allacrossaarthworx

[starshipsorceress]

I’ve been slowly playing through BG3 lately in my free time (good soup) and everyone I’ve talked to about it is convinced I’ll romance Astarion or Karlach. I’m not saying that’s not a possibility, however, Gale is giving me major Alistair from Dragon Age vibes so far and I’m not mad about it

[pinkanonwrites]

Imagine if Malleus was turned into a gliding lizard, he'd be so tiny!!

I did end up going with a lizard for Malleus's transformation rather than a dragon, I hope you all enjoy it! I think it suits him well.

GN! Reader, They/Them pronouns, Comfort

+2,100 words

“ I think they just have trouble believing that you can see things from their perspective, that’s all.”

Malleus couldn’t help but cock his head at your statement. “Their perspective?”

“Yeah. They all see you as this all-powerful super mage, you know?” You shrugged in response. “When you think someone is that far above you, it’s hard to picture them actually experiencing the world the way you do. That you actually see things…” You made a vague flattening motion with your hands. “At their level.”

“At their level…” He hummed, hand resting on his chin and thoughts appearing to be a thousand miles away. “Your insight has been greatly helpful tonight, Child of Man. I hope I have not troubled you with these questions.”

“Not at all! If you ever need a hand, just let me know. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

Malleus chuckled. “That we certainly are.”

When Malleus had asked you about his inability to connect with most of your fellow classmates on his regular night visit to Ramshackle, you weren’t sure if there was any advice you could give that would actually help him out. Regardless of your direction of his appearance and mannerisms, people would think what they wished about the future King of Fae, and the last thing you wanted was for Malleus to try changing anything about himself. But maybe if you could get him to understand that it isn’t necessarily his fault, it would help ease a bit of the burden.

You can’t say you expected it to end like this though, with Lilia depositing a small, greyish-brown lizard into your hand after instructing you to open your palm to him. First thing in the morning and everything.

“You take good care of him now!” He chirped, and if you hadn’t reached out with your free hand to death-grip his blazer sleeve you’re certain he would have pivoted on his heel and left it at that. But ohhhhh, not today. You weren’t letting another bonkers boy slip right out from your grasp without explaining just what the hell he was going on about.

“What the hell are you going on about?”

“Oh? This was your idea, wasn’t it? For Malleus to get to see things…” He perfectly copied the hand motion you’d made to Malleus the night prior. “On your level.”

“That doesn’t explain the lizard! And were you spying on us?”

“Honey, I’m always keeping one eye on what our dear little prince is up to. That’s my job!” He gave you a playful boop on the nose with the tip of one manicured finger. “And the ‘lizard’ is gonna be your scout for the day! After a day in the life of our beloved Prefect I’m sure he’ll have all sorts of fun commoner stories to tell Malleus about when I come to pick him up.”

“So I’m just… carrying around a lizard all day? For Malleus?”

“That’s the spirit! Why don’t you show our little scaly sweetie here all the cool stuff you get up to then? I’ll be back at sunset to collect him. Have fun you two!” He reached over to the lizard in your palm and gave it a mimicking boop. “And don’t cause any trouble! Any more than usual, at least.”

And with a whirl of sparkles and a flash of a glinting fang, Lilia was gone. You looked down at the lizard in your palm, staring up at you with little, googling eyes.

"I guess… you're coming with me today?"

In response (you think?) the lizard gave you a slow blink and a little flick of his tongue.

"Alright. Not like my day could get any weirder anyway. Should I put you in my pocket, maybe? Or you could-WOAH!"

Instead of letting you decide, the little lizard took a flying leap from your outstretched palm, landing square in the center of your chest and scrabbling wildly against the fabric as it struggled to find a grip. You quickly cupped a hand under the little creature and let it clamber upward until it had found a comfortable resting place on your right shoulder.

"Jeez! A little warning next time? What if I dropped you?" A little webbed foot papped against the lower side of your cheek and you sighed, reaching up to give your new tag-along a pat on the head with your index finger. "Alright, alright, I forgive you. Just be a little more careful, okay little buddy?"

Before you could even finish bonding with your new scaly friend, the door to Ramshackle house blew open behind you. Bursting from the doorway was a whirlwind of ashy gray fur, blue flames, and shrieked, panicked placations.

"I DIDN'T DO IT!" Grim yowled as he veered a hard left and disappeared behind the house. From within you could hear your spectral roommates shouting for your attention, twinkling bursts of magic going off in the distance. If you had to guess, Grim had probably set the living room curtains on fire… Again.

"WATER MAGIC, YOU GUYS! NOT WIND MAGIC!" You hollered as you rushed back into the house. Looks like you were going to be late for morning classes again.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Seven class periods, one free study, an incredibly hectic lunch time, and several after-school assignments from the Headmaster later, and you were barely hanging on by the skin of your teeth. Malleus sure picked a doozy of a day to send a little lizard to keep an eye on you, because it felt like just about everything that could have gone wrong did.

You spent all of your Flying class miserably landlocked, as usual, running drills and doing jumping jacks until Coach Vargas had deemed your amount of exercise “suitable.” 

Then during your History of Magics study period you were stuck looking up what ended up to be first-grade level history on the Shaftlands, missing your chance to get any of your actual essay done in-class.

In Potionology you added powdered mint leaves instead of dried, and the resulting mishap quite literally blew up in your face. Fortunately you had been fast enough to block your lizard friend from the blast with the palm of your hand, but you had to stand there soot-stained and miserable throughout the remainder of Professor Crewel’s lecture anyway.

You nearly got trampled by the lunch rush, and if it weren’t for Jack’s quick thinking you’d probably be a pavement pancake right now.

Then, as if you hadn’t had enough to do in your regular school day, Crowley had you visit every single Phys. Ed club and take their photos for the school newspaper. Does he even know how hard it is to wrangle a bunch of mean, sweaty teenagers into letting their pictures be taken? He must have, because that would explain why he made you do it.

Finally back to Ramshackle Dorm, the sun was already setting when you slumped up the steps and collapsed face first into your mattress. Homework could wait. Right now you just needed a chance to breathe.

Vaguely, you felt a small, scaly figure wriggle itself underneath your palm and lift it up. You shifted your head to the side just enough to see the lizard propping up your palm like a makeshift tent, tongue sticking out as he stared you down with big, glossy eyes. You bit back a chuckle.

“Hey, buddy. Good hustle today. Didn’t fall off my shoulder even once.”

It scampered forward, floppy-limbed and frantic, until he stopped right in front of your face. A little, suction-cupped hand papped on the side of your cheek, a tiny show of solidarity in the face of your unending workload. It almost brought you to tears.

“Thanks, bud.”

You rolled onto your side, cupping him carefully again under one palm to keep him steady.

“You wanna know the worst part of today? Worse than running laps or failing history or almost getting trampled?”

He cocked his tiny head in your direction.

“The worst part is now you’ve gotta go home, and you’re gonna tell Malleus all about what a colossal fuck-up I am.”

The little hand papped against your face again, a few times, each with increasing urgency.

“It’s true! What one thing did I get right today? I’ve been tripping over myself just to keep from self-destructing since I got here. Everything you have here, it’s so… So different! And everyone seems to have no problem with it except for me. I’m just… “

You sighed, tracing a finger up and down the lizard’s soft, scaly back.

“I’m just tired, bud. I wish it was as easy for me as it was for everyone else.”

You trailed off again, one final thought budging to be let free. 

“I wish Malleus was here.”

POOF!

You wheezed, vision suddenly obscured by a thick, purple-black smoke. Despite its sudden, engulfing power, it almost made you feel strangely at ease. It smelled like the forest right after a heavy rain, the slight charge of a thunderstorm that’s only just passed. And as the smoke coiled and curled off over the edges of your mattress to seep onto the floor, the vision of Malleus Draconia appeared before you. He was draped across the bed in a position similar to yours, mirroring your pose with a look of incredible melancholy on his face.

“Oh, my Child of Man…”

“Malle-!?”

Before you could even begin to question him Malleus was sweeping you into a hug, burying your face in the fabric of his uniform. One of his hands held your lower back, the other cradled the back of your head so gently, oh so gently. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been hugged like this.

“The world has been incredibly cruel to you today, hasn’t it?”

Fuck. Fuck. You’d gotten so good at holding it in, at taking a deep breath and saying everything was going to be okay. But in less than a dozen words Malleus had obliterated every wall you’d so carefully constructed since arriving in Twisted Wonderland to keep from having a complete emotional meltdown. Well, there was no use trying to hold it in anymore, not with the way you were bawling into Malleus’s tailcoat, heaving like you were sure you were never going to breathe again.

But Malleus didn’t shush you, didn’t say that everything was going to be okay. He just held you tight, let you pour your emotions out into his expensive shirt, rubbed your back as your sobs became whimpers and finally soft, steady breathing once more. When you could finally pull yourself together enough to throw a sentence together, that’s when you pulled your face out of Malleus’s chest.

“How did…” You rasped. “How’d you get here? Did little buddy tell you? Are you like, psychically linked or something?”

“Ah. No, not quite. My apologies for the deception.” Malleus Draconia, looking sheepish? You never thought you’d see it. “I wanted to see what your days were like in a manner as unobtrusive as possible, so Lilia supplied the idea of a minor appearance transmutation so I could accompany you.”

“Oh. So you… Were little buddy?”

“Yes.”

“Ah. That’s… That’s kinda embarrassing.”

“How so?” You honestly should have seen it sooner, with the way Malleus looked at you with those curious, glossy-green eyes.

“I carried you around all day! I like… pet you, and stuff. You watched me almost blow myself up.”

Were your eyes deceiving you again, or was Malleus actually… Pouting? “My apologies. I never intended to make you feel this uncomfortable.”

“No! No, uh. I mean… It’s fine, really. It was nice, actually, having someone besides Grim keep me company all day. I’m glad it was you.”

He smiled, soft and warm and incredibly fond. The hand still cradling your lower back was rubbing  in slow, soothing circles, nearly enough to make you doze off. “I am glad as well. I’ve always known you to be fascinating, but I never could have considered just how much weight is upon you to succeed.” He cupped your cheek, thumb running back and forth over your cheek bone. “You, my Child of Man, are unfathomably strong. Never once have I considered you to be, in your words, a “fuck-up”.”

Your breath hitched again, and you thumped a palm against Malleus’s chest. “You’re gonna make me start crying again.”

“Then I shall cease my praises. For this evening, at least.” 

Eyelids fluttering, you let yourself curl closer into him, just the slightest bit.

“Thank you, Mal. For… For just everything.”

You knew that you wouldn’t be able to lie like this forever. Tomorrow you’d have to get up and stop Grim from burning the house down once again. Tomorrow you’d have to run laps and avoid getting trampled in the cafeteria and have to justify all the homework you weren’t able to get done tonight. But that was all for tomorrow. Tonight was just you, and Malleus, and what you thought was the ghost of a kiss on the center of your forehead as you drifted from the land of the waking into a, for once, peaceful slumber.

“Sleep well, my Child of Man... My love.”

[pocket-lad]

CH 1- A Few Important Details

She faced down Human Beans. She faced down dinosaurs. What crazy thing could the world possibly throw at Adelaide next? Try another borrower and an adventure far beyond the walls.

A sequel to Only a Couple Days & Growing Pains. This work is going to be quite a bit different than previous stories, mostly because it's not directly based on a movie. I hope you enjoy!!

“Oh my God,” Adelaide breathed. She was really staring at a real-life borrower. She hadn’t seen anyone her size in over a decade!

Years seemed to pass in the silence between them, but the new person broke it first. “Come on!” she whispered urgently. “Are you crazy? There’s three whole Beans in that room!”

Adelaide sputtered. Where could she even start?

“What were you doing in there?”

“I, uh…I thought I saw…a mouse,” Adelaide half-lied.

The woman was pretty. She had wildly curly black hair and dark skin. Her big eyes were the color of chocolate, and she stood only slightly taller than Adelaide. “Well, they won’t be asleep forever,” she said. “What’s your name?”

“Adelaide.”

“Adelaide, I’m Ollie.”

“Do you live here?” Duh. Of course she lives here.

