietly into something that neither of you had expected but both secretly hoped would continue to grow.

II.

You burst into Hotch's office with a flair that would rival any stage performance, immediately drawing a rare smile from him despite the obvious panic etched across your face. He set aside his paperwork, an unspoken signal that he was all ears, and patiently waited for you to gather your thoughts.

Despite the clear panic struck on your face…it was amusing to Hotch. Cute even. Your typical calm, cool, and collected personality seemingly faded now. Your flustered state was something that Hotch found endearingly human, a contrast to your usual composed demeanor.

"Hotch, I have a...a situation," you gasped, struggling for breath as you stopped in front of his desk. The rare sight of your disarray pulled a smile from him, a softening around his eyes that encouraged you to continue.

Catching your breath, you finally blurted out, "My ex-fiancé is coming to town, and he's...he's engaged now!" You paced a small circle before facing Hotch again, your hands animatedly moving as you spoke. "And, of course, he wants to meet for drinks to introduce me to his fiancée."

Hotch's eyebrows raised slightly, a silent prompt for you to continue.

You exhaled sharply, the words tumbling out. Complete and utter word vomit. Word salad. Word soup…all over Aaron Hotchner’s perfectly perfected office. "I might have, sort of, told him I was seeing someone too--just to sound less...pathetic." You met Hotch's gaze, a mix of embarrassment and mischief in your eyes. "And I said it was you. It had to be you."

"Me?" Hotch's voice was calm, but his surprise was evident.

You nodded vigorously. "Yeah, I mean, it couldn’t be Derek; he’s all action-hero, way too macho. And Spencer? He’d inadvertently make me look dumb with all his factoids. And Rossi...well," you chuckled nervously, "he’s great, but he could practically be my dad!"

You paused, a playful glint appearing in your eyes. "I even thought about taking Emily, you know, referring back to my experimental college days," you joked, watching Hotch’s reaction carefully.

There was a moment of stillness as Hotch processed your train of thought. Finally, he leaned back in his chair, the corners of his mouth twitching into an almost imperceptible smile. "So, I'm the safest choice for a fake boyfriend, is that it?"

"Exactly!" you exclaimed, relieved he wasn't upset. "You’re respectable, you’re responsible, and let’s be honest, you can scare him a little if you do that...stern FBI look.” You paused, trying to convey the other reason behind this…this choice. Hotch had become someone you deeply cared for. It was evident to everyone. “And not just safe," you corrected, your tone earnest. "You're...you make me feel secure. You're the one person here who always has my back."

Hotch considered this for a moment; then his expression softened--a new understanding dawning between you. "When is this drink supposed to happen?"

"Tomorrow night," you replied, your voice a mixture of hope and anxiety. The relief in your voice mirrored the relief in your stance.

Hotch nodded slowly, then stood up from his desk, a decisive look replacing his initial surprise. "Alright, then. It seems I’m your...boyfriend for the evening. We might as well make sure your ex realizes what he’s missed out on."

Your relief was palpable, and a genuine smile spread across your face. "Thank you, Hotch. Really, I...this means a lot to me."

“I’ll be there--not just as your fake boyfriend, but as your friend."

Your heart fluttered unexpectedly at his words, warmth spreading through you at the thought of him standing by your side. "Thank you, really, Hotch. Really…honestly, this means everything to me."

The rest of the day, you found yourself catching Hotch's eye a few times, each glance exchanged, building a silent, mutual understanding. It was an odd, unexpected partnership, but as the hours passed, a curious anticipation grew within both of you about the role you were about to play.

The following evening at the bar was like stepping into another world. The dim lighting cast a warm glow that softened the sharp edges of Hotch's usually stark features. He stood there, not as the BAU chief, but as someone altogether more approachable, dressed in a smart casual jacket that hinted at the man beneath the badge.

"You look...not like Agent Hotchner," you commented with a teasing tone as you approached.

"And you look like someone who definitely isn’t nursing a broken heart," Hotch replied, offering his arm in a gentlemanly gesture that you didn’t expect but appreciated.

The night unfolded with an ease that surprised you both. Hotch played the part perfectly, charming yet subtly protective, casting doubtful glances from your ex that you couldn't help but feel satisfied to provoke. With every laugh and shared glance, the line between pretense and reality blurred.

As you left the bar, Hotch’s hand brushed against yours, a touch that lingered longer than necessary. "You know," he said quietly, stopping to face you under the soft glow of the streetlamp, "you don’t need to pretend to be anything you're not--not with me."

Your heart skipped a beat at the intensity of his gaze. "Maybe next time, we won’t have to pretend," you suggested, the words hanging between you like a promise waiting to be kept.

Hotch studied you for a moment, his usual reserve giving way to a tender sincerity. "I’d like that," he admitted, and in his eyes, you saw not just the stoic chief but a man who had begun to see you in a new light, just as you were seeing him.

As you walked away together, the city around you faded into the background, leaving only the possibilities of what might come next--a future neither of you had anticipated, but both silently hoped to explore.

III.

On a brisk morning, as the case stretched on and lunchtime approached, you could feel the gnawing emptiness in your stomach. Seated beside Hotch in the car, an hour away from the rest of the team, you were certain he must be just as hungry--even if he never complained. From what you'd observed, Hotch often neglected his own needs, always focused on the job or caring for his team.

He was the kind of man who seemed to subsist on sheer willpower--and far too much coffee, which, as you often joked.

Coffee shouldn’t count as a meal.

Dessert? Maybe. With extra whipped topping and mocha drizzle. Lunch? Never.

You wished somedays you’d just pack him a sandwich. It was hard to picture the man devouring a peanut butter and jelly, but a grown man’s got to eat! And from the looks of it, he rarely prioritizes that. The thought made you smile, a brief respite from the growling of your stomach.

The world outside painted a stark contrast to the warmth inside the car. Bare trees stood sentinel along the frost-lined road, their branches swaying in the cold wind that whispered promises of an impending winter. The car's heater hummed softly, a counterpoint to the rhythm of the road beneath the tires.

Glancing over at him as he drove, you noticed his focus was unwavering, his hands steady on the wheel. The rumbling of your stomach broke the silence, making it impossible to ignore any longer. Without a word, you leaned over the console and started typing into the GPS.

Hotch shot you a curious look. One eyebrow raised before darting back toward the open road. "What are you doing?"

"We need food, Hotch. I’m starving, and I know you haven’t eaten either," you said, inputting the address of a nearby diner you’d quickly looked up. The promise of a simple but comforting meal seemed like the perfect break from the stresses of the case.

He briefly glanced at the screen before returning his eyes to the road. "We should really get back to the precinct, join the team," he argued, his voice steady but lacking conviction.

"Hotch, we’re no good to them if we’re hungry and irritable," you countered, meeting his gaze with a playful yet firm look. "And I’m about to get very irritable if I don’t eat something soon."

"I don’t get irritable," Hotch said, a faint smile playing on his lips despite his attempt to seem annoyed.

"You will be if you don’t eat," you teased. "Now, follow the GPS. I’m ordering us cheeseburgers and fries. And if you’re good," you added with a cheeky grin, "I might even treat you to a milkshake."

That seemed to amuse him, a spark of warmth lighting up his usually reserved eyes. With a resigned chuckle, Hotch finally nodded and turned the car in the direction of the diner.

As you both walked into the diner, the shift in atmosphere was palpable. The cozy warmth, the smell of coffee and fried food, offered a much-needed respite.

You slid into a booth, the red vinyl squeaking under you, and Hotch took the seat across, his body language relaxing as he perused the menu you handed him. The corner of his mouth twitched upward in amusement at your noticeable relief.

"See, isn’t this better than a cold sandwich in the precinct?" you asked as you handed him a menu, your tone light and teasing.

"It is," he admitted, his gaze lingering on yours a moment longer than necessary. "Thanks for taking care of me."

The conversation flowed easily as you waited for your food, touching on light topics that didn’t involve work. It was a side of Hotch you rarely saw--relaxed, even a bit playful, especially when you joked about how he deserved a day off now and then.