“Yeah, and I’ve never seen you around before. Where’d you even come from?” Ollie’s tone of voice wasn’t exactly suspicious. Hesitant, maybe.

“I just got here today.” It wasn’t technically a lie.

“I assume you plan on staying, then?”

“I’m not sure,” Adelaide admitted. It didn’t escape her mind that Ian and Sarah were getting serious. She always assumed it would either end badly or Sarah would move to Texas. She never considered that Ian would want to move here, but now that she was forced to think about it, she wasn’t so sure.

“Well, we have a place for you if you do.”

“Oh, thanks!” God, Adelaide forgot what it was like to be a borrower around other borrowers. They always helped those in need and always welcomed others with open doors, no questions asked. They had to stick together in such a large world.

“We should hurry while they’re still asleep. I’ll show you where the best food is, but really, you can find stuff pretty much anywhere. This Bean is super messy.” 

Adelaide laughed, remembering the way she pointed out the cluttered apartment straight to Sarah’s face. “Let’s go.” Ollie said, and she roughly guided Adelaide toward her thread that hung from the kitchen counter.

Adelaide blinked as all of the information sunk in. Ollie was a borrower. She lived in Sarah’s house. She was in the middle of borrowing. She didn’t know that the humans were friendly and she didn’t know that Adelaide regularly interacted with them. Adelaide decided she wanted to keep it that way for the time being, because honestly, she missed this. She missed the camaraderie, she even missed the thrill a little bit. Maybe it was selfish, but she played along anyway.

“You go up first,” Ollie said.

“I’m probably gonna be pretty slow,” Adelaide admitted, holding up her mess of a hand.

“Holy shit, what happened?!”

“I fell on it when Ia- when a Bean…” She closed her mouth. Less is more .

“Oh my God, that must have been terrible. I’m so sorry…” Ollie looked pitifully at Adelaide’s hand. Morbid curiosity nearly made her ask for details, but she respected her privacy, and now was not the time. “You should still go first. I don’t want to leave you stranded on the floor. Better to stick together.”

Guilt crept up on Adelaide. She wasn’t exactly lying, but whatever she was doing, it didn’t feel good. She felt like she was betraying Ollie’s trust. Ollie didn’t know her, and yet she was risking her life for her.

“Okay,” she said. She prepared herself to start climbing, but the sound of something massive shifting around stopped her in her tracks. Somebody was awake. This was about to go downhill very fast.

Ollie heard it too. “Change of plans,” she said, immediately dislodging her hook and coiling it around her arm.

Footsteps rumbled in the distance, but they were rapidly approaching. It may have been a vast distance for the borrowers to traverse, but they both knew it would take a Bean mere seconds to cross from the couch to the kitchen. They had no time. Adelaide would be surprised if they made it out of this one without being noticed.

Ollie took off, but looked back to see Adelaide rooted in place. She assumed the new borrower was in shock, or was simply too scared to move. She couldn’t imagine what happened to make a Bean crush her hand, but it couldn’t have been anything good. Regardless, they had to keep moving. Ollie sprinted back to grab Adelaide’s good hand and dragged her along.

***

Ian’s eyes cracked open at the sound of voices…Voices? Plural?

Shaking the grogginess off, he stretched and slowly inched toward the kitchen. He would have heard somebody come in, right? And the voice sounded too quiet to be human, which meant…

***

They weren’t going to make it. Ollie stopped and pulled out her knife. “Go without me. Just around the corner, there’s a hole that leads into the wall. Wait for me there, and if I don’t make it back…well, I’ll make it back.” She gave Adelaide a cocky smile, but her nervous eyes betrayed her.

Adelaide still didn’t move. She couldn’t leave Ollie to deal with this on her own, especially when it was almost definitely Ian headed their way.

“Go, stupid!” Ollie yelled, shoving Adelaide as hard as she could.

Adelaide, unprepared, fell to the ground.

***

Ian had just looked over the edge of the table in time to see two people, both around three inches tall, standing down on the floor. One was Adelaide. The other had just shoved Adelaide - hard - and brandished a knife.

Ian quickly bent down and snatched this new borrower up. With his other hand, he gently scooped Adelaide off the floor.

***

“Nonononononono,” Adelaide mumbled. This was going so wrong so fast. What sealed the deal was Ian’s inexplicable and frankly idiotic decision to reach for them both.

She braced herself like she usually did, but had no time to warn Ollie. She couldn’t even see what he was doing to Ollie from her vantage point, but she felt her own body slide into his warm palm and could only hope he was being as gentle with her.

Adelaide fought against Ian on principle. Obviously it was useless. She flew through the air and could only focus on keeping her hand from getting hurt worse.

When the movement ended, she found herself on the kitchen table. Looking around, no sign of Ollie. Then she looked up. Her jaw dropped.

Ollie was stuck in Ian’s fist, fighting for her life. Ian had taken her knife and set it down on the table beside Adelaide, and he knew to keep the new borrower angled away so she couldn’t bite him.

Adelaide didn’t think about how, if for some reason, Ian wanted to hurt another borrower, he knew exactly how to do so because of his experience with her. She thought back to all the times she explicitly told him what not to do, told him all the things that made her uncomfortable, not thinking for even a second that Ian would use this information to take advantage of a smaller being. This was her fault.

“Put her down!” Adelaide yelled, running up to Ian’s other hand that rested on the table. She kicked at it repeatedly to knock some sense into him.

“What’s going on?” he asked defensively. 

“Ian, she’s scared! Put her down! Now!”

“She pushed you!”

“She was saving me from you!”

Ian realized his mistake. In his attempt to protect his friend, he may have just scarred another borrower for life. Slowly, he set the girl down.

As soon as Ian’s hand opened, Ollie leapt away, scooping up her knife and pointing it up at him. “Adelaide, get behind me.” It sounded like she heard none of their conversation, too occupied with escaping.

Adelaide blinked but did as she was told. Ian regarded them both with utter confusion plastered across his giant face. He wasn’t often confused, and he certainly didn’t like it.

“Let us go,” Ollie demanded. The confidence in her voice was impressive. Only Adelaide could hear the slight falter in it.

“Um…okay,” Ian said, but he didn’t move. Adelaide knew this meant he was going to stay hands off and just observe, let them do whatever they wanted, but since he still sat there, it looked like he was still holding them captive. For all Ollie knew, he would just grab them when they attempted to escape.

“Yeah, let us go!” Adelaide echoed in support. She guessed she was keeping up the charade, then. She just hoped Ian would play along.

He didn’t say anything, but his brow furrowed. Adelaide sent him a look that said to just go with it and that she’d explain later. She knew her face was small and distant to him and therefore hard to read, but she was pretty sure he got the point.

Ollie didn’t take her eyes off Ian, but she whispered to Adelaide. “He doesn’t live here. I think he’s partnered with the Bean who does live here, which means we’ve probably got more incoming. Watch your back.”

Adelaide checked behind her, but as far as she could tell, Sarah and Kelly were still fast asleep.

It also turned out that Ian did not get her point. In fact, he interpreted it all wrong.

“Ahh, I’m uh…I’m going to get you!” he said half-heartedly, wiggling his fingers and smirking at how ridiculous his attempt at being the evil Bean sounded.

Ollie was more than confused. Was this some kind of game? His words indicated mal intent, but he didn’t sound very sincere.

Adelaide closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She looked Ian in the eye and shook her head, hoping that maybe he would get it this time.

Ian corrected himself. “Oh, um…what’s your name?” he asked the new borrower, but his tone was asking Adelaide if that was the right thing to say.

Ollie flinched when he looked at her. “I’m warning you,” she said, ignoring his question and raising her knife a little higher.

“That’s a - that’s a weird name…Warning me? For what?” This new borrower was obviously sacred, but she obviously wasn't in any danger, either. It was hard not to tease her, and it was even harder to keep a straight face.

“I’ll stab you.” Ollie said seriously. Her hand started to shake. Adelaide felt horrible.

“I see why you guys get along,” Ian chuckled. They were both so unnecessarily violent.

“No!” Adelaide blurted.

Ollie whipped her head back to Adelaide, a sudden spark of betrayal piling on top of her confusion, but she didn’t want to keep her attention off the Bean too long.

“What’d you want me to do?” Ian asked Adelaide, too impatient to play this game. He wanted to know what was going on. He wanted to know who this new person was. He hated being in the dark.

Ollie continued to look back and forth between them. She was suddenly very suspicious of Adelaide, so she repeatedly moved her knife from Ian to Adelaide and back. She wasn’t taking any chances.

“Do not point that at her,” Ian warned. He sat up a bit straighter, ready to protect his friend.

Ollie's knife dipped.

“Ian, don’t,” Adelaide said harshly. He was not going to threaten Ollie. She was just defending herself.

“I’m serious,” he said.

“So am I!”

“What’s going on?” Ollie yelled. The quick rise and fall of her chest indicated that a panic attack was fast approaching.

“Okay,” Adelaide held out her hands placatingly and slowly approached the trembling borrower. “Ollie, you’re safe. This is Ian. He’s my friend.”

“Bullshit,” Ollie spat.

“He is. I know you don’t believe me. I wouldn’t believe myself, either, if I hadn’t spent the past couple years with him.”

As Adelaide approached, Ollie backed up. Her eyes darted around, trying to find some sense of reality to latch onto. A borrower and a Bean? Friends? She backed toward the edge of the table, and Ian instinctively held his hand out behind her, just in case she fell.

Ollie sensed the massive presence and turned around. She screamed at the sight of a towering, enormous hand looming above and stumbled backwards towards Adelaide. That hand was going to grab her. It was going to take her away. Or it would crush her. She’d never see her family again.

Adelaide grabbed the woman’s shoulders, which made her jump. Ollie turned around again , feeling backed into a corner. There was nowhere to go.

“What? You’re - you’re his pet or something? You lure people out of the walls so Beans can snatch them up? Is that it?”

“God, no!” Adelaide said, sick even at the idea of such a thing. She realized that she wasn’t going to get anywhere with Ian hovering. “Ian, can you go literally anywhere else right now?”

Ian looked like he wanted to protest, but just shrugged and pushed his chair out from the table.

Ollie jumped and gripped her knife tighter at the sound of the chair scraping against the floor.

Ian sauntered over to the corner of the kitchen and leaned back against the counter with his arms crossed, watching the interaction from afar. Adelaide rolled her eyes. This wasn’t what she wanted, but it was as good as she was going to get.

Ollie watched with wide eyes. Adelaide just told the Bean what to do! And he listened!

Adelaide set her knife down on the table and kicked it away, showing she meant no harm. She hoped that wouldn’t backfire.

“Ollie, I never lied to you. I just…I left out some pretty important details,” she laughed. Ollie did not reciprocate. “I’m not his pet. We’re friends. His name is Ian-” (Ian waved) “-and he would never hurt you-”

“Then let me go,” Ollie interrupted. It seemed as though none of Adelaide’s words made it through to her. Hell, she could barely look at her, too distracted by the looming Bean.

“Okay,” Adelaide sighed. She wasn’t going to stop the borrower from leaving, but she was severely disappointed.

Ollie secured her hook on the table and turned to climb down, eyes never leaving Ian. If Adelaide was telling the truth, then the Bean wouldn’t stop her. Hopefully.

Adelaide dug her hook out as well. “Let me walk you to-”

“No,” Ollie said forcefully. She couldn’t deal with this right now. She needed time to think. And she certainly wasn’t going to let this borrower know where her home was, where her family was. Not when said borrower was allied with a Bean.

Adelaide froze in her tracks as her heart sank. She blew it. The first time she’d seen a borrower in over a decade and she blew it. All she could do was stand there and watch Ollie’s progress. She didn’t move even after the woman disappeared into the walls, using the entrance Adelaide happened upon earlier.

Small quakes on the surface of the table and the sound of shifting fabric signaled Ian’s approach. Only when he laid a finger on her shoulder did she move, shrugging him off and turning toward him. “Back off!” she shouted.

Ian was taken aback by the outburst. “Della-”

Adelaide ignored him, marching toward the edge of the table. She collected her knife, readied her hook, and started to climb down.

“Hey, maybe you shouldn’t-” Ian started, but was cut off by a very angry look from Adelaide, daring him to finish that sentence. Maybe you shouldn’t climb with your broken hand. He sighed. Both of them knew this was a bad idea, she knew this was a bad idea, which was what irritated him so much. She was going to hurt herself because she didn’t want him telling her what to do.

Adelaide tried to take deep breaths as she lowered herself down. She squeezed the thread with her legs and used her right hand to stabilize herself. Then, very slowly, eased the pressure of her legs, letting herself slide in a semi-controlled manner to the ground.

Silently, she coiled up her hook and shoved it back in her bag. She stomped over to the hole she watched Ollie disappear into. Adelaide’s intentions weren’t super clear even to herself, but she justified it as wanting cover. Or wanting a sense of familiarity. Something like that. Definitely not following Ollie.

“Della,” Ian called after her again. “Della!”

“What?!” Adelaide exploded, whipping around. She wavered a little when she had to look up at a skyscraper of a person, but she held her ground. Why were Bean’s heads always just a little higher than she thought? It was as if they grew a foot on purpose each time, just to intimidate her.

“Calm down, let’s talk about this… Uh, forgive me for being curious but there’s a whole - a whole new person on the floor sticking a, um, a knife at you. Perhaps maybe-”

Adelaide cut him off. “I want to be alone.”

Ian paused. “What?”

Oh. That wasn’t a clarifying ‘what’. He legitimately did not hear her, which felt like a real kick in the head. As if she didn’t already feel small, standing on the ground no taller than his ankles. “I said I want to be alone.”

Ian bit his tongue. “Okay.”

Adelaide took off toward the walls, running as fast as she could. Ian didn’t move the whole time, but she could feel his eyes tracking her. As soon as she made it inside, she collapsed into a seated position, catching her breath. God, Ian could be so thick sometimes!

Adelaide sat there for an indeterminate amount of time. She was right - she really did need the comfort of the walls. It had only been a couple days, but it felt like years had passed since she was in the walls back home. While these ones were not the same, they would suffice. As long as she had cover over her head and darkness to conceal herself, she would be fine. And there was the added bonus of cleanliness, thanks to the borrower(s?) who already lived there.

Adelaide said she wanted to wander the walls. Well, there was no time like the present. She hoisted herself up, dusted herself off, and began her journey into the unknown.

.

Next

[bright-and-burning]

A driver placing 12th over 14th in a single race can mean millions of dollars difference to smaller teams like Williams. I think its worth it

to be clear here i am relatively new to f1 and also still in the emotional react zone lol. ALSO ALL OF THIS IS SAID WITH LOVE! i do really like both of them so much

first off why didn’t they have a spare chassis. is that normal. that feels… dumb. i’ve never worked in logistics but that feels Really Really dumb.

SECOND OFF I JUST REMEMBERED TEAM TORQUE. OH THE VIBES ARE GONNA BE HORRENDOUS

anyways. this is gonna sound stupid of me but i kind of forgot how it works in terms of tie breakers so i wasn’t… super thinking abt non-points positions (AGAIN! thinking emotionally!!)

this is long and rambling. please don’t destroy me for not knowing what i’m talking about bc i really really don’t. also i don’t necessarily have a conclusion of “is it worth it or not” i am just . side eyeing. very unsure about whether it will be or not in the end. it kinda boils down to “i think this is complicated math bc trying to quantify some of the effects of this is literally impossible and im worried about those unquantifiable effects”

my thinking here is kind of. is 12th instead of 14th worth it if it means you’ve wildly undermined a driver’s … idk trust? confidence in the team? and i don’t mean this in a vague “think abt the emotional impact!” way i mean this as. how is this going to affect how the rest of the season goes?

i mean, even just this race lol. birthday curse aside, alex has just got a whole lot more pressure on him, on a course he’s got a not-fantastic history with, as far as i can tell. it’s his job to handle pressure, obviously, but it’s certainly an… interesting position to put someone in

in terms of the rest of the season… for me mentality was/is such a massive part of success in sports. i deeply dislike the “didn’t want it enough” narratives in other sports (whole other story) but. you do have to believe in yourself. and if thats true for a sport where you’re running around in circles, or where you’re kicking a ball around, i imagine it’s doubly so for driving around tight corners at nearly 300kph or whatever. it’s not williams’/james vowles’ job, i guess, to foster an environment where that self-belief is maintained or built, but in that case, what was the point of all that talk?

you spend all this time being like we have confidence in you and your improvement, and then bam. i would be desolate lol. like circling back to 12th vs 14th… idk a part of me is like. if we could quantify the impacts of this on logan over the season, what if that bit of confidence is the difference between 15th and 17th. but like, in every race. obviously we don’t know how this season would go without this happening so this is like wild speculation. and i am PRAYING for spite to kick in and become a massive motivator here. like i get that williams isn’t responsible for logan’s headspace but. they do want to maximize their drivers’ performance, right? i personally am unsure that this is the way to do that

tldr a) why no spare chassis. that fuckin spreadsheet bruh. b) why talk all that talk to do this. like i can follow the logic of the decision! i really and truly can (especially remembering how non-points positions matter. whoops) but i don’t respect the going from oh we have full confidence to a blatant demonstration that they… don’t. c) i am sad

[roosterbox]

October Almost-Drabbles 10/13: Maze

Pairing: Steddie, implied Eddie x Chrissy (for like a SINGLE line)

Word Count: 1,027. God fucking dang it.

Additional tags: modern AU, single dads, implied meet-cute, Max is a lil shit and also Eddie’s daughter, Dustin is a sweetheart and also Steve’s son, Max’s POV

Side note: I TRIED TO KEEP IT SHORT. I SWEAR I TRIED. But as you can see, I failed, so this one goes under a cut, lol. The maze aspect was just a jumping off point, so I’m sorry it doesn’t play more of a part. Most of these prompts are of a similar nature for me - inspiration, though I may go off the rails a bit in the actual execution.

Anyway, enjoy!

———

“Our dads are gross.”

Max looked back at the two men trailing behind her and Dustin. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she could see their expressions just fine, thank you very much. Her dad, always animated with his hands, was talking and gesturing wildly. She could see the flash of sunlight against his rings. Dustin’s dad seemed to be listening intently, smiling. And blushing. Every now and then he’d interject, probably asking a question about the story. They were both making absolutely ridiculous goo-goo eyes at each other. Ugh, disgusting. She made a gagging noise and looked away.

“Super gross,” Dustin agreed. The path split a few yards ahead, and the kids decided silently as a unit to continue together down the left side.

“Don’t get too far ahead, Dust.” The boy’s dad called out. They were following at a respectable distance; close enough to keep an eye out, but far enough to give the kids some measure of independence. Dustin slowed down a little, giving a thumbs up. His dad visibly relaxed. Max saw her dad give the other man a comforting arm squeeze. In a touch that, in her opinion, lingered a bit too long.

She scowled. “D’you think we could lose them? In the maze?”

“We shouldn't.” Dustin looked nervous. “My dad gets really worried about stuff like that. This one time, my friend Mike and I got separated from him at the mall, and he totally freaked out.” He shuddered. “Never seen my dad cry before that.”

Max shrugged. “My dad cries all the time. Shoulda seen him at the last Disney movie we watched. He cried more than me. I didn’t even cry when I got this!” She waved her arm, in a cast from wrist nearly to elbow. “But before that, before he found you, was it fun? Hanging out without him?”

“I guess,” the boy was looking at his shoes. “But I don’t think it was worth it.” He glanced back at his dad again. “He seems happy.”

The two men walked comfortably side by side. Their arms were brushing as they moved, and if Max knew anything about her dad, he was actively fighting the urge to take his new friend’s hand. Just then, to her horror, he did. The other guy looked surprised, but then… he grinned. And now it was her own dad’s turn to blush.

“Gross!” She called out.

Her dad waved her off. “Don’t mind her, Steve. Ten years old and already a little adult. I’m going gray before my time.”

Dustin’s dad laughed. “You look fine to me.”

At that, her dad raised an eyebrow. “Oh, ‘fine’ is it now?” He leaned a little closer. There was a very particular gleam in his eye. One Max recognized at a distance, though she might not have known exactly what it entailed. Whatever it was, it was probably more Disgusting Adult Stuff. If they actually kissed, she was going to puke.

Luckily, somebody must have been looking out for her, because as they rounded the next bend…”

“We’re out!” Dustin cheered, making a break for the entrance/exit of the maze. Max ran after him, missing her dad’s quietly disappointed “damnit.” The adults still walked out hand in hand though.

“Did you have a good time?” Dad asked her later, while they were getting settled in the car.

She shrugged. “It was okay, I guess.” He snorted.

“A ringing endorsement.”

Her eyebrow raised in a perfect imitation of him. “What about you? Have fun slobbering all over Dustin’s dad?”

He chose that moment to start the car. “What? Sorry, can’t hear you!” He yelled over the sputter and roar of the engine. One of these days the whole damn thing was gonna fall apart. That’s what Grandpa Wayne said whenever he took rides with them.

“Whatever,” she rolled her eyes. They pulled out of the maze parking lot, and began the long drive back to Hawkins. After a few minutes of silence, he spoke up.

“Say, Max… how would you feel about me inviting your new friend over for lunch sometime? Might be fun.”

“Yeah, or you could just ask his dad out on a date or whatever. Dunno why you’re using us kids as an excuse.” She saw him stiffen a bit out of the corner of her eye, but kept her gaze out the window, watching familiar passing scenery.

“What? Me and Steve? A date? Nah, come on.” He tried to play it off, but his face was too pink for her to really believe him.

“Did you at least get his number? Because I remember when you and Chrissy broke up-“

“Hey now-“

“-and that was a freaking nightmare. A solid month of nothing but gross pining.”

He gasped, indignant. “I don’t pine!”

She gave him a flat look.

“It wasn’t that bad!”

Her expression didn’t change. He sighed, resigned.

“Okay, fine, it was bad. But I can’t help it, Max - I’ve always been this way. Big feelings, you know?”

“Oh I know. ‘S why Papa tells me he’s glad I got my mom’s temperament. ‘More than two of you’d be sending me to an early grave, and not a moment too soon.’” That last bit was said in a gruff imitation of Wayne’s voice. Her impression improved every time she did it, and never failed to make her dad laugh.

“Point taken, you little menace. And to answer your question: yes. I did, in fact, get Steve’s number.”

“Gross. I bet you gave him a super cute, disgusting nickname in your contacts too.”

He coughed and focused back on the road ahead. Max smirked. Bullseye.

“Just promise me one thing? Don’t call him as soon as we get home? It was embarrassing enough to watch you guys flirt back there. At least wait until I’m asleep. Or at the skate park. Or anywhere that’s not at the trailer.”

“Deal. Easy. I’ll bet you like ten bucks I won’t even think of calling him until tomorrow!”

And Max immediately agreed, knowing that she’d be ten dollars richer by the end of the day.

He barely held out for an hour.

———

(The nickname was “Pretty Boy,” by the way. In a few months, it’ll get changed to “Sweetheart.” It was “Babylove” for like a day. But then Max borrowed his phone, saw it, and demanded he change it because GROSS, DAD.)