When the food arrived, Hotch seemed genuinely pleased with the hearty meal, and you couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction in seeing him so. As you both ate, the playful banter continued, and you teased him about his choice of milkshake flavor--classic vanilla, to match his no-nonsense personality.

"You know, for someone who claims to be all business, you sure enjoy vanilla quite a bit," you quipped, taking a sip of your own, more adventurous, chocolate shake.

Hotch looked up, his eyes crinkling with amusement. "Maybe I just appreciate the simpler things," he retorted, his voice low and teasing in a way that sent a thrill through you. “And the company isn’t bad.”

You caught the twinkle in his eye, and it sparked something bold within you. "Well, if it's the simple things you appreciate," you started, a playful edge to your voice, "I might just have to take you on more 'simple' dates like this. I mean, if the company isn't bad..."

Hotch's smile broadened a rare and full grin that reached his eyes, softening the usually stern lines of his face. "I wouldn't object to that," he admitted, his tone suggesting he was more pleased by the idea than he let on. "It seems I've been missing out on quite a few simple pleasures."

The light banter, mixed with the warm glow of the diner and the comfort of the meal, wove a moment of connection that felt both exhilarating and natural. As you both laughed, the air between you filled with a sense of possibility, a hint that this could be the beginning of exploring not just crime scenes together but something much deeper and personally rewarding.

The meal ended too soon, but the light-hearted mood lingered as you both headed back to the car. As Hotch drove back to the precinct, the playful ease between you felt like a silent acknowledgment of something deeper, something neither of you had expected to find in the midst of a tough case.

The ride back was quiet but comfortable, filled with shared glances and an unspoken agreement that this, whatever it was that was blooming between you, was something worth exploring, no matter how cautiously. The seeds planted during that fake date had started to sprout, and as the landscape rolled by outside the car windows, so too did the possibilities of what might come next.

IV.

The evolution of your relationship with Hotch had been as subtle as the change of seasons, marked not by grand gestures but by shared glances and small touches that lingered a bit longer than necessary. These were the silent confirmations of a deepening bond, one that had maturely navigated the boundaries of professionalism and his life as a dedicated father.

Recognizing the significance of his role as a father and wanting to affirm your respect for this vital part of his life, you planned an outing that would comfortably include his son, Jack. The idea was simple yet thoughtful--a paint day at a local studio, a space vibrant with color and creativity, perfect for Jack, whose love for painting Hotch had mentioned in passing.

When you shared the plan with Hotch, his response was unexpectedly moving. His eyes, usually guarded and holding the weight of his responsibilities, softened remarkably. "This is really thoughtful of you," he said, his voice tinged with a sincerity that resonated deeply within you. "Jack will love this, and honestly, it means a lot to me too."

As you entered the studio, the warmth inside was a stark contrast to the chill outside. The walls were adorned with splashes of color and shelves lined with ceramics and canvases added to the eclectic charm. Jack's excitement was infectious; his energy seemed to fill the room as he dashed about, choosing his materials with serious cconsideration

You picked a mug to paint, selecting colors with a playful eye, while Hotch chose a plate, his attempts at painting it more comical than artistic.

"You might stick to profiling, Hotchner," you teased gently, watching him struggle with a paintbrush.

Hotch looked up, amusement flickering across his face. "I think you might be right," he conceded, and even Jack chimed in with a giggle, enjoying the sight of his dad out of his usual element.

Jack, inspired by the day's activities, decided to paint a canvas depicting the three of you playing soccer--a scene from his imagination that warmed your heart. It was touching to see how he included you in his artwork, a sign that he was accepting you into their little world.

Throughout the day, the chemistry between you and Hotch was more apparent than ever. Every shared smile, every light touch while passing paint jars, seemed to underline the deepening connection. It was clear that something more was there, something neither of you had fully acknowledged yet. There was a comfort and ease between you, a natural fit that felt like it could seamlessly extend beyond these shared moments into something lasting.

As the day wound down, you looked at your finished mug, Hotch’s humorously bad plate, and Jack’s heartfelt canvas. There was a profound sense of accomplishment and happiness. Jack’s energy never waned, and his chatter about where he would hang his painting in his room filled the space with joy.

Driving back, the car was filled with a comfortable silence before Hotch finally spoke, his voice laden with emotion. "Today was perfect," he said sincerely. "Thank you for setting this up. It's...it's not often we get to do something so normal, so fun."

"It was my pleasure, really," you responded, your voice soft, conveying the genuine joy you felt. "I loved every minute of it, Hotch. Seeing you and Jack like this, it’s...it's wonderful."

Hotch glanced over, his expression thoughtful, the setting sun casting shadows that played across his features. "It's new for me," he confessed, "letting someone into our world this way. But it feels right...with you."

Your heart fluttered at his words, the weight of them carrying a promise of something deeper, something that was slowly taking shape between you. "I'm glad," you murmured, reaching over to squeeze his hand briefly, an affirmation of the bond forming among the three of you.

The drive back was quiet but filled with an unspoken acknowledgment of the budding relationship that was no longer just a possibility but a burgeoning reality. As you watched the scenery blur by, you realized that this day hadn’t just been about painting or playing--it was a canvas for what was to come, a beautifully unfolding story that you were all painting together.

Navigating the intricacies of your evolving relationship with Hotch had been like reading a novel written in a familiar yet indecipherable script.

You weren't someone who needed everything spelled out,who required every emotion or intention to be neatly labeled like items in a catalog.

However, as your interactions deepened--marked by those unmistakably boyfriend-like gestures, from the way he'd casually touch your back guiding you through a doorway, to how he'd drop a coffee on your desk exactly the way you liked it--questions began to surface in your mind.

What exactly were you to each other?

Sure, he acted like your boyfriend, did things that a boyfriend would do.

There were those long drives from crime scenes where you'd debrief not just on the case but about life, hopes, fears.

He was there, always somehow there, in ways that mattered. But without the explicit affirmation, a tiny part of you lingered in doubt. It wasn't that you thought he might be seeing other people--Hotch barely had time to eat properly, let alone date multiple people. But clarity was something you craved, even as you thrived in the gray areas of life.

Deciding to address these swirling thoughts directly, you leveraged your day off--an all-too-rare occurrence that felt like the universe’s nod to take action. With your usual blend of brightness and empathy, you picked up your phone and dialed Hotch’s number.

The call was quick; the invitation straightforward but imbued with all the significance of stepping into new, uncharted territory.

"Hi, Hotch, it’s me," you began, your voice carrying a cheerful lilt that belied the butterflies doing somersaults in your stomach. "I was thinking, since we both actually have a free evening, maybe we could go out for dinner? I’ve made reservations at that new place we’ve both been curious about. If you’re up for it?"

There was a brief pause, and for a second, you wondered if you’d stepped over an unseen line. But then his response came, warm and unmistakably pleased. "That sounds great, I’d love to. What time should I pick you up?"

The simplicity of his acceptance, the ease with which he stepped into the space you’d opened, lifted a weight off your shoulders you hadn’t fully realized you'd been carrying.

As you hung up, a smile played on your lips, mirrored by a warmth that spread through your chest. This dinner would be different; it wasn't just about enjoying good food or making casual conversation. It was about defining what was between you, about giving shape to the connection that had grown, subtly but significantly, over the countless shared moments.

That evening, as you prepared for the date, every choice--from the dress you wore to the perfume you dabbed behind your ears--felt imbued with intention. Meeting him outside your place, you noticed the effort he’d put into his appearance as well. Gone was the standard FBI suit, replaced by something softer, yet equally compelling. His smile when he saw you was enough to set your heart racing.

From the moment he opened the car door for you, everything felt right--effortlessly falling into a pattern that seemed to have existed for years, not just the recent weeks of growing closeness. The conversation flowed freely as you drove to the restaurant, filled with the usual banter and warmth that had become a hallmark of your interactions.

At the restaurant, your dynamic was unmistakably couple-like, drawing knowing smiles from the servers as you laughed and shared food across the table. It was remarkably natural, the ease between you, as if all your prior interactions had been rehearsals for this very moment.