[starkjoy]

Watching Greg be so good at swooping in and looking ridiculous to make tom look good this ep, and how their double act is Tom then shitting on him to make himself look better, I had a cool thought, what if that’s what we are seeing all the time. We have only seen Tom and Greg in public situations, where they obviously plan out their moves beforehand and aren’t afraid to look stupid to get what they want. We don’t know what’s going on behind closed doors with them right now, and with Tom being so handsy, it could be more than anyone around them realises… If you watch their walk up to the plane, Greg launches into a ladykiller act, but when Tom cuts him off he actually had just said ‘get some Norwegian wood’ while looking at Tom, idk about you but that’s a dick joke imo lol. Tom wouldn’t want anyone to catch onto how close he and Greg are if it means a lot, and their play may be for Greg to talk about girls/dance with girls/bring girls back to keep people off the scent. I would love if the audience finds out the same time as the sibs, or has to guess from little moments that don’t add up you know? Maybe we don’t get to see the whole story because that’s private? Idk it would be kind of a cool way to do it and feel true to life where people don’t necessarily broadcast their relationship in public and you just kind of realise one day, oh they’re totally together, and by then their like basically married. As a viewer I feel like that would actually be a really comfy and less intrusive way to see queer rep, your just like oh I’m glad they have each other, phew haha.

hmm, in theory i'd be happy with that, but i'm skeptical the writers are playing 4D chess in that way. if the episode one bridget randomfuck plotline never happened, i'd be a bit more open to the thought. when greg was chatting with tom in "private" at the event, he was crude about his pursuit of her and tried to impress him with the rummaging tale...why would he do that to someone he's sleeping with or in a relationship with? and he only told logan after tom fucked with him about it. unless they coordinated a whole homoerotic private performance in the hopes someone would overhear their horny whispers, i doubt that plot was fabricated to hide their affair.

i mean, they could be sleeping together and not exclusive, and greg did that to make tom jealous, or they get off on telling each other about their other conquests. but that feels so wildly out of character for tom given he never wanted an open relationship with shiv.

sadly, i think "they were fucking all along" will only live in fanon. the ONLY thing i think could work is a) they had a threesome during their disgusting brothers era, it was weird and changed their dynamic and they're avoiding it by being super bro no homo, even if they do long for each other or b) they fucked 1:1 with the same result. i could see that being revealed in a fight between them, explaining some of the tension or lack thereof we've seen so far. but still think that's pretty far-fetched at this rate :/

edit: i DO want to add that i fully agree tomgreg have been in cahoots and we haven't been privy to that—but i don't see that extending beyond their business scheming. not clear whether we'll see their inner machinations either. maybe it's all been left on the cutting room floor.

[shslskaterboy]

protagonists for the character questionnaire!

Oh goodness I hope you’re ready for another essay

Makoto my dear boy

Favourite thing? He’s the most some guy ever. Just a little creature. He’s so relatable because who among us hasn’t been in a situation where we feel wildly outclassed and surrounded by people who are cooler and more talented than us? Despite everything he just keeps going, what a legend

Least favourite is people who are wrong about him. How does anyone play that game and say he’s a nothing character? I just don’t get it, stop disrespecting my son

Honestly he’s got way more excellent lines than people give him credit for, but my favourite has to be “I always choose meat over veggies because I’m still in my teens… my meat teens.” Like WHAT are you talking about king I love it

Brotp probably him and Aoi. It’s the positivity besties

Otp is Naegiri. There’s just so much mutual respect between them and the story does a great job of writing them together that I can’t help but love him

Notp is probably just him with anyone that’s not kirigiri, or togami really. Whilst I personally hc Byakuya as aroace I do get why people ship naegami and I do think it’s kinda hilarious

I hc that him and Komaru are besties. Absolutely attached at the hip. They hang out all the time and he loves doing stuff with her, and is so so excited to introduce her to his new friends

The song I associate with him most is Fireflies by Owl City

Favourite art of him is the one where he’s tripping and his shoe just flies the fuck off. What a silly little man I love him

Hajime my beloved (I’m gonna be normal I swear)

To put it as succinctly as possible, he is just my favourite type of guy. He’s such a bitch, he’s so snarky about everything, he’s simultaneously the smartest and dumbest person in any given room, and he actually cares very deeply for things but he won’t readily admit to it. He’s got one of the more interesting arcs to me and in general I find him very relatable. He’s the best, my favourite protagonist probably

Least favourite is maybe less about him and more about Izuru Kamukura, and that is how underused he was. Obviously this is an opinion many people know about me, but it bears repeating because the concept of Kamukura was SO COOL and they barely even touched it and I’m mad about it every single day

Another guy that has so many good lines, but I think my favourite is “I thought I’d finally become someone I could be proud of, not some fucking backup student.” It just hits me so hard every time

Brotp probably him and Fuyuhiko or him and Impostor. I just think those three are the ones in the group with the highest sense of responsibility and they are the tired parents of this silly goofy pack of weirdos

Otp. It’s Komahina. Everyone knows this about me and I will refrain from writing an entire essay about why but suffice it to say. They are prefect

Notp is really anyone who’s not Komaeda, but specifically Nanami and Tsumiki are big on the No list for me

I have so many headcanons that my adhd brain can’t even begin to process them in a cohesive way, so I’ll just say that emo-punk autistic Hinata is my absolute beloved. Also man’s definitely has an anxiety disorder. And nooooo I’m definitely not projecting why do you ask

Unpopular opinion (so far the only character I’ve had one for) is that he’s not bi, he’s just gay. And look I love headcanoning every character ever as bi (again tooooootally not projecting) but whenever I replay/rewatch the game I see him being so gay about the men and being so uninterested in the girls (excepted for the super-forced hinanami stuff that I ignore)

I have sooooo many songs so I had to think about this a lot but I think I’m gonna say the best Hinata song is Life Less Frightening by Rise Against

Every image is the best image of him but specifically this one is so good

He’s fucking tired of this shit and he wants to be done with this despair nonsense and I love him for it

Shuichi Saihara, whom I am also normal about

It’s so hard to pinpoint why I love Saihara so much, but I think part of it is the fact that underneath his anxious exterior, he is actually very snarky. I’m always a slut for the sarcastic characters and I like the he is that as well as being generally polite to his classmates. He cares deeply and has a tendency to overthink things (totally not relatable) and I just need to give this poor man a HUG

Least favourite thing is how he interacts with Ouma in the canon outside of ftes. A good example of this being when he finds Ouma bleeding from the head on the floor and doesn’t seem to show any actual concern for him, which seems very out of character to me. I just think there was a lot more they could’ve done to build a connection between protag and antag that would’ve served to make the story more interesting, much the way the relationship between Hinata and Komaeda does

Short and sweet, my favourite Saihara line is simply “I refuse.” I am a big supporter of the idea that Shuichi should’ve been allowed to go a little crazy in chapter 6, and his whole telling off hope and despair speech was very fun. He really went “fuck you and your stupid game” and I just love it

Brotp has gotta be Kaito and Maki. I love the training trio and I think they have a great dynamic

Otp is saiouma. And yes I know I just raised a complaint about their lacklustre interactions in the game, but hey, canon can’t hurt me if I don’t look. There is a lot of potential for excellent character dynamics and that’s what I’m gonna focus on

Notp is saimatsu. Sorry anyone who likes them but it’s so comphet to me. Again, that is a gay boy and a lesbian, not a romantic couple

I hc that he really likes singing. Not to a professional degree or anything, but he does it while he works and it serves as a calming vocal stim for him. His voice is definitely very soft and sweet, which doesn’t lend itself well to his preferred genre of music (my sweet sweet emo boy) but that doesn’t stop him from trying

Again, so many songs I could choose from, but I will go with Swing Life Away by Rise Against because he’s just my sweet guy, my love, my boy

And once more, every image of Shuichi is my favourite, but I very specifically love his Serious Face sprite

I guess the takeaway is I like it when the protags get serious and start to shut shit down

[ziracona]

FGO is falling behind in so many areas of the game it's not even funny. I think because the initial outfits were all free they were too hesitant to make any paid ones or didn't know how to differentiate them enough to explain a price tag that we're just stuck with having a handful once in a blue moon. And yeah I loved the Valentines gift, the bullet is so practical and sweet, just wish his story was longer. Interesting observation about the CE outfit, I didn't notice it looked similar.

Frfr. I’ve only heard about some of it, but so many arcs since LB1 have totally missed the tragedy and dynamics that made the premise good. :’-] [the foreign god reveal imo was just super weird and weirdly handled too, as far as like, cohesion and emotion/pacing]. Just as far as mechanics go yeah!! Like, I’m FTP (except on guaranteed NY summons once a year), but /I’d/ shell out 5, even 15 bucks for an outfit once in a while if it slapped enough. I very much know I’m not alone.

The new character adding makes sense and to a degree must happen, but I don’t think that necessitates any kind of a lack of returning to older ones. Some of the minor characters, despite having virtually no time in the story (Jekyl for instance) are wildly popular! It’s like Pokemon. Every single heroic spirit has at least one person who is obsessed with and adores them. I think seasonal events could stand to do something with this—like the board game one did a great job giving Emiya Alter more character development and love as a supporting cast member, than all of SERAPH did. They (or some of their writers) absolutely can, and it’s a huge hit with fans any time they do. I wish they put more into, even briefly, showcasing minor characters not in just a ‘and they’re here too’ way but a sincerely ‘we’re going to give them time to talk about their struggles or beliefs or relationships to others in a meaningful way, even if it’s for only five minutes’ way. They just need to let Higashide write more arcs… TuT

[eccentric-nucleus]

anyway so i posted another chapter of the TMNT fanfic i've been working on. fun fact by the time i get this full thing posted it will be by far the longest thing i've ever posted on ao3.

it's over here!

further thoughts under the cut.

this story is obviously kind of a deviation from my regular writing (by which i mean, extremely explicit monster pornography) but i've been wanting to write some stuff with actual plots and themes and the like recently, so i guess when nanowrimo rolled around i just dug in. i was thinking of what kind of junk i love to see in fics and just threw all of it together in one big self-indulgent heap and so now it's a wild genre mashup. gotta kill yr internal censor & no better way to do it than to write self-serious teenage mutant ninja turtles romance/drama fanfiction.

there's that kind of chestnut about romance stories where people complain about how 90% of the plot could be removed if the characters actually just talked to each other, right? whoops it's all miscommunications and people keeping secrets for no reason, and that's the dynamo that drives the plot b/c you need some kind of tension, but you don't want the characters to come off as seriously flawed. relatedly, there was that one tweet thread by abbadon recently where he kind of touches on that. gotta have the characters be, you know. nice, good people. or sometimes so evil and over the top that it becomes cartoonish. but actually i think something i really enjoy in romance fanfic is when one or both characters are just genuinely obnoxious people. i mean i don't think i'm hitting that super heavily as a story theme so far, but. more jerks, imo

porn on ao3 vs. plotted fics on ao3 tend to have wildly different hits/comments/kudos ratios, & this is actually my first time being on the other side of it. like porn tends to get lotttts of hits, from people searching by tags or w/e, but not a lot of in-depth comments. meanwhile you will see fics that are like, 200,000 words, 70 chapters, 300 comments, 1200 hits. and it's like oh okay, this has a niche audience. this is somebody actually engaging with the local fandom. i tend to avoid fandoms that are actually, you know, 'active', so i don't really get a lot of that for anything i post. i guess my naruto fanfic kind of got that? people still care about naruto, i guess.

apparently there's kind of an active TMNT fandom on tumblr and like i guess i could link my tumblr in the story notes but i basically never do that kind of fandom enagement. i don't really, you know. like interacting with people. but who else can i tell about all my au ideas????

but with this TMNT fanfic it's very funny to have posted 8 chapters across three months and still have under 2k views. like whatttt all the plotless porn fills get thousands and thousands of hits. the teen wolf story with maggot infestation tagged got more hits than this one, and this has been bumped seven times! but yeah that's what writing a story with a plot gets you vs. writing porn, so, it's not actually surprising it's just funny to see in action.

i mean all that being said, kind of the joke of the initial two chapters of the story is that it's presented exactly like it's just a oneshot porn fic so really maybe the lack of hits is something else entirely; who can say. the mistake of everything being quantified with hits and kudos and subscriptions is that it invites you to systematize data, when actually it's probably mostly just noise & externalities. maybe people just don't like weird turtle dick.

(also if you'll excuse some yelling at clouds, just as an aside, but there are so many chatfics in the fandom (b/c this is media for children and kids these days only talk via chats) and with like two exceptions they're all completely unformatted, just bold names and double-spaced paragraphs between every line, from copying the story in from a google doc or something. please learn how to make a work skin + the css to format yr story like it's an actual chat client. at least get rid of the double-spacing. my story contains like 20 lines of grindr text messages and i still put together a whole custom stylesheet for it. it's not hard!! it looks so much better! you can give characters custom colored text bubbles, which works well since all the characters are already color-coded!! anyway.)

(also lol i do actually have a leatherhead/mikey/raph/slash 4some wip i'm considering finishing, which is much more my standard style. i can't believe i've gotten into teenage mutant ninja turtles. i think i've read like 80% of the extant fanfic on ao3 in the past few months. i really do think the major issue stopping me from getting into it was just that i always found it a little obnoxious that the turtles were always copy-paste palette-swap designs. if it's in black and white and they don't have their weapons in shot good luck figuring out which turtle is there b/c their designs are identical. thank you rise for giving them wild designs even if your toy line was garbage so the show got canceled immediately.)

ANYWAY so the story is actually kind of under-tagged, and in the original post draft of the fic i had way more warnings, but after some consideration i cut a lot of them out. like, if you're reading this fic you are hopefully an adult and you can form your own opinions about the characters and what happens without me having to signpost. and also i read somebody's post that was like, actually i hate content warnings when they're just like "tw: sexual assault. sexual assault happens" and it's like wow that's so vague and open-ended it could mean almost anything, and that looming ambiguity is more stressful than just encountering w/e happens in the full context of the story. obviously this is subjective but there's not really an objective way to present any information.

i mean okay originally ch 1 was gonna have a note like "do your own risk assessment before hosting & having unprotected cloacal sex with a total stranger off grindr. actually don't do anything mikey does in this fic." which would get funnier and funnier as more of what mikey actually gets up to gets revealed

but also the main tension of the whole story is literally just character motivation? you get to see mikey & raph do a lot of things but justifications for why they do them is notably lacking. u gotta figure that out. so it feels kind of didactic to even tag it as like, 'organized crime', not even in 'that's a spoiler' territory although i guess it would be, but in the sense of like, this is a structured narrative that you are supposed to form concepts about. ...so i guess that's exactly spoiler territory, actually. listen i am new to this whole "writing stories with plots" thing.

also i mean it is very funny that i've gotten kind of worried about under-tagging this or it having too extreme content when the fandom is full up on like, serial killer yandere aus or w/e else. 'x is a creepy rapist and he kills his other brothers so he can keep y as a sex toy'. actually this story is extremely tame in comparison.

anyway some people get murdered in this latest chapter of the fic, is what i'm saying.

[wwilloww]

point of no return | PJM

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Genre: Smut. Fluff. Friends to lovers. Roommates AU.

WC: 10.2k

Summary: Both Jimin and you are determined to never act on the feelings you hold for one another. Instead, you’d rather shove it down, somewhere deep, dark, and inaccessible. So what do you get when you mix a broken furnace, an old victorian home, a little bit of jealousy in the club, and a need to keep warm together? A mess.

Warnings & Tags: Cursing. Reader is really freakin cold. Jimin sleeps in the nude. Spooning. Grinding. Obscene daydreaming about your best friend.  Sex dreams. Mentions of alcohol. Dancing. Jimin is a little jealous. Masterbation. Unexpected visual. Super soft makeout. Fingering. Orgasm denial. Sex. Slight power play. Creampie.  

AN: Oof! Finally! A Jimin fic! Thank you to @thatlongspringnight for guiding me through the last 6k of this fic, all written in one day and for being the most brilliant, queen of queens level beta reader. A big thanks to @triviasapphic too, for letting me use their likeness! 

This is very loosely based on this ask beautifully submitted by the loveliest @jinpanman for the milestone request party! 

©wwilloww Do not repost, translate, or use my stories without my permission.

point of no return 

“Fuckin’ shithead mutherfuckin cunt basket,” you hiss.

Nothing would turn it on.

You tried pressing the knob. You tried twisting it until your hand rubbed raw. You tried shaking it. You tried begging in your sweetest, most saccharine tone. You even tried giving it compliments.

“Have I ever told you how sexy you look with three coats of white paint? No?”

Fifteen minutes ago the antique radiator — so old it would probably be better in a museum of old technologies than as a functioning heat mechanism — stuttered to a halt and refused to turn back on.

When you had picked the house out with your best friend, Jimin, you’d loved it for it’s Victorian era charm. But now with the December cold creeping in through the thin window and your refusal to own more than one blanket you were shivering madly, teeth clattering cold. And wildly in doubt of your house hunting skills.

With a heavy sigh and slumped shoulders, you drag your comforter off of the mattress, wrap it tightly over your shivering shoulders, and pad barefoot down the hall. Instead of knocking, you just twist the door handle, letting the door swing open before you with a long, drawn-out squeak. You wince at the sound.

A dark figure sits up from the bed, squinting at you in the darkness.

“Is that—”

“It’s me,” you whisper. If it were anyone else, that response would be useless. But after years of friendship Jimin knows every tune and nook in your voice — the way it sounds when you’re upset, or scared, or — in this case — really fucking cold. “The heater broke.”

“What?” His voice is groggy and sleep-heavy.

“The heater broke. Can I stay here tonight?”

He scrunches his nose and wipes a hand across his face.

“Yeah, sure, uh—” He shifts a bit in bed and that’s when you realize he’s not wearing anything at all. You gulp. It’s the coldest month of the year and the fucker is naked in bed, nothing more than a top sheet thrown over his body, the rest of the duvet crumpled at the foot of the bed. Even though you know he’s one to sleep in the nude (“It invigorates your skin and keeps your body temperature regulated,” he had explained to you once) seeing it, in front of you, just the thinnest piece of fabric between you and your best friend’s junk is a whole other story.

As he moves, the sheet slips down, revealing his toned stomach, only visible by the moonlight flooding through the bay windows of his bedroom.

“Give me a minute to put something on?”

“Uh huh,” you mumble, turning around quickly to give him some semblance of privacy, your blanket whooshing out behind you.

You can hear him pad over to his dresser, just three feet behind you. You swallow hard as you imagine him, totally naked, so close to you. Literally within arms reach. If you could only—

“Turn around, I’m done.”

You peek over your shoulder before turning fully, only to see Jimin, now clothed in some pretty short black boxers, climbing back into bed. Blanket trailing, you shuffle after him, climbing into the warm bed from the other side.

You pull your comforter as tightly around you as you can, but you’re still cold. As you turn to face away from your friend, you can’t help but shiver, your shoulders shaking with the chill that’s settled deep in your bones.

“Can you stop shaking?” Jimin’s sleep-adled voice grunts from behind you.

“I’m too cold,” you whine.

“Come ‘ere—”

And before you know it, he’s wrapping an arm around your waist and dragging your body backwards until it meets his. He pulls the blanket up and slides in behind you, wrapping himself around your shivering form.

“Better?” he asks while you’re still in shock from the amount of contact he’s just put the two of you in.

“Mhmm,” you squeak out, even as your body continues to shake.

“You’re a liar,” he chuckles.

“I don’t know why you bothered to ask then,” you snap back, wrapping your arms tight around yourself.

You’re not sure if he sees this or if he’s acting on his own accord. You let out a small gasp as he tugs you even closer, his arm slipping under the blanket to press against the skin of your hip. He maneuvers you backwards, your body as limp as a puppet, while you lay there in shock (and a small bit of exhilaration). He presses the back of your body flush against his front and snakes his top arm up the front of your torso until it rests in the center of your chest, gripping your opposite shoulder.

Trapped.

You’re trapped in his arms, nowhere to move, nowhere to go. Only the sound of your combined breaths, his a little more slow and sleepy than your nervous pant. Trapped only with the idea of him so close, and the strange thing fluttering in your chest that only continues to grow bigger and bigger despite all the work you’ve done to push it away. All you can think about is the way he’s pressed up against you, only your thin flannel pajama pants and his even thinner black boxers keeping the most sensitive parts of your bodies apart.

When he shifts, nustling his nose into the crook of your shoulder, you swear you can feel something long and hard press up against your ass.

And suddenly the warmth that is flooding through you has absolutely nothing to do with the shared body heat. Instead it’s coming from someplace deep down — somewhere yearning and desperate — and also from that strange fluttering thing in your chest.

All there is is white. You know somewhere far above you is an endless sea of stars, blinking down on you. But all you know is the grass beneath you and the swimming white sheets that float above and around you.

Someone’s laughing and you turn your face to see him — Jimin — beaming and reaching out towards you.

Somewhere in your mind you know it’s night time and that everything should be dark — and yet, everything around him is lit up and glows with a sourceless light.

Joy rushes through you and as you reach out towards him, he disappears and a new kind of light — warmth — appears behind you.

“I want—” you start to say, but his hand comes up to your mouth, silencing you.

“If you speak, you’ll break the dream,” he says. “Just enjoy it. Let me be here with you.”

Eyes don’t close in dreams, but you know you drift somewhere soft, the feeling of his body so close to yours and the precious rhythm of his breath tracing your neck.

All there is warmth.

Too much of it, actually.

As your eyes blink open to the dark room, the remnants of some dream, lots of white, Jimin’s smile fall away from your consciousness. You kick your leg out into the freezing air and sigh as the coolness washes the heat from your body. Relief.

The warmth that hasn’t been erased, however, is sitting heavy in your lower belly, pooling and swirling and wanting.

You do your best to ignore it, knowing it’s probably some mix of the dream and the thing that you’ve kept hidden on the edge of your consciousness for too long.

You close your eyes again, wishing for sleep to come back and pull you away from these thoughts. Just as you feel the soft edges of another dream lapping at the edges of your mind, Jimin groans behind you and comes to press up against you again, his hand snaking down over your belly.

Eyes shoot open. There. Behind you. Right between the swell of your ass. You can feel his cock pressing into you, at full hardness. You gasp at the sensation, quickly slapping your hand over your mouth so as not to wake him. Slowly, you try to scootch away from his grip, but he holds you there, his arm only tightening when you try to move away.

It’s not that you don’t want it — you do — your body is singing with electricity at the thought of his hard cock against you, between you, inside you. God, if only. However, it’s the consequences, the unspoken question, the unanswered desires (the answer to which you may just not want to know) that push you away from him.

This is your best friend. The person you’ve always been able to rely on and trust. The man you know you can turn to at any moment and know there will never be a question dangling between the two of you.

Except for now.

As he slowly circles his hips against yours, the most delightful, breathy pants falling from his lips — so soft you can barely hear them — the question looms larger than ever.

Are you in love with your best friend?

However, here, his arm wrapped so tightly around your belly, it’s easy to sink into the desire. To equate the arrival of the question with the arousal rising in your body. To tell yourself this is just pleasure, this is natural.

Jimin’s palm is splayed out across your lower belly, pressing hard against you.

He’s rutting shallowly against you, moving for the sake of his own pleasure. A high note of satisfaction slips from his lips, before a name tumbles shortly after it into your ear.

Not any name.

Your name.

You choke on your own words as you understand it. Confusion rushes over you but it’s quickly replaced by adrenaline as his hand clenches and unclenches around your shirt and he shifts and stretches.

Jimin is waking up. Is he going to say something? Is he going to tell you he didn’t mean it at all? Will he run from you?

His body freezes as he realizes the position he’s in. Wrapped so intimately around you, his hard cock pressed against you.

“Shit,” you hear him whisper. “Shit, shit, shit.”

You squeeze your eyes closed and lay as still as possible as you feel him pull away from you. And then the bed dips just enough and you realize he’s leaning over you, checking to see if you’re asleep or not.

You smooth out your features, hoping he doesn’t catch that you’ve been awake this whole time.

The December morning light is streaming in bold and warm through the window.

Your hand goes searching for Jimin, but all you find is an empty, chilled, pillow. There’s a good chance he’s already headed out for the day to see friends or to run errands and so you assume it’s safe as you tiptoe downstairs to get some water and some much needed coffee. Not that you slept much last night.

As you enter the kitchen, the earthy smell of fresh coffee hits you and you take a deep breath, inhaling the nutty aroma. There’s a full pot of coffee already waiting for you on the counter. You smile. Jimin has always been a considerate housemate, but to leave you coffee in the morning? I’m so lucky to have a friend like him, you sigh as you turn to the cabinet to grab a mug.

“Good morning!” an almost nervous, too-cheery voice sings out from behind you.

“AGh!” you cry, nearly dropping the mug you’re holding. Jimin’s quicker than you are though, and reaches out, just as it drops below your belly button. He’s laughing, his delightful giggle filling the light-painted kitchen but all you can think about is how close he’s standing to you, the mug brushing up against your stomach.

“Got it,” he grins.

“You know you can’t jump out at me like that!” you scold, trying to take the mug back from him. But he turns and goes to fill it up for you.

“I literally said your name twice before you noticed. Someone was too lost in dreamland.”

“Pshh, no, I — you need to be a little louder.”