Midway through the meal, buoyed by the comfort that had defined the evening, you decided to address the ambiguity that had lightly clouded your relationship. "Hotch, I’ve been wondering," you started, your voice soft but direct, "what exactly is this for us? I mean, we’ve been spending so much time together, and it feels like…well, like we’re a couple. But we’ve never really talked about it."

Hotch paused, a forkful of dinner halfway to his mouth, and his expression shifted to one of mild embarrassment. Setting his utensil down, he met your gaze; his cheeks tinged with a rare flush.

"I...I’m sorry; I suppose I should have brought it up," he admitted, his voice tinged with a hint of chagrin. "I’m not very experienced with how this is supposed to go. Things have been going so well, I didn’t think to...well, make it official or ask properly. You know, the whole…dating protocol."

You reached across the table, covering his hand with yours, squeezing it reassuringly. "Hotch, I don’t need any grand gestures or formal declarations," you said warmly. "But I think some clarity would be helpful, just…so we’re on the same page. Clarity is comforting, especially with something as important as this."

Hotch smiled a genuine, relieved smile. "Then let’s be clear: I’d like nothing more than to be considered your boyfriend if you feel the same way.” He paused, his eyes locking with yours, "How about you let me take you on a real first date after tonight? And I promise, it won’t be like the casual outings we’ve had before."

"You mean all those times we grabbed a coffee or had those long drives weren’t dates?" you teased,your voice light, trying to ease the intensity of the moment.

"They were...unofficial dates. Practice, if you will," Hotch replied with a laugh. "But from now on, I promise, nothing but the real thing."

The promise of a 'proper' date, laden with Hotch’s earnest intentions, filled you with a delightful anticipation. It wasn’t just the thrill of formalizing your relationship but the realization that you were both navigating this new terrain together, equally invested and open.

As the evening approached, the flutter of anticipation was palpable. You had been on dates before, but the buildup to this particular outing with Hotch had an entirely different tenor.

His promise of a "real first date" had left you curious and, admittedly, a bit exhilarated. Despite his claim of being rusty, the effort he put into planning the evening suggested otherwise.

Hotch arrived right on time, looking every bit the part of a gentleman set to impress. His usual dark, work-appropriate suits were replaced by a tailored charcoal blazer that complemented his stern features, softened tonight by the hint of a smile as he greeted you.

As Hotch presented you with the bouquet of lilies and wildflowers, their scent subtly mingling with the evening air, it was the perfect prelude to an evening that promised to be anything but ordinary.

His eyes held a gleam of anticipation as he asked, "Ready for an adventure?" His voice was light, but beneath it, you could detect a current of genuine excitement--a hint that tonight was about more than just dinner.

The drive led you away from the familiar lights of the city to a more secluded bistro overlooking the water, known for its privacy and exquisite views. The table was set in a quiet corner of the terrace, draped in soft white linen and lit by a single, flickering candle that cast a warm glow over the setting. The backdrop of the slowly setting sun, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, made the scene almost too picturesque to be real.

Throughout dinner, Hotch was both attentive and charming, effortlessly leading the conversation through laughter and deeper, more introspective topics.

"I’ve been out of the game for a long time," he admitted as you both looked over the bay, "but I wanted tonight to be special. I wanted to show you how much I appreciate everything you do, not just for me, but for Jack as well." His words warmed you more than the evening air. "You see me in ways I didn't realize were visible," he continued, his gaze holding yours. "The way you care for those around you, especially Jack and I, it’s more than just empathy--it's genuine love."

Your hands touched as you both reached for your wine glasses, a spark of connection in the simple gesture. “I see the same in you, Hotch. The way you balance everything, yet still manage to make us feel...important,” you replied, your voice soft but clear over the gentle lapping of the water below.

Dinner unfolded beautifully, each course a delight not just to the palate but as a discovery of shared tastes and preferences. With each dish, you learned something new about each other--preferences hidden beneath daily routines, stories from the past that had shaped your tastes.

As you shared a dessert, Hotch pointed at your plate with his fork. "Are you sure you’re ready to share that? It looks too good to split fifty-fifty."

You eyed the last piece of chocolate mousse, then back at him with a playful challenge in your eyes. "Maybe I’ll reconsider based on your performance review of this date."

Hotch leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "In that case, I’d better ensure the evening ends on a high note." His light-hearted tone matched the sparkle in his gaze, making the simple act of sharing dessert feel like flirtatious banter.

As you walked along the port after dinner, the moon casting shimmering trails across the water, Hotch nudged you gently with his elbow. "So, do I get bonus points for choosing a place with a view?"

"Maybe just a few," you conceded, nudging him back. "But only because you seem to know the way to my heart--through scenic views and excellent food."

The laughter that followed was easy and genuine, drifting into the night air and mixing with the rhythmic sounds of the waves. "You know, I think I’m getting the hang of this dating thing again," Hotch said, a note of mock pride in his voice.

"Just keep up with me, Hotch. I have high standards for second dates, remember?" you teased, your smile reflecting the joy of the evening.

Hotch's laugh echoed softly in the quiet night. "Is that a challenge?" he asked, a playful glint in his eyes.

"It might just be," you replied, matching his tone. "I’m curious to see what you’ll come up with next.

The night ended with a promise of more to come, not just another date, but more moments like these--shared, special, and sincere.

As Hotch drove you home, you were indeed head over heels, not just for the man who had meticulously planned this perfect first date, but for the one who had shown you his heart, beautifully open and invitingly warm. It was clear that whatever lay ahead, it would be a journey worth taking, together.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #hotch x reader #kiwriteswords #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds imagine #criminalminds #aaronhotchner #Aaron Hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotchner reader insert #criminal minds fluff #hotch x you

278 notes · View notes

himbo-in-limbo · 20 days ago

Text

PREDATOR KILLER OF KILLERS RANT/MOSTLY PRAISING YA KNOW

TW WILL TALK ABOUT SPOILERS!

I don’t even know where to begin ohhh my god…

The first (at least publicly released) animated yautja movie of its series and oh. My. God.

Was that worth the wait….

I’ll try my best to describe in words how happy this film made me. As someone who’s been a fan of the predator franchise since I was 4 YEARS OLD

This was everything to me.

The art. The story. The characters. The music.

The atmosphere it set up!!! Ohhh man I can definitely see more films be made like this for the series…

Ursa….this beast of a woman I truly love how they followed each “tribes” own codes of honor and they acted and fought accordingly to their beliefs and ways.

Rip Anders, her son unfortunately caught in that situation but at least he died with honor. Hopefully his mom will join him in Valhalla someday.

I’m still iffy about these types of yautja (mostly bc 2018 left a bad taste in my mouth) if this was a female yautja I’d have less issues with it. (Personal preference ofc)

but yes they were very badass and seeing them get outsmarted by Ursa was so funny. holy hell can that woman pack a punch with her shield!! Watching her fight got me so fired up she was inspiring.

I really enjoyed that this story was mostly silent that not much needed to be said bc the storytelling was so good with just visuals alone! This classic tale of two brothers being forced to turn again one another to claim the throne. And yet when the extraterrestrial threat came out of the blue to fight the both of them, they both agreed to fight the creature together.

This yautja in particular…I honestly still can’t tell if this is a yautja female??? CUZ GOD I HOPE SHE IS, her figure looks feminine but i haven’t seen a confirmation yet. Either way her battle was my favorite and it’s cool she is one of the skins available on hunting grounds along with the Viking yautja.

This guy was awesome (as a fellow Mexican I was rooting for him the most LMAO) bro was trying really hard to communicate with the other humans so bad 😭 the language barriers were funny to see.

Now this is where my main issues lie with the movie…

I honestly don’t know how I feel about the yautja aerial dog fight. I have issues as what makes it honorable in the yautja code. Bc dude was invisible most of the time taking out the fleet and only when like 5 or less was in the sky he uncloaked given his advanced weaponry???

I don’t really know how to feel about it. I think he should have uncloaked earlier. But overall the fighting sequence was intense and entertaining to watch!