“Can we talk about last night?” Jimin asks as he hands you a cup of coffee. “I, uh, I think there was an accident, I had a dream you were—”

You panic.

“Last night? Oh gosh yeah! I slept like a rock! Thank you for keeping me warm. I would have frozen to death if it weren’t for you.”

You smile as sweetly as you can at him.

He blinks back.

“I mean — uh, yeah, sure, I mean, you’re welcome but that’s not what I mean —”

“Nothing to talk about!” you chirp, already scurrying towards the stairs that lead back up to your bedroom.

“Hey! I’m trying to talk to you!” he cries as you pad upstairs, making a beeline for your bedroom as the coffee you’re holding sloshes around in the mug.

“Oof, well I’m already tired again, gonna take a nap!”

You sprint up the stairs and as you do you hear him call behind you.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it!”

It hits harder than you want it to.

“Come on, princess. You’re taking forever!”

You’re back down on your bed, swaddled in all the blankets in the house you could find, scrolling through your phone.

“I don’t want to go!”

“Well I do!” The door finally swings open and Jimin stands there, all dolled up for the night out. He’s wearing tight leather pants that hug his toned thighs just right and a half opened black shirt that he’s still buttoning as you look on. Beneath his hands, his chest shows, the muscular planes simple and sheer perfection. A single silver earring dangles from his left ear, the other one filled with a variety of studs.

As you peek out of your blanket fort, you gulp as you take in his flawless appearance. He looks like straight sex, the darkness of his outfit highlighting every muscle and curve.

"You look nice," you manage to squeak, and Jimin blushes, his praise kink showing. "Those pants are..." Hot as fuck? More beautiful than the Mona Lisa? Just asking me to rip them off? Floundering for language, you just let your sentence trail off as he looks on, a pink tinge still dancing across his features.

"You wanna wear them?"

"Pfft, no," you lie.

“Are you planning on getting out of bed?”

“No.”

"Well then, if you're not going to get out of bed and dress yourself I'll do the honors." Jimin stomps over to the tiny door leading to your closet and swings it open. He ruffles through your set of clothes, as disparate from a full flannel collection (one that you are quite proud of) to an evening gown that never got worn. Words you can't quite hear or understand tumble from his mouth in a stream of frustrated mumbles as he seems to be looking for something very specific. "Aha!" he finally cries out. "Here it is."

What he pulls out is not what you expected.

It's a simple piece. A light tan slip dress, one with a bit of a scoop to the bust. One that hugs all of your curves just right and sits low enough the weight keeps the dress exactly where you want it to be and high enough that your upper thighs are deliciously on display - something that simultaneously excites you and scares the hell out of you. You bought it on a whim, hoping it would help you embody your inner club girl (or "inner slut" as your friend Jungkook would correct you - which, if you were being entirely honest, was really what you meant when you spoke about going to the club.)

"That one? Really?"

"What, you wanna wear this?" He turns back to the closet before pulling out a second dress, this one long and emerald green and sparkly with a full slit up the side.

"No." You pout.

"Then what's the problem?"

"Ugh!" you cry, burrowing deeper into your blanket fort. "Itsmyslutdress," you mumble.

"What?"

"Itsmyslutdress!" you mumble, but louder this time.

"Did you just call it a slut dress?"

You pop your head out of the warmth cocoon with a sigh.

"Yes."

"What does that even mean?"

"It is the dress I wear when I want to embody my slutty alter-ego. The dress I wear when I wanna get laid."

Jimin blinks a few times before turning back to you with a grin.

"Well--do you not want to get laid tonight?" he asks slowly.

You gape at him.

Even as best friends, even talking about your hookups, you never really talked about sex iteself. Everytime you brought it up, whether it was at the bar and you were ogling some tall, dark, handsome stranger as if some psychic had promised you he was your entire future, he always seemed to shut down. And yet, around your other friends, he was an open book. "Basically a sex expert," Jungkook had told you once. "A sexpert." He'd added, grinning.

But with you, sex was off the table. You were more open and vulnerable with him than you were anyone in your life - and he with you. But sex was just never on the discussion board for you two.

"Do you wanna get laid tonight?"

"Are you offering?" you shoot back teasingly.

"Of course," he says softly.

Your mouth drops.

Of course? Of course?!

"I mean! No! What? Wait? Can you repeat the question?"

"You said yes," you say slowly.

"What! No! I did not!"

Jimin is basically stomping his foot on the ground.

"You did!"

He looks almost angry and you're not sure whether to laugh at the softness with which he had agreed to fuck you - or to feel hurt by his quick change of mind.

"Did not!"

You break into giggles finally releasing yourself from your cocoon of warmth to sprawl out on the bed in a fit of laughter. Your little tirade is quickly shut down though as the silky fabric of the dress is thrown onto your face and you cough around the material.

"Get dressed. I don't want to be late," he says, his voice flat.

“It’s too cold for the slut dress,” you grumble in a last ditch effort, fabric falling into your mouth as you sleep.

“Then wear a fucking turtleneck and snow pants to the club,” Jimin says. “I don’t care, just please get dressed.”

The door slams and when you pull the dress away from your face, the room is empty again. With a sigh, you roll off the bed and begin to get ready for the night.

By the time you pulled up to the dark, sticker-plastered doors of the club, Jimin had resumed his usually joyful and peppy demeanor, all memories of his little slip up erased from the night.

You knew better than to push him about it. You knew that he shut down when you called him out on these things in the past— like the way his eyes lingered on you for too long when you showed off a new bathing suit, the cute little stutter he donned when he was flustered by you, or the way he would basically run at top speed in any direction away from you when you emerged from the shower, nothing but a towel wrapped around your body.

As you are swallowed into the sea of dancing figures and booming bass, you feel his hand come to rest on your waist. Pushing further into the crowd, his touch is reassuring. Steadying. His way of keeping a hold on you without actually holding onto you.

He sees them before you do, and quickly grabs onto your hand, tugging you forward into the mass of swaying figures. Waving and yelling their names, the two of you tumble towards your friends. Jungkook and Raven stand near the bar, their faces lighting up when they finally spot you in the mess of strangers.

Raven embraces you first, his arms pulling you in for a tight hug.

“I wanna dance!” Jungkook says before you can even step away from Raven. Drinks abandoned, Jungkook has grabbed both yours and Jimin’s hands and drags you out to the dance floor.

The bass courses through you as your friends surround you, bopping and swaying to the barely understandable lyrics.

Jimin has always been a good dancer. A great dancer, actually. His moves range from absolutely side-achingly hilarious to -- dare you say it -- undeniably sensual.

He twirls you onto the dance floor, the two of you falling into your usual routine of swinging and laughing and kicking all around.

And as the upbeat and perhaps misplaced summer hit switches to a more sensual song he matches it naturally, letting his hips sway and glide to the rhythm. He pulls you along with him, twirling you more slowly. When you twist into his grasp, he doesn’t hesitate to take you into his arms, pressing you against him.

As his arms come to wrap around your shoulders, you can’t help but press back into him.

Raven winks at you and you grin back at him, shooing him and his teasing away.

It’s easy to fall into this. Easy to fall into the sway of Jimin’s body and the safety that comes with being pressed so close against him. You fit perfectly into his body, every one of your curve the antithesis to his. Like two puzzle pieces.

You let your hand drop down to his thigh, gripping it for stability as you sway your hips against his. The muscle tenses beneath your touch and you take that as an opportunity to roll your ass against his crotch.

He meets your movements, grinding back up into you, his hand dropping to your waist where he grips you tightly and guides your movements even further back into him.  

"We shouldn't be doing this," he whispers in your ear.

His body pressed against yours feels like the most natural thing in the world. The nights the two of you have spent in your kitchen, sliding around in socks and grooving to your favorite music, springing each other around your shared house — all of those hours, all of those years make it so when he moves against you he knows exactly what he’s doing and exactly what you want him to do. You move in tandem, as if you are sharing a brain, a story, a body.

You tilt your head up to him, nuzzling into his neck.

“Why not?”

“I-I can’t mess up.” He says, but he continues to sway at your back.

“You’re not messing up. I like this.”

As you reach behind you, letting your hand trail up beneath his shirt, you can feel him press into your touch. Chasing it, searching it out. But as your hand trails back down, fingernails scraping delicately against the skin, he seems to snap out of it and steps back from you, even as he keeps his hands on your hips.

You turn, trying to pull him back to you, but you see his brow is furrowed.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

“Just fine!” he says, just a little to cheerfully. “I-I just think I’m done with dancing for tonight.”

Even as he says it he pulls you closer to his chest.

“I’m going to get some drinks, do you want something?”

“You don’t want to dance with me?”

“I— uh— it’s not that.” He shakes his head.

“Please, come on, it’ll be fun,” you groan, tugging on his arm. But he stands firm and stiff. “Aren’t you having fun?”

“I don’t want to dance tonight. Just go on ahead.”

You look your friend up and down. Jimin was never one to turn down an opportunity to dance.

“Okay,” you say, painting a smile on your features even as your heart aches slightly at his rejection. “I just want you to have fun. Do you want me to come with?”

“No--it’s okay. I’ll be back, alright?”

“Alright?”

You watch as he disappears back into the mass of people. You stand still, wondering What the hell just happened?

However, your thoughts are quickly interrupted as Raven reaches out to you, pulling you to him in a graceful spin.

“Distract yourself, darling,” he says with a chuckle. “He’ll come around, don’t you worry.”

Before you have a chance to process his words, Raven spins you out again in the crowd.

You stumble just a little bit, until hands come to rest on the dip of your hips, lingering there just enough to stabilize you. However, they quickly release you as soon as you are standing tall again.

“Oh, ah, thank you,” you half-yell as you turn around, attempting to raise your voice above the noise.

The man who stands behind you is undeniably gorgeous. Tall, with a dark lock of hair hanging into your forehead and the most beautiful smile.

“No worries, it happens all the time,” he grins at you. “What’s your name.”

You yell back at him, but when he can’t hear you, you step closer to him, pressing against his chest to speak your name into his ear. His hand comes down on your waist as you do, lightly.

“My name’s Hoseok. You can call me Hobi though. Care to dance?”

You grin up at him and nod. You’ve never been one to turn down a dance partner.

He takes your hand, quick to find the rhythm of the music.

Hoseok is a natural. As each song progresses, his dances become more intricate. He’s happy to lead you through them and you can’t help but laugh as he spins you around the floor while others are swaying and grinding. You’ve never had this much fun with a stranger, but as he moves against you, you can’t help but think of the way Jimin felt pressed so close to you earlier in the night. It’s just not quite the same.

It’s easy to get lost in him, in his beaming smile and witty jokes that he bends down to whisper in your ear. He compliments you freely, and you do the same in return.

As the night continues you and Hoseok dance closer and closer until he’s pressed deliciously up against your back. You find yourself lost in the sensation of being embraced by someone, even if it isn’t the person you’d want to be there.

“I hope I’m not being too forward, but do you wanna come home with me?” The man leans down, the husk of his voice brushing deliciously against your ear.

“I can’t.” You say, turning back towards him. “But thank you.”

“No problem,” he says, leaning down to chastely kiss your cheek. “Can I ask you a question before you go?”

You nod.

“Does your refusal have anything to do with the man at the bar who hasn’t taken his eyes off of us since we started dancing?”

“What?”

He nods over your shoulder, back towards the bar. Through the crowd, you can barely see your friends, but as you reach up on your tippy toes you see them all gathered around, laughing and talking. And then at the edge of them is Jimin. He stands tall and proud and with an unusually grim expression on his face. But when he sees you looking at him, he quickly averts his gaze to his drink, which he is continually swirling in his hand.

“You’re going home with him, aren’t you?”

“Well, duh, he’s my roommate, I—”

“You should go for it,” he interrupts you.

“Go for it?”

“Go for it.”

“There’s nothing there,” you state, matter of factly. “We’re just really good friends!” You’re not sure why you tell him this, but there’s something soft in his eyes that spurs you on.

“Good friends don’t eye fuck each other all night.”

“We weren’t—”

“No need to explain it to me.” He holds up his hands. “But it seems like you have some explaining to do to him. Or at least to yourself.”

You sputter. “Psh! What! No! I’m just tired, Hobi, and if I had the energy I would be fucking you right here, right now, on the dance floor. It has nothing to do with Jimin. Nothing at all!” You realize you’ve got your finger poking into his chest and you quickly draw it back. “Sorry.”

“Okay…”

“Well.” You put your hands on your hips, wiping the frustrated look off of your face. “I should go, I guess. It was nice dancing with you, partner. I’ll be the first to admit you got great hips.”

He’s laughing, and you’re not sure if it’s at you or with you, but when you extend you hand for a friendly fistbump, he meets it with all the enthusiasm in the world, pulls you into a hug, and is off on his merry way, off to find a new dancing partner.

Left alone in the middle of the floor, you kind of just stand there, mulling over what the stranger had said to you. Soon though, you feel a hand on your shoulder and you spin around to see a blank faced Jimin.

“I, uh, just wanted to check in on you.”

“I’m all good!” you chirp, perhaps too cheerfully. As you begin to make your way back to the bar, his hand comes to rest on your lower back and you shiver at the touch.

“So you’re not going home with him?” He nods back in the direction of the disappearing stranger.

“Why would I?”

“Well, you wore your slut dress, so I figured he was a contender.” He doesn’t meet your eye.

“I didn’t want to fuck him.” You stop, and turn to him.

He laughs, almost nervously. “Well I guess that’s an important factor.”

“Yeah, just a minor detail,” you shoot back, grinning.

“I guess it’s all for the best. Didn’t like the looks of him much anyways.

You giggle. “What? Are you jealous?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“I can’t be jealous.”

“Can’t be? Or aren’t?”

Jimin blinks back at you, an expression of utter surprise on his face. You know his answer in that moment, and yet — there is a kind of doubt that sits in you. That until he says it, it just won’t be real.

And still, he avoids your question.

“I think I’m gonna head home, do you wanna come with or head back with Tae and Raven?”

“I’ll come back with you, there’s nothing left here for me.”

“Great,” he says, a small smile on his lips. “Let’s go.”

“My heat is still out,” you call.

You’re standing at the door to his room in nothing but your pajama shirt. When you’d gotten home Jimin was quick to wish you goodnight and sweet dreams and book it up to his bedroom. You had gone to your own room and changed into sleep clothes, only to climb into bed and realize just how fucking freezing your blankets still were.

But as you stand outside his bedroom, when you press down on the handle, the door is unusually locked. He never locks the door, you think.

“Jimin!”

You push down on the handle, jiggling it obnoxiously as you hope your best friend can hear you from the other side, and isn’t just ignoring you. As you rattle the metal handle, something seems to come loose within the door and all of a sudden the door is swinging open inwards and there’s Jimin, leaning against the backboard of his bed, legs spread, and--

“Oh no—”

Even as your hands flash up to cover your eyes, you know it’s too late.

You’ve already seen it.

It’s imprinted on your brain. The image of Jimin with his head thrown back, hand wrapped around his throbbing cock hastily pulled out of his jeans. He must have been in such a rush he didn’t even bother to pull his pants down. Instead, the leather pants are simply tugged down just enough from him to slip his cock out of them.

“What the fuck!” he yelps.

“Did I—interrupt?” You can’t help but burst into giggles, even as you keep your hands firmly clamped to your face.

“Yes! Yes, you did!” he says, scrambling for the sheet. He pulls it over himself and then does up his pants again.

“If it makes you feel any better you have a nice looking dick!” you squeak out from behind your hands.

He wipes a hand wearily over his face.

“You really wanna have a conversation about my dick right now?”

“See a dick, converse about a dick, am I right?” you laugh nervously.

“No, no, you’re not. It usually goes like ‘see a dick, forget the fact that you ever looked at a dick.’”

“You got a point there.”

The room falls into silence for a moment before Jimin coughs and speaks.

“You can take your hands away now.”

Ever-so-slowly you release your hands from your face, looking over at Jimin who looks — not upset, not embarrassed, not angry — but intrigued. He’s looking at you with a mix of curiosity — and something else. Something you can’t quite put a finger on.

“Welp, I better be going—”

“I thought you said your heat is still out.”

You turn back around slowly.

“...It is. But I can go. I don’t want to make you feel… uncomfortable.”

“You’ve never made me feel uncomfortable. I don’t know if you could.”

“I’ve definitely made you feel uncomfortable before. Like that one time I put peanut butter on your special pickles and tried to fry them—”

“Okay, okay, maybe in like, a superficial way. But not in a deep way.” He pauses. “You’re my best friend for a reason.”

You’re still standing in the doorway, and as he looks you over — gaging your reaction, reading your emotions, trying to understand what’s going on in that far-off mind of yours — he realizes you’ve got your arms wrapped around your torso, protecting yourself from the biting draft that drifts down the hallway.

“Come ‘ere. You’re sleeping here tonight.” He says it without hesitation.

You look at him, and then back down the darkened hallway, and then back at him, the warm glow of his bedside lamp painting his features gold. His cheeks are still slightly flushed, his chest peeks out of his loose button down. And perhaps it’s that image that draws you to him — or, what you tell yourself in that moment, the inviting warmth of the layers of blankets on his bed and the radiator that sits close by.

You climb into bed, quickly tucking yourself into the blankets and rolling onto your side, away from him. However, you can feel his hands reaching out towards you, pulling the blankets closer to you, tucking you in further to their addicting warmth.

“I’m uh, gonna read for a little bit, is that okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, course,” you say, your voice slightly muffled by the pillow you’ve stolen and burry your face into.

He rifles through the nightstand. Behind you, he shifts, getting a bit more comfortable and you can hear the comforting sound of pages turning as he begins to read.

Even as you close your eyes, sleep evades you. As much as you try to banish it from your mind, it seems as if the image of his thick cock is burned into your retina, the vein on the underside of it swollen and pronounced. All you can see in your mind’s eye is Jimin, lost in his own pleasure. His face scrunched, eyes squeezed shut. What would it be like to see what he saw, whatever it was that had him gripping his cock so tight the knuckles began to turn white?

“So do you usually masterbate without porn?”

It slips out before you know what you’re saying.

He coughs behind you, and it sounds like he’s choking.

“What?!”

Well, you think. Now that it’s out there I might as well just go for it. You flip over onto your otherside, face half hidden by the blanket.

“When I walked in on you — you were just… lost in thought. No video or audio or,” you nod at the book he’s holding. “Rip off of Half a Hundred Colors of Dark-White.”

He gapes at you.

“Why are you so obsessed with my masterbatory habits, hm?”

“I-I’m not! I’m just curious, like one would be when they accidentally catch their best friend masterbating. We all, you know, do it. I, myself, have a very lovely connection of multi-colored vibrators — all sizes and shapes and, uh, textures? And vibrations and settings and speeds and—”

“So you wanna talk about it then?” He’s still sitting above, looking down on you. He cocks an eyebrow at your surprised expression. “You didn’t want to talk about last night but you want to talk about how I get myself off?”

It’s your turn to gape.

“Uh, what? Last night, psh no!”

He readjusts his position so he’s facing you now, one leg bent and propped up, the other one folded beneath it. You do your best to keep your gaze focused on his face, and not on the prominent bulge that is now in your direct line of vision.

“So you weren’t grinding on my cock last night — or god forbid tonight at the club — But you wanna know about my masterbatory habits?”

You swallow and despite the chill air of the bedroom, you sit up, letting the blankets fall around your waist.

“I suppose that is what I’m asking.”

Heart pounding in your chest, you lick your lips. You know what you’re asking. You know where you’re pushing things. Everything about this next step terrifies you. And yet, it’s all you’ve been thinking about for the past 24 hours. Hell, the past several years.

You’d be lying if you said that last night’s dream was the tamest of the ones Jimin starred in. He haunted you. His image, his being, were everywhere you turned. Even when you were with other partners or one night stands, all you could do was compare them to Jimin. Were they as softly hilarious as him? Did they know your every thought, your every desire, like he did? Could they anticipate your mood before you even could? Did they fill you with that feeling of belonging and safety like he did? No. None of them ever did. You didn’t just crave Jimin’s attention, you craved his touch.

“You know, most friends talk about this kind of shit.”

“Do they?”

“Yes. They talk about sex. They talk about getting off. They talk about their interests and turn-offs and fantasies and--”

“And you wanna talk about this?” His hand lands on yours. You look up at him as he squeezes your fingers within his warm grasp.

“I-I guess I do. Sometimes it bothers me that we don’t talk about it.”

“Then let’s talk about it,” he says, a little bit more confidence slipping into his voice. He picks your hand up, weaving his fingers in between yours. The way he looks at them reminds you of someone looking at a beautiful vista or an undiscovered creature for the first time. There is wonder -- and also confusion -- in him. “I never wanted to make you uncomfortable. I never wanted to… turn our friendship into something that you didn’t want. Something that made you uncomfortable.”

“And I didn’t want to push.”

“Push me? Into what?”

You glance down at your hands. “I don’t know, something that you were disgusted by.”

“I could never be disgusted by you. It’s the opposite, actually.”

“Then why do you keep pushing me away? When I want to talk about things? When I want to be close to you?”

Jimin is silent for a moment.

“Because I’m never sure if this is just fun to you,” he says softly. “What if something happens and you realize you don’t want it in the way you thought you did?”

“And what if something happens and it’s exactly what I want?” One hand still resting in his grasp, you reach out with the free one to clutch onto his shirt. Not wanting to push too far, you make do with tangling your fingers in the silky fabric, twisting it around yourself until you are lost in it.

You don’t see it coming. His hand reaching up to yours, pressing your hand to his chest. Slowly, he slides your intertwined hands up until he can press your palm to his chest. Beneath the fabric you can hear the gentle thud of his heart beating, quicker than usual. And there, he just holds it. Mulling. Contemplating.

“It feels like I’ve been distracted…” He licks his lips as he considers his next several words. “...for weeks. Probably longer. I’ve been trying to hold everything in because it’s not supposed to be there. But the temptation to just give in… To just lean into the things that I want… It’s always there. It doesn’t go away. But--sometimes I can distract myself from it.”

“What is it that you want?”

His gaze flickers back up from your lips. The look in his eyes is searing. Burning. There’s desire there — one that’s all consuming — but something else too. He refuses to look away from you, instead roving over your whole face as if he’s trying to memorize it. As if when he speaks next he might forget you entirely. And that’s when you realize. It’s not confusion dancing in his eyes. It’s loss. He thinks he’s going to lose you.

“It doesn’t matter. I can’t have it.”

“You can.”  

“I can’t.” He squeezes his eyes shut, like he’s trying to hold back. “There— there are lines that once you cross you can never go back to.”

“Jimin, I want you.”

The words hang in the stilled silence of the room like lead, suspended and out of place. But you push on, and as you do, his grip tightens around your hands and he’s pulling you forward until you’re flush against his chest.

“And it’s not because of your monster cock -- although that’s like a really really great benefit that I’ll be honest, I wasn’t expecting--” Jimin raises an eyebrow. “Anyways, I want you for you. I think I’ve wanted you since I met you, but--” You glance down. “I’ve been too scared to admit it. Too scared or too dumb.”

Jimin raises your chin so that you are eye to eye. He’s so close.

“I’ve wanted you since I laid eyes on you.” He lets his hands drop to your hips, maneuvering you so that you’re fully straddling his waist as he sits up against the headboard. “I wanted you in my life, in whatever way that would be. I wanted you as my best friend and my inspiration and my home -- and to have you like that? I would never want to fuck it up.”

“Then don’t.”

“Simple as that,” he laughs, his hands coming to rest on your hips. He tightens his grip and you instinctively wrap your hands around his neck, tugging him closer to you.

“Simple as that,” you repeat.

The words hang in the air for a moment, filling the space of the bedroom. And then their sound is gone, leaving the air vacant of sound. The weight of what you’ve both just said crashes down upon you.

Simple as that.

“I want to kiss you,” Jimin whispers. “Can I kiss you?”

“Always,” you barely manage to mumble before your lips are crashing together. They begin clumsily, desperate. Teeth knocking together as you both scramble frantically for connection. For the missed years. For the gazes thrown across the hallway, quick and longing.