THE LAST BATTLE THIS SCENE IN PARTICULAR

Ohhhh I cried like a little bitch the fact THEY WERE TALKING IN THEIR OWN LANGUAGE AND CHANTING AS WELL oh I was geeking out

I hope the full language drops some day bc my ass is gonna learn how to speak it 😭 the whole ending was amazing and I can’t wait to see if a sequel comes out of it. AND ALSO THAT ENDING EASTER EGG?!?!? Wow.

I wonder what will come out of that situation….

Either way…thank you for coming to my ted talk…

#limbo rants #limbo is crying tears of joy #predator killer of killers #tw spoilers #yautja #long post

72 notes · View notes

wilwheaton · 2 years ago

Text

When you watch The Curse, you are watching two children who were abused and exploited daily during production. No adults protected us.

This was originally published on my blog in August, 2022.

I had a wonderful time at Steel City Comicon this weekend. It was my first time at this particular con, so I didn’t know there was such a huge contingent of horror fans, creators, and vendors who attend.

I love horror, and I was pretty psyched to be in the same place as John Carpenter and Tom Savini, across the street from the Dawn of the Dead mall. Pittsburgh feels like one of the places horror was invented, at least to me.

A number of these horror fans came to see me, and asked me to sign posters and other things from a movie my parents forced me to do when I was 13, called The Curse. I had to tell each of these people that I would not sign anything associated with that movie, because I was abused and exploited during production. The time I spent on that film remains the most traumatizing time of my life, and though I am a 50 year-old man, just typing this now makes my hands shake with remembered fear of a 13 year-old boy who nobody protected, and the absolute fury the 50 year-old man feels toward the people who hurt him.

I told this story in Still Just A Geek, and I’ve talked about it in some podcasts I did on the promo tour, but I’ve never put it out in public like this, in its entirety.

I suspect someone at the publisher would prefer I tease this and hope it drives book sales from people who want to read all of it, but I honestly don’t want to have another weekend like this one where everything is awesome, except the few times people who have no idea (and why should they) put that fucking poster in front of me, and all the fear, abandonment, and trauma come flooding back as I tell them that I won’t sign it, and why.

To their credit, each person was as horrified as they should have been, told me they had no idea (if they didn’t read my book why would they), and quickly put the poster away. They were all understanding. I am grateful for that.

But I really don’t need to tell this story over and over again, so here it is, with a child abuse and exploitation content warning, so I can just tell people to Google it.

After Stand by Me, everything changed. The attention from entertainment journalists, casting directors, and especially teen magazines came pouring in. The movie was a generational hit, beloved by critics and audiences alike, and every single one of us could pick anything to do next.

River’s parents and his agent got him Mosquito Coast, with Harrison Ford, as his next movie. I also auditioned for the role, but I knew even then that River was going to book the job. He was perfect, and I’d have to wait a little bit for my opportunity to come along.

I went on a lot of theatrical auditions after Stand by Me. I had tons of meetings with directors and the heads of casting at every major studio. It was all a very big deal, and I felt like we were all looking for something really special and amazing as my follow-up to Stand by Me.

At some point, a couple of producers contacted my agent with an offer to play one of the leads in an adaptation of H. P. Lovecraft’s “The Colour Out of Space.” The script was titled The Farm. (It would, of course, be changed when the film was released).

I read it. I did not like it. It was a shitty horror movie, and I saw that right away. It was the sort of thing you rented on Friday when the new release you wanted was already out of the store.

My mother, already an incredibly manipulative person, used every tool at her disposal to change my mind. My father threatened me, mocked me, told me “It’s your decision” when it clearly wasn’t. It was all so weird; I didn’t understand why they cared so much.

I told my parents I didn’t like it and didn’t want to do it. I clearly recall thinking it was a piece of shit that would hurt my career.

It wasn’t the first thing that had come our way that I wanted to pass on, and every other time, it hadn’t been a very big deal.

Sidebar: I was cast in Twilight Zone: The Movie, in 1983. The film tells four stories, and I was cast as the kid who can wish people into cartoonland. It was a GREAT role, in a movie I still love. (Note that Twilight Zone had four directors. One of them got three people killed. The segment I was cast in was not that one. I mention this because too many people zero in on this to deflect from what this whole thing is actually about.)

But I was CONVINCED by my parochial school teacher that if I worked on The Twilight Zone, which she had determined was satanic, I would go to hell. (This woman and her bullshit played a big role in my conversion to atheism at a young age, but when she told me that, I was all-in on the supernatural story they taught us in religion class.) I was so scared, more scared than I’d ever been to that point in my life, I cried and wailed and begged my parents to not make me do the movie. And I never told them why, because I was afraid my dad would laugh at me for being weak and afraid. My agent tried to talk me into it, and I wouldn’t budge. It’s the only thing I deeply and truly regret passing on, and I really hate I made that choice for such a stupid reason.

Okay. Back to The Curse.

This time, when I told them how much I hated it, they wouldn’t listen to me. My mother, already an incredibly manipulative person, used every tool at her disposal to change my mind. My father threatened me, mocked me, told me “It’s your decision” when it clearly wasn’t. It was all so weird; I didn’t understand why they cared so much.

That is, until they made me take a meeting with the producers of the movie, in their giant conference room on the top floor of a tall building in Hollywood. All I remember about this place was that it was huge; the table was way too big for the five of us who spread around it, and there were floor-to-ceiling windows on three of the walls, but the room was still dark. There was a weird optical illusion in the center of the table, this thing they sold in the Sharper Image catalog, made from two reflective dishes with a hole in the top of one. You placed an object in the bottom of the bottom dish, and it made it look like that object was floating above the whole thing. They had a plastic spider in it. What a strange detail for me to remember, but it’s as clear in my memory as if I were sitting in that room right now.

One man, who I presumed was the executive producer, was European or Middle Eastern (I didn’t know the difference then, he was just Not Like People I Knew), and I was instantly afraid of him. He was intimidating, and seemed like a person who got what he wanted.

So we sat there, my father who didn’t give a shit about me, my mother who was cosplaying as someone with experience, and me, thirteen years old, awkward as fuck, and scared to death.

I don’t remember what they said to me in their pitch or anything other than how uncomfortable and anxious I was to even be in that room. I tried so hard to be grown up and mature, but I — and my parents — was way out of my depth. I’d done one big movie and that was it. We didn’t have my agent with us, who had lots of experience and would have known what questions to ask.

No, in place of my experienced agent, my mother had decided she was going to be my manager, and she tackled the responsibility with an enthusiasm that was only matched by her absolute incompetence and inability to go toe-to-toe with producers the way my agent did. She was outwitted, out-thought, and outmaneuvered at every turn.

“You don’t have a choice,” my father commanded. “You are doing this movie.”

So we sat there, my father who didn’t give a shit about me, my mother who was cosplaying as someone with experience, and me, thirteen years old, awkward as fuck, and scared to death.

At some point, this man, who is represented in my memory by big Jim Jones sunglasses under dark hair above an open collar, said, “We are offering you a hundred thousand dollars and round-trip travel for your whole family. We will cast your sister, Amy, to play your sister in the movie.”

It all made sense, now. I was only thirteen, but I knew my parents were pushing me so hard because this company was offering me — them, really — more money than I’d ever imagined I’d earn in my life, much less a single job.

I knew that the right thing to do, the smart thing to do, was to say no. There would be other opportunities, and it was stupid to cash myself out of feature films for what I thought was, in the grand scheme of things, not very much money.

It’s incredible to me that I knew all of this. It’s incredible to me that I could see all these things, plainly and clearly, and my parents couldn’t (or, more likely, chose not to).

So after this man made his offer, all the adults in the room ganged up on me, selling me HARD on this movie.

My mother said, “Don’t you want your sister to have the same opportunities you’ve had? Wouldn’t it be fun and exciting to go to Rome? Think of all the history!”

The experience was awful. It was the worst experience I have ever had on a set in my life, by every single metric. The movie is awful, and it is the embarrassment I knew it would be.

I don’t think about this very often, because it’s super upsetting to me. Right now, I’m so angry at my parents for subjecting me and my sister to this entire experience. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

In that moment, I felt bullied and trapped. All these adults were talking to me at the same time, and I just wanted it to stop. I just wanted to go home and get out of this room. I just wanted to go be a kid, so I did what I’d learned to do to survive: I gave in and did what my parents wanted.

The experience was awful. It was the worst experience I have ever had on a set in my life, by every single metric. The movie is awful, and it is the embarrassment I knew it would be.

But here’s the thing: when you watch The Curse, you are watching two children, me and my sister, who were abused on a daily basis. The production did not follow a single labor law. They worked us for twelve hours a day, on multiple film units (while I work on First unit, second unit sets up and waits for me. When I should get a break to rest, they send me to Second unit, then to Third unit, then back to First unit. I was 13.) without any breaks, five days a week. I was exhausted the entire time. I was inappropriately touched by two different adults during production. I knew it was wrong, but I was so scared and ashamed, and I felt so unsupported, I didn’t tell anyone. I knew my dad wouldn’t believe me, and my mother would blame me. Anything to keep the production happy, that’s what she did. That was more important to her than the health and safety of her children. The director was coked out of his mind most of the time, incompetent, and so busy fucking or trying to fuck one of the women in the cast, he was worse than useless. He was a fading actor who was cosplaying as a director, as in over his head as my mother. My sister and I were never safe. Instead of harmless atmospheric SFX smoke, they set hay on fire in barrels and blew actual smoke onto the set. They took buckets of talc, broken wood, bits of wallpaper and plaster, and threw it into my face during a scene inside the collapsing house. My sister is in a scene where she goes to get eggs from some chickens, and they attack her. So they hired Lucio Fulci, the Italian horror master, to direct her sequence. His idea, which everyone was totally on board with, was to throw chickens at my sister. Live chickens, live roosters, live birds. Just throw them at a nine-year-old girl. Oh, and then tie them to her arms and legs so they’ll peck her. All of this happened under my mother’s observation, and with her full participation.

Everything I need to know about who my parents are is wrapped up in that experience: the total lack of concern for my safety and happiness, treating me like an asset instead of a son, lying to me, manipulating me, and using me to get things they wanted, and then gaslighting me about it.

If just ONE of the things I can remember happened to someone I loved, I would have grabbed my kids, gone to the airport, and flown home. Fuck those abusive assholes in the production. Let the lawyers sort it all out. Nobody hurts my children and gets away with it.

My mom says she “had some talks” with the producers. She claims that, once, she wouldn’t let us leave the hotel. (God, what a fucking dump that place was. It was just slightly better than a hostel.) I have no memory of that, but honestly the entire experience was so traumatic, I’ve blocked most of it out.

The movie was the commercial and critical failure I knew it would be. My parents spent the money. I don’t know what they spent it on. I got to keep fifteen cents of every dollar, so . . . yay?

My sister and I hardly ever talk about this. I suspect it was as upsetting and traumatic for her as it was for me. I told her I was writing about it, and asked her if she remembered anything. She told me she’d been lied to her whole life about this movie. Our mother let her believe she had been cast on the strength of her audition. “I was excited to work with you,” she said. She reminded me about some stuff I’d blocked out, including a scene where my character’s older brother (played by an actor named Malcolm Danare, who was kind and gentle, and made both of us feel safer when he was around) shoves my character into a pile of cow shit. When it came time to shoot the scene, the mud they’d put together to be the cow shit looked an awful lot like cow shit. When Malcolm pushed me into it, we all found out it was real cow shit. I was FURIOUS. The director had lied to me and had allowed me to have my entire body shoved into an actual pile of actual cow shit. I don’t remember what I said, but I remember he treated me the exact same way my father did whenever I got upset: he laughed at me, told me I was being too sensitive, reminded me that he was the director and he wanted to get a “real” performance out of me, and concluded, “If it bothers you so much, we’ll get you a hepatitis shot,” before he walked away.

My sister also recalled that, after she survived the scene with the chickens, it was the producers’ idea to give her one as a pet.

Okay, let’s unpack that for a quick second: you’ve been traumatized by these birds, so we’re going to give you one as a pet. That you’ll somehow keep in your hotel, and then will somehow get back to America. It will shock you to learn that neither of those things happened.

She remembered, as I do, the huge fight I had with my parents in our kitchen, where I told them I hated the script and I hated the movie. I didn’t want to do it, and I hated that they were making me do it.

“You don’t have a choice,” my father commanded. “You are doing this movie.”

“This is the only film you are being offered,” my mother lied to me. She made me feel like, if I didn’t do this movie, I would never do another movie again in my life. I had to do this movie. As my father bellowed, I had no choice.

Both of my parents denied this argument ever happened. Can I tell you how reassuring it is to know that my sister, who was also there, remembers it the same way I do?

The makeup department decided they would literally cut my little sister’s face with a scalpel, in three places, and put bandages over them.

But one thing she told me, the thing I did not know, the thing that makes me so angry I want to break things, actually managed to make the entire experience even worse than I remembered it.

There’s a scene after her chicken incident where I check up on her in her bedroom. She’s got cuts and bruises, and I guess we talk about it. I don’t remember and I can’t watch the movie because I’m terrified it will give me a PTSD flashback (I’ve had one of those and I recommend avoiding it). Here’s the thing about that scene: she has some cuts on her face, and those cuts are real. They are not makeup.

I’m going to repeat that. My nine-year-old little sister had actual cuts on her face that were placed there by an adult, on purpose.

The makeup department decided they would literally cut my little sister’s face with a scalpel, in three places, and put bandages over them. My sister told me our mother wasn’t in the makeup room when this happened — honestly, it seemed like our mother was strangely and conveniently absent when most of the really terrible things happened to us on the set — and when my sister told her what they’d done, she “lost her shit” at the production. She was pissed, I guess, which is appropriate and surprising. I wonder what would have to have happened for her to put us on a plane and get us home to safety? I mean, her son being abused daily didn’t do it, and her daughter being CUT IN THE FACE ON PURPOSE didn’t do it.

I just . . . I can’t. I can’t understand or comprehend allowing your own children to be physically and emotionally abused. They were literally selling my sister and me to these people, like we were some kind of commodity.

This was a tough conversation. My sister’s experience with our parents is very different from mine. My sister and I love each other. We’re close. I know it’s hard for her to hear that her brother, who she loves, was so abused by her parents, who she also loves. I was really grateful she made the time to talk to me about it, and grateful the experience wasn’t as horrible for her as it was for me.

As we were finishing our call, Amy also remembered one man, a young Italian named Luka, who was our driver for the movie. I haven’t thought about him in thirty years, but I can see his face now. He was kind, he was friendly, he taught us how to kick a soccer ball, and in the middle of an abusive, torturous experience, he stood out as a kind and gentle man. I mention him because she remembered him, which made me remember him, and goddammit I want at least one small part of this thing to not be awful.

The Curse remains one of the most consequential times the adults in my life failed to protect me. I’m 50. I still have nightmares.

Ultimately, as I predicted and feared, this piece of shit movie cashed me out of respectable films forever. I got offers for movies, but they were always mindless comedies or exploitative horror films. They were never the serious dramas I wanted to work in after Stand by Me. The industry looked at me and River, wondering if one or both of us would become a breakout star. They quickly saw that River was doing real acting work, and I was in this piece of shit. For River, Stand by Me was a beginning. For me, it would turn out to be pretty much everything, at least as far as film goes.

There are thousands of reasons film careers do and don’t take off. Maybe mine wouldn’t have taken off anyway. Clearly, it’s not where my life ended up, and I’m super okay with that now. But when all of this happened, it hurt and haunted me.

The Curse remains one of the most consequential times the adults in my life failed to protect me. I’m 50. I still have nightmares. Everything I need to know about who my parents are is wrapped up in that experience: the total lack of concern for my safety and happiness, treating me like an asset instead of a son, lying to me, manipulating me, and using me to get things they wanted, and then gaslighting me about it.

This annotation is the last thing I wrote before I turned this manuscript in, because opening these wounds is hard and painful. I put it off as long as I could, and I feel like I’m still holding back, because just this small glimpse of the experience has taken me a week to write. I can’t imagine trying to go back and unpack the whole thing. (Note that is not in the book: I’ve made an EMDR appointment to work on this because the nightmares have come back after the weekend).

Fuck The Curse, and fuck every single person who exploited and hurt two beautiful children to make it. You all participated in child abuse, and you all knew better. Shame on all of you. I hope this follows you to the end of your life. I hope that living with what you did to innocent children has been as hard for you as it has been for me, because you deserve no less.

#tw abuse #tw child abuse #tw exploitation #child actor #still just a geek #lucio fulci #trauma survivor #speaking up for the child who was silenced by his abusers

2K notes · View notes

angeldiarybook · 8 months ago

Text

“Man,I hate Highschool”

Summary:what happens when you almost overhear Billys and Stu’s plan without even knowing much of them?

Basically just a one shot l to school with Billy and Stu head cannons before you guys knew of one each other

‘What the fuck’

Were the first 3 words I could think of My fucking team is such ass! There’s no way I’m one of the last 4 standing in doge ball on my team

‘I swear if one more shitty thing happens to me today I will start tweaking’

Right when I thought that a doge ball comes flying full speed at me hitting me straight in the head knocking me down

Then out of no where 2 more balls hit me

“What the fuck!”

I yelled at Steve glaring at him as my ass was still on the floor gripping my head as I see his dumb ass grinning

“My bad ___” he yells back while chuckling a bit

Our coach then blew his whistle

Yeah no I need to leave

I got up walking towards the exit

“Hey! where you going?” I heard Randy ask as I left him standing on my team

“I need water” I said while opening the exit door

“Wait!don’t Lea-“ Randy says getting cut off as a doge ball smacks him and the exit door shuts

I sighed and groaned as I made my way towards the bathrooms to the water fountain

When I catch a glimpse of two figures standing there

A very tall figure then a shorter figure

They looked suspicious

The shorter dude looks a bit furious and the taller one doesn’t seem to be taking him too serious

“Stop dicking around Stu! You’re genuinely going to be next to be gutted if you don’t shut up”

the shorter boy said aggressively to the taller dude

I slowly started second guessing if I should go back to gym or get my drink…

Actually no I’m not going back tho that shit

I started filling up my water bottle causing both the guys to break there neck

They just kinda stared with a strange demeanor

‘weird…anyways…” I thought

I continued to fill up my water bottle

But I still felt their eyes on me

I broke my neck and looked at them back

“Uh…hey?” I said Not knowing what they wanted

The shorter boy continued to glare at me

“hey” he said very monotone

As the taller giggled

“Woah what happened to your forehead?” He asked as he came up to me placing his hand on top of my forehead

“Huh?” I asked as I looked at the bathroom mirror

“Fucking bitch!” I said angrily looking at the huge bruise forming on my forehead

“So what happened?” The tall guy asked

“Steve fucking Orth threw a dodgeball straight right at my head then he decided to throw two more balls at me” I said irritated

“I hate him..” I grumbled as I looked at the disgusting bruise forming

The tall guy continued to chuckle as the shorter dude raised his eyebrow

“Hey I think I know you.Don’t you hang out with Randys geek self ?” The tall dude asked in a snarky tone

“God no” I said chuckling

“He just calls me to take over his shifts at work or make some lame ass excuse to why he can’t come to work” I said

“Aren’t you Guys his friends?” I asked them causing the shorter boy to snicker as the tall boy made a weird noise

“Kinda I guess. What’s your name?” He asked leaning over me

“My name is ____ and I’m guessing yours is Stu the dude that’s going to be gutted by him” I said smirking while pointing at the shorter boy

Causing Stu to chuckle and the shorter boy to shift his stance

“Yeah billy boy is always being so mean to me” Stu said teasingly while flicking Billy’s nose

“No you’re just irritating” Billy said while punching Stu’s side pretty harshly causing Stu to groan which made me giggle

Stu stared at me for a second before chuckling

“Hey you like scary movies?” He asked

I shrugged “I mean yeah I’d say so but I’m not a horror geek like Randy” I said chuckling

Stu chuckled “you should definitely let us borrow some movies and come over some time don’t you say”

I was a bit surprised

I smiled though nodding my head

“Why not” I said Shrugging

That’s when we heard Randy’s voice

“There you are! I can’t believe you left me!” Randy said

I groaned rolling my eyes

“I told you I was needed water don’t you listen!” I said to Randy as he came up to me with sweat dripping down his forehead

“Yeah don’t you listen Randy?” Stu teased

“Oh shut up Stu” Randy said grabbing my water bottle and chugging my water

“Hey!” I said smacking his head

“C’mon coach wants us to do laps before lunch” Randy said as I groaned once more as we started awkwardly running back to the gym

I turned back to look at Stu and Billy as they started walking away from the water fountain

Little did I know they looked back twice

“What were you doing talking to leather face and his goon?” Randy asked me

“Do you think she heard?” Stu asked Billy

“If she heard me threating to gut you I’m not sure what else she could of heard..let just keep an eye on her for now..” Billy said low

You weren’t leaving there sight any time soon

Shii you finna be one of their victim?🤨

@vzp1kl

275 notes · View notes

parasolladyansy · 6 months ago

Text

So uh.

GUYS.

I LOVE COOKING ISEKAI / FANTASY.

Like “Delicious in Dungeon”, “Campfire Cooking in Another World with My Absurd Skill” (isekai-ed me would’ve liked that skill lol), “Isekai Izakaya Nobu”, etc. I LOVE THEM ALL.

ALSO LIKE. So much of the food in BotW / TotK look SO GOOD. I’ve made & tried some of it as I’ve mentioned. But things like the “Crab Omelet with Rice” (which I’m 99.9% sure is a dish called “tenshinhan” in our world) is something I’d love to try!

(For comparison — second image is from Just One Cookbook, one of my go-to’s for Japanese home cooking. Might have to try her tenshinhan someday! I can’t wait to make her oyakodon tonight - it’s one of our favorites!)

I swear. Food in anime & games. Like all the recipes in BotW / TotK, PKMN Sword / Shield’s curries (playing that game makes me crave curry rice so bad!), Legends Arceus’ potato mochi (still gotta make that!), & so much more!

If I ever make that cozy witchy RPG someday (aka when I take that leap & also recruit people who know how to do all the technical stuff lol), I SWEAR: I am putting all the delicious-looking, cozy foods that’d make anyone want to run to their kitchens to make them, too!

AHHHH!

Okay. Just wanted to geek. Thanks for letting me geek 🤣

Basically, isekai-ed me is gonna be okay in Hyrule lol (even with the monsters & stuff). Good company (I mean, Link & Ingo, c’mon), cool magic rods, & all these wonderful dishes to cook. & ride out these next few years lol 🩵

#ramble #geeking #lots of geeking out #lots of love #i love cooking #i love food in anime & video games #ahhhhhh!!!!#it would be very safe to assume DxP Ansy is also the main cook for the present trio BTW #because we absolutely would have this in common!!

107 notes · View notes

deadpoetperry · 5 months ago

Text

You might have to educate me about the world of tea if it’s really that superior, haha. And sure, I could see you up on the stage with me. I wonder if we could do some improv with the others.

Gee, now I can’t get the image of me dressed like JD out of my head. I might just have to get a trenchcoat. Anyway, I sure hope I’d do him justice if I played him onstage. I’m sure I’d practice a lot to make sure I could hit all the right notes!

Yeah, Romeo and Claudio are off the table for this one, but it’s fine. I don’t mind sharing the monologue once I pick one. Any rehearsal help and encouragement is greatly appreciated, as always.

Auditions are coming up soon for the spring season, so I’ve got to make sure I’m ready.

If anyone has a monologue suggestion (dramatic or comedic), let me know!

#neilsayscarpediem #ooc wait now I want to see neil play jd 😭#ooc I think I’d die from geeking out too much #dead poets society #stick dead poets society #dead poet society fandom #dead poets society fandom #dps roleplay #dps #dps fandom #dps tumblr #dps rp #the dead poets society #roleplay #roleplay blog #character blog

33 notes · View notes

sirianasims · 3 months ago

Text

Chapter 44.7

I’ve already finished my coffee and dumped the cup in one of the ubiquitous recycle bins when Marten finally texts me back.

“Almost done, 2 mins.”

I sigh and lean against the large stone blocks. I’ve learned that two minutes usually means at least ten, sometimes more if he gets held up by one of the undergrads he supervises.

The trees have all exploded in vibrant reds and oranges, but there are surprisingly few leaves on the ground. Foxbury is all smooth cement and glass, almost too clean to feel real.

It wouldn’t surprise me if the university has a horde of employees whose only job is to pick up every single leaf as it falls.

I’m holding my phone like a shield as a couple of people glance at me, but not like they recognise me. More like they can tell that I don’t belong here, not with the way I’m hovering awkwardly outside the commons like a lost puppy.

The first time I got here after we started dating, I expected Marten to be waiting for me – actually waiting, on the steps of a building somewhere, or maybe even at the train station, happy to see me. Instead, I received a text with detailed instructions on how to get to his frat, as if I hadn’t just been there, in his bed, a week before.

Marten shows up eleven minutes later.

He kisses me on the cheek and it’s brief, distracted, like he’s already late for something else.

“You look nice,” he says.

That’s all. No ‘I missed you’, no ‘holy shit, you look incredible’. Just nice.

“Thanks. You look… official.”

He grins and straightens the jacket, Foxbury logo embroidered on his chest.

“I had a presentation this morning, some members of the board were there. Had to look the part.”

“I’m sure they were very impressed with you.”

He smirks. “Obviously. I just wish they wouldn’t schedule these meetings during the busiest part of the semester.”

He takes my arm and starts walking, back towards the fraternity. He’s still talking about the presentation, something about neural networks, and I rest my head on his shoulder and let his voice wash over me.

We’ve barely made it back to his room before his demeanor changes. As soon as the door closes behind us, cutting off the noise from his frat mates downstairs, the stupid jacket is gone and he’s pulling me onto his lap.

With Marten it often feels like I’m dating two completely different people. One is some sort of stoic intellectual, the other a very horny video game geek, and I never know which one will be in charge.

I prefer the geek, though. At least I know how to deal with that, and Marten’s intensity, the way I feel wanted whenever I’m in his bed, makes up for a lot of lukewarm texts.

We’ve barely caught our breaths before Marten picks his jeans up from the floor and wakes up his computer. The bed creaks slightly under me as I pull on my leggings, taste of him still in my mouth.

I observe him for a moment. He’s focused on his screens where the lines of code slowly scroll upward like they’re trying to escape the fingers flying across the keyboard.

The hair at the back of his neck is damp from sweat and the entire room smells like sex and body spray and warm, dusty electronics, but I shiver slightly, suddenly feeling cold and forgotten.

“So… is this what the weekend is going to look like, then?” I ask lightly. “Me watching you work?”

The typing doesn’t even slow down. “I told you I had a deadline.”

“Right. But I didn’t realise ‘deadline’ meant ‘silent retreat.’”

Marten sighs, wearily, like I’ve just asked him to solve world hunger. “I’m not ignoring you, Jules, I just need to finish this. It’s due Monday.”

“It’s Friday.”

“Exactly,” he says, still typing. “Which means Monday is very close.”

I bite the inside of my cheek. “I could’ve just stayed in the city. Or at least brought something to do if I’d known I’d be third-wheeling your homework.”

Marten finally pauses, hands hovering over the keyboard like he doesn’t know whether to keep going or give in. “You came during midterms. What did you expect?”

“I don’t know. I thought maybe you’d be excited to see me, spend time with me.”

He swivels in his chair to face me. “I am excited to see you. But I also have responsibilities. You know, like classes? Research? That little PhD thing I came here to do?”

“Wow, thank you for the explanation. I almost forgot I never went to university.”

“That’s not what – fuck, Jules, that’s not what I meant and you know it.” He rubs his eyes. “Can we not do this right now?”

“Right. I’m interrupting the genius at work.”

“Come on,” he mutters. “Don’t be like that.”

“Be like what?”

“Passive-aggressive. Like I’m supposed to drop everything just because you’re here.”

“I’m sorry having an off-campus girlfriend is so inconvenient for you. In the future I’ll make sure to schedule my affection seven to ten business days in advance.”

My words hang in the air. For a second, I think that maybe he’ll get up. Cross the room. Touch me, say something that sounds like he actually cares about me. But he just leans back in his chair, arms crossed.

“You know,” he says, an unpleasant edge to his voice, “not everyone has the luxury of taking selfies all day and calling it work.”

The room goes still, the only sound the faint humming of his computer fan.

“Excuse me?”

Marten’s expression changes – just slightly. Like he realises he stepped on something sharp but doesn’t know if it’ll bleed yet.

“I didn’t mean that.”

“Sure you didn’t.”

“Jules…”

“No, it’s fine. I get it. I’m just a stupid girl who posts stupid shit online. It must be so difficult for you to stoop to my level.”

“You know that’s not how I see you.”

“Do I, though?” There’s no real bite to my voice any more, just sadness. He exhales through his nose, voice softer now.

“Okay. Look. You’re right. This isn’t what you signed up for, I’m just extremely busy right now. Let’s go somewhere for fall break, just the two of us. I’ll take the whole weekend off, and you can pick the place.”

I almost make a snide comment about how that conveniently frees him from planning anything, but I hesitate. It feels like a peace offering made out of glass shards and duct tape, but it’s a peace offering nonetheless and I don’t actually want to continue the fight.

“Really?”

He nods. “Yes. Anywhere you want.”

“Okay. But where would…”

“Seriously, anywhere you want.” The chair squeaks as he turns to the monitors. The keyboard starts clacking and just like that, we’re back. Pretending I got what I wanted.

We don’t talk much after that. Marten is engrossed in his work and I start searching aimlessly on my phone, trying to come up with ideas of where to go, but I soon get distracted. I’m not sure how it happens, but I find myself scrolling through old texts. Paul’s name is at the top of my screen, like a bruise that won’t fade.

It doesn’t hurt as much as it used to, though, and I find myself smiling at the stupid inside jokes and pictures we’ve sent each other. Even though he would call me almost every night, he’d still text me through the day, just telling me random stuff that was on his mind. There’s even a short voice clip he sent me while he was in the recording booth.

Just then, my finger slips, accidentally hitting the play button, but thankfully the volume is turned all the way down. Heart hammering, I quickly put the phone down and lie back on the bed.

The clattering of the keyboard stops and Marten clears his throat. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Just thinking. About where to go, I mean.”

I stare at the ceiling. There are a couple of old glow-in-the-dark stars stuck up there, probably from whoever lived here before. I can’t imagine Marten doing something so frivolous. One of them is peeling off, the sickly-looking green plastic at an angle. I wonder how long it’s been there, almost invisible and ignored until the lights go out, how much longer it’ll keep clinging on before it falls.

I really thought I’d feel safe. More in control, at least.

I thought I’d picked someone who would want me more than I wanted them. Someone who wasn’t so much bigger than me.

So why does it feel like I’m shrinking?

navigation / previous / next

#duchellilegacy #duchellichapters #duchelligen5 #julia duchelli #marten rouse

78 notes · View notes

angelwings-crossbowstrings · 2 years ago

Text

Chapter 2

Series Masterlist

Chapter Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore

Moodboard by @dannyo000 💙

You were doing up the buttons on your flannel when you heard Daryl grumbling behind you.

“I hate rubbers.”

You chuckled, putting your hands on the nape of your neck and pushing outward to coax your hair out of the shirt. The man had done as you asked all those weeks ago, returning to the next meetup with condoms in hand. You had left it up to him to dispose of them afterward, earning an amusing curl of his lip.

“So,” you began, plopping down on the ground, “guess what.”

Daryl zipped up his own pack and shrugged it over his shoulders, raising a brow at you with his usual expression of indifference. “We gonna start cuddlin’ after too?”

“Shut up. It’s not just every day conversation, asshole. I’m late.”

“Ya got a curfew now?” He scoffed, snatching his crossbow up off the ground to slide the strap over his right shoulder.

“No, idiot. I mean, my period is late.”

“How ya even keep up with that now?” He was still standing, fingers of his left hand tapping nervously against his hip while he chewed on the skin of his right thumb. Uncomfortable again.

“I always kept a little date book in my bag before things went to shit. Just started marking off days when we came up here. Hoping this would all end and life could go back to—well, being life.” You picked up a twig and started breaking small sections off, not really wanting to look at him. “I’m 6 days late, which is pretty odd for me.”

“I don’t need the details. D’ya need a test or somethin’?”

“I will if it doesn’t come soon, yeah.” You tossed the stick down and got to your feet, dusting off your hands on your thighs. “Probably should do it next week if it’s still not happening.”

The man was a ball of anxiety, fidgeting and shifting his weight from foot to foot. You watched him warily, waiting for him to bolt and that would be that. If you were pregnant, you’d be in it alone.

“I’ll make a run an’ see if I can find one.” He finally said after a few minutes of unnerving silence, shouldering his string of squirrels. You blinked at him, eyes as big as saucers. “What? Said we’d deal with it an’ I meant it.”

“I’ll go with you then.”

“Nah, I got it. Just bring it next week.” He sniffed, looking down at his boots as he kicked at the ground. “Ain’t no reason for ya to go out in that mess.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re being protective.”

He scoffed, scrunching his nose in a way you could almost say was adorable. “Just don’t need ya trippin’ me up.”

Pursing your lips, you crossed your arms over your chest, deciding whether or not to argue with him. It was something that involved the both of you. You’d feel horrible if something happened to him while he was trying to take care of it alone. And you’d never know. He’d just never show up again, leaving you to wonder if he had simply bailed or—

“I’m going too.”

“No, ya ain’t.” He snapped while you picked up your rifle and the three rabbits you’d bagged. You started walking, leaving him trailing behind you with his stomping feet and flared nostrils. “Ya ain’t goin’!”

“You gonna stop me?” You asked, not missing a step. You heard him pause before his boots moved faster to catch back up with you. “I’m a big girl, Dixon. I can handle myself.”

“Fine. Whatever.”

You only encountered two geeks at the base of the mountain. Daryl took out one with a bolt between the eyes while you handled the other with your hunting knife. His scowl was thoroughly in place by the time you were cleaning the dark blood from the blade with the bottom of your shirt. He didn’t say a word but he didn’t have to. You knew it was because you had to get close to the corpse to kill it. You couldn’t risk firing your gun when so many others could close by.

The two of you were crouched in the bushes, the pharmacy across the street in the little town in clear view. Three geeks shuffled aimlessly in different directions, making it difficult to find a way straight through.

“Maybe one of us could distract them?” You suggested. “I could go out over there, make some noise and draw them off while you go inside.” You looked over to find him staring at you like you’d sprouted a second head. “What?”

“You’re the one that knows whatcha need in there. I’ll handle the geeks.”

You really couldn’t argue with that. There were so many different tests for pregnancy, ovulation, and other things, Daryl would probably bring out the entire shelf and still not have what you needed. With a nod, you watched him make his way down the ditch, staying low. His eyes met yours briefly and, with a jerky nod, he left the cover of the foliage and whistled, waving his arms.

You waited for an opening, nearly leaping out before two more corpses stumbled from the alley next to the pharmacy. “Fuck.” Daryl was going to be sorely outnumbered. Something in your gut twisted, the strong urge to stay and help the redneck, ensure he was safe, before you entered the pharmacy. He’d have your head if you dared. With another curse, you left your hiding place and dashed across the street, your steps that of a hunter—swift and silent.

The pharmacy was blessedly clear, a few geeks sprawled out between aisles, clean holes in their skulls. Daryl had been there before. “So, this is where you got the condoms. You reckless son of a bitch.” You smirked, the knowledge that fucking you was enough fun to have him scurrying down the mountain for the means to continue.

You grabbed two of each kind of test, deeming labels and specifications unnecessary when Daryl was outside fighting the undead to keep them off your back. The boxes were quickly shoved into your bag, and you were creeping back toward the door. Just as your hand touched the glass, a geek stumbled by. You quickly ducked and moved to the side, peeking around the magazine stand to ensure it had passed before you pushed the door open.

There were at least 7 of them on the far end of the street, walking toward nothing you could see. Where was Daryl? You barely lifted a foot to step off the curb when an arm snaked around your waist and a hand clamped down over your mouth.

“S’me. S’just me.” Daryl whispered against your ear. Wrapping your fingers around his wrist, you forced his hand away from your face and spun around to give him a shove.

“You scared the shit out of me!” You whisper-yelled.

“Got whatcha need?” He was already ushering you toward the trees across the street. You gave a sharp nod and ducked into the bushes, finally releasing a breath when you could look back and no longer see any trace of the town.

“Well, that was fun.”

Daryl snorted beside you, adjusting the strap of his crossbow on his shoulder. Once your heart rate slowed, you were able to settle back into your appreciation for the forest. So far, the turn had been unable to strip that away from you. The wildlife continued to flourish, seeing no difference between the dead and the living. Plants would grow. Flowers would bloom. Seasons would change.

In some ways, life would go on.

“Y/N.”

“Yeah?” You turned to find Daryl facing away from you. With a quick look around, you realized how long the two of you had really been walking. It was time to part ways. “Oh. Right. Heading back now?”

“Nah. Gonna see if I can bag a deer. So, ‘nother day or two.” He was gnawing at his thumb again.

“Right. Well. Three days, midday?” He nodded his agreement, those blue eyes of his flitting to your pack and back to you. You smiled through a strange feeling, pushing it down as he started to walk away. “See you then.”

“See ya.”

“Hey, daddy.” You smiled, finding your father sitting by the small fire when you parted the last bit of foliage to enter the camp.

“Peanut, you’re back late. I was gettin’ worried!” He shifted in his wheelchair to sit straighter, smile wide and arms open. You leaned in for his offered hug, holding up the rabbits when you separated.

“Got some meat for tomorrow.” You smiled for only a moment before looking around for the rest of your family. “Did they seriously leave you out here alone?”

“I’m fine, darlin’. Told ‘em to go on to bed and that I’d rather wait up for you.”

You gave him a pointed look, laying the rabbits aside to prep later. “Well, I’m here now. You should get some sleep.”

“It’s early yet. Tell me how it was out there.”

You sat down in one of the fold-out chairs, toeing at the rocks surrounding the small fire. “It’s quiet. It’s always quiet.”

“You see any of ‘em?” He asked, a hint of concern in his tone. You shook your head. “I worry about you going out all alone.”

“I can handle myself, daddy.”

“I know you can, peanut. I just—wish you didn’t have to. It’s a parent’s job to worry about their kids, you know.” He smiled and you couldn’t help but smile back.

“You’re gonna give yourself gray hair with all the worrying. Oh shit, I think I see some from all the way over here!” You laughed with him for a while longer before the fire burned out and the camp was dark.

You bolted upright in your sleeping bag, still groggy and not really remembering why it was you were awake in the first place. Rubbing your eyes, you sat there for a moment before deeming it time to get the day started. The sun was barely up but your uncles were already stirring if the sounds outside the tent were anything to go by. Your aunt had taken watch several hours earlier so she’d probably be sleeping now.

Scratching at your scalp with a yawn, you glanced over at your open pack, the top corner of a box peeking out from beneath your jacket. You sighed, knowing you would need to take the test. You still hadn’t bled and you’d be meeting Daryl the next day. You groaned and grabbed your clothes, slipping on everything haphazardly while your uncles banged and clanged on everything they possibly could outside. Shrugging on your jacket, you unzipped the tent.

“Jesus, some of us are still half asleep! Uncle James, could you put on some coffee for daddy before—”

Just as you began to crawl from your tent, a geek came barging in, teeth clicking and rotting fingers grabbing. You screamed and scrambled backwards, kicking at the corpse while your hand searched blindly for your knife. Another clumsily shoved its way inside, pinning one of your legs and leaving you just far enough from your weapon that your fingertips brushed the handle.

Somewhere outside, your father was screaming.

579 notes · View notes