And then you find your groove. Just like on the dance floor, there is an unspoken communication to the way that you move together. Chasing and pursuing. Biting and pressing. You gasp as Jimin slips his tongue between your lips, swiping against the roof of your mouth.

It feels like forever and no time at all that you’re wrapped up in his arms, his hands climbing the height of your back as he pulls you as close as he possibly can.

As the kiss slips into gentleness, you feel him between your legs. He’s impossibly hard. You don’t know if it’s thought or basic instinct that leads you to press your hips forward, sliding ever so slightly along his length. You know you’ve done the right thing when he groans into your mouth. You do it again, this time swiveling against him. His hands snake down to your hips, fingers digging into the fleshy bits of your sides.

“I don’t think you know what you’re doing,” he groans against your lips.

“I know exactly what I’m doing.”

He kisses you fiercely and you let your hands wander beneath the silk of his shirt, tracing the planes of his skin until you’ve had enough and need more. You attempt to tug the fabric up, but he seems lost in your lips.

“Off, please,” you say when you can’t get it over his shoulders.

He grins at you and shucks it off in one go, tossing it onto the floor.

You lean back just enough to admire him like this, the planes of his chest glowing dimly in the light of the lamp.

“You’re so beautiful,” you murmur in awe.

He captures your lips again, his movements soft and dutiful. And then with all the gentleness in the world, he turns the both of you, cradling the nape of your neck as he lowers you down onto the pillows.

“I never thought I could have you like this.”

“Me neither. I-I don’t know if I can go back.”

“Don’t worry, darling. I already know I don’t want to go back.”  

You smile up at him, a feeling of warmth and love spreading through your chest. As he sits back, looking down on you, you tug your shirt over your head, tossing it to join his discarded top on the floor.

His eyes rove over your naked form, bare of everything except for the grannie panties you slipped on before knocking on his door. At the beginning of the night you wanted nothing but to make sure everything was thoroughly covered. Now you wish you had gone for something a bit more stylish.

Even as you think this, looking at him you know he doesn’t give a flying fuck what you’re wearing.

He leans down again, kissing you. He lets his weight rest just enough on you as he settles between your legs and you arch up at the dull contact.

As he bites down on your lip, you push up into him, searching for more.

“Can I touch you?” he asks.

“Please,” you gasp.

His hand comes down on your thigh, pushing you open just enough. And then, as he comes back to kiss you, he slips his hand down your stomach, fingers teasing at the waistband of your panties.

You can’t help as your hips buck up as he slips a finger down your folds. You’re already soaking, arousal quickly coating his finger.

“Shh, shh,” he whispers against your lips, gaze searching yours. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”

As the final word slips out of his mouth, he inserts the first finger into your tight entrance and you yelp in pleasure, the feeling of him filling you more sensation than you could imagine. Ever so slowly, he begins to pump it in and out before adding a second finger.

“I want to get you ready for me,” he murmurs. “If that’s what you want.”

“I want it,” you gasp as he presses against your g spot. “Please, I need it, please, Jimin, fuck me.”

“Patience, baby. I will in due time. But first I need you a little more stretched out.”  

When he adds a third finger, the pressure building deliciously in your abdomen, there’s nothing you can do to hold back the way your body jerks or the whine that slips through your lips.

“God, I never even imagined you would sound this desperate, this beautiful.”

As he continues to press against the soft spongy spot inside you, you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to keep control but quickly losing it.

“You thought about this?”

“Of course I thought about it.”

“Tell me what you thought about,” you pant, his fingers still working rhythmically in and out of you.

“The list is endless,” he murmurs. “I think about what it would feel like to fuck you. What it would sound like to have you call my name. What it would be like to have you cum again and again around my cock, and then walk out of here, with it dripping down your leg so that anyone who sees will know it too. To have you so fucked out and screaming that everyone in a ten mile radius knows exactly who is fucking you so well, who you belong to.”

“Ah!” you cry as your orgasm begins to build. “Jimin! I’m so close, I--”

And just like that, his fingers are gone from your clenching walls and you are left with a feeling of absolute emptiness drifting through you. He pulls back with a smirk.

“Wha--”

“When you come, I want it to be around my cock.”

Your gaze flickers down to his crotch, where his dick is straining against the tight confines of the leather. “That just can’t be comfortable,” you say, your voice shaking even as you unapologetically eye his obvious arousal. “Please take them off. I’ll make you feel good.”

“You can?”

“I want to,” you explain. “I want to help.” You look up at him again and see that his gaze is dark with desire. “Can I?”

Slowly, he nods, and you reach out towards him, for the buttons to his jeans. As your fingers land on the cold metal of the button, his come down atop yours, popping the button open expertly.

As you slowly slide the zipper down, you swallow.

Everything about this feels right. There’s the sensation of a fire burning in your chest. It’s not just wanting his body. It’s chasing the feeling of electricity sparking through you every time he touches you. Chasing the want of his hands, his gaze, his everything focused on you. Something twinges in your heart. Even as you want these things, you know it’s not fair to ask them of him, to expect them of him.

He stands to slip the rest of his pants off and you realize he’s not even wearing underwear. You gulp as you watch him strip, his beautiful body soon revealed in the dim lighting. His cock stands at full attention, deliciously hard and poking against his belly.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asks.

“I want it more than anything.”

The bed dips underneath his weight as he climbs towards where you lay. He lowers himself above you, expertly balancing his weight so that it doesn’t crush you. With one hand, he reaches down to palm his hard cock, the tip red and angry with need. With his knee, he pushes your legs wide open, making room for himself and spreading you out before him. At a devastatingly slow speed, he lines himself up with your aching center.

“So wet for me, princess. You’ve always been beautiful to me, but spread out like this, just waiting for my cock? You’re a dream.”

“Please,” you gasp.

“Please what?”

As he comes to nestle his cock in between your dripping folds, you whimper with need.

All you can feel is his cock, his touch against your skin, the way his presence surrounds you and envelopes you.

“Please,” you whisper. “I need you, Jimin.”

He chuckles.

“You’re so desperate, baby. Tell me what you want.”

“Want you to fuck me.”

“My baby wants me to fuck her?” He slides slowly in and your back arches devilishly at the sensation of his fat cock stretching you open for him. He watches your facial expression carefully, not wanting to hurt you or push you too far too fast.

When he sees you relax just a little, he pushes in even further until he’s nestled inside you to the hilt. Once he knows you’re comfortable, he lets himself slip into the pleasure of you wrapped all around him. His eyes flutter closed, and he nestles his nose into the crook of your neck.

Gathering himself, he takes a deep breath, pushing up off of you so that he can better look down at you, your hair splayed on the pillow, cheeks warm with arousal, eyes wide in pleasure.

“God, you’re perfect for my cock. Like you were made to fit me.”

“Mmf, so big,” you groan as he shifts inside you. “Never felt this full before.”

As he begins to move, you gasp, hands coming up to cling at his back. The drag of his cock against the walls of your cunt is divine and you can’t help as your nails dig into his skin, raking down the planes of his back.

His eyes never leave your face, tracing your pleasure every time it flashes across your features.

“When I imagined this,” he pants, “I never even thought it could feel this good.”

He withdraws at a maddeningly slow pace, until just the tip of his cock rests inside your warmth.

“Please Jimin,” you gasp. “I need more.”

He smirks down at you. “More?” He gives a shallow thrust.

“More,” you groan, trying to push your hips down on him, anything to take him further into you. However, his hand quickly comes down on your hips, stopping all movement.

Leaning down to capture your lips in a feverish kiss, you gasp into his mouth as he thrusts into you with a great force. You cry his name as he bites down on your lower lip, the pace he sets brutal and exactly what you need. Each thrust rolls through your entire body, setting your nerves alight. When he gives a particularly hard thrust, your spine arches, hands slipping away from his back and coming to wrap around his wrists.

When he growls, you clench at the sound.

Your eyes flicker open in time to see his mouth gape and he groans when you do it again.

He answers your tightness with another roll of his hips, this time changing the angle just enough that it hits your g spot directly. You spasm around his cock, crying out as he continues to fuck you.

“You’ve ruined me,” Jimin gasps. “Nothing else, no one else is going to be like this. I wanna fuck this cunt until you can’t think of anything else.”

You start to respond, to tell him how much you want that, but his hand comes down on your clit, rubbing just gently enough that you’re yelping in a mixture of pleasure and overstimulation.

“I’m really gonna fuck you now, baby. I want you to touch yourself until you can’t anymore, okay?”

You nod, reaching down to your clit where your fingers brush against one another. You look down to see his cock rutting in and out of you, coated in your juices. As he withdraws his hand, he begins to pick up his speed.

The pace he sets reaches deep into your body, setting every nerve alight. You cling to him, begging him to fuck you harder. His cock seems to reach every single sensitive spot within you as rock your hips back up to his, meeting his every movement. He lets you now, lost in the feeling of your bodies moving together, seeking the same pleasure together.

When his pace begins to stutter, thrusts becoming long and rough, you know he’s close to his end.

“Baby, I’m going to come,” he groans. He begins to sit back up and withdraw, but you wrap a hand around his neck and pull him towards you, the other one coming to press on the dip of his hips.

“Come inside, Jimin.”

“But--”

“I’m safe. I want to feel you come inside me. Wanna come with you.”

He groans at your words and lowers himself to you, letting his hips grind against yours in a tide of sensation. Each movement pulls you closer and closer to your orgasm until three words are tumbling from his lips and you are tipping over the edge.

He kisses you as you both ride out your orgasm, waves of pleasure washing through your body and into his as if you are connected on more than just a physical level. His lips are soft against yours, guiding you through your orgasm. Everything is breathless and wildly full, all at once.

Pulling back as his cock twitches within you, he peppers your neck with kisses, his plush lips pressing softly against the delicate skin beneath your ear.

“I love you, baby,” he murmurs against your skin.

“I love you too,” you hum, eyes fluttering blissfully closed as you tangle a hand in his hair, pressing him closer to you.

That’s how you fall asleep. Tangled up in each other, bodies meshed together until there’s no way to tell which way is up.

You wake up wrapped in warmth. The kind of warmth that radiates from your heart, shining on outwards and into the room around you. And, as your eyes blink open, you notice it also radiates from the absolute furnace that clings to your back.

“Mmm,” the furnace grumbles, rubbing his nose against the soft nape of your neck. You can feel him press his lips against the top of your spine, his breath fanning delicately against your skin. “G’morning.”

“Morning.” You speak softly, as if any noise will break the memory of last night, his whispered affections against your skin as you drifted off to sleep still hanging in the air. Too loud and you will shatter and destroy the memory. The words of his confession still carved into your skin, your mixed pleasures riddled through your body, the song of his joy and laughter emblazoned into the room -- all of that, you think, will disappear if you move too quickly or speak too loudly.

However, that notion is quickly banished when Jimin rolls over and groans dramatically, spreading his limbs out until he starfishes over the entire bed -- including you. With a little grunt, he flips over on his belly, shimmying over to you. Pulling the blankets down around you, you gasp as the cool air hits your skin.

He’s quick to rectify this as he rolls onto you, resting his head on your stomach, blowing a raspberry into your skin. You screech in laughter and as the sensation rushes through you, tickling you.

It takes a minute or two before you calm down, looking lovingly down at the man who holds your heart and running a hand through his hair, brushing it off of his forehead.

“I love you, you know that?” he mumbles into your belly.

“Do you?” you giggle, doubt still riddled in your mind.

His eyes shoot up to yours.

“Of course I do. Is there any question about it?” You look down on him, worry in your gaze. “Oh, baby.” He’s quick to prop himself up on his hands, but still stays sprawled out atop you, his weight heavy and comforting. “I’ve loved you since I first saw you--” You open your mouth to tell him there’s no such thing as love at first sight, but his hand comes up quickly and covers your mouth, effectively shushing you. “--at least I knew I was going to love you the first time I saw you. I knew I was going to fall madly and deeply in love with all of your quirks and strange obsessions and deep passions and maddenly horrible humor. And I knew I loved you a year in, and every day after that.”

You look down on him, tears welling up in your eyes at his sincerity.

“Come ‘ere,” you say, pulling him up towards you. He crawls up your chest, playfully nipping at your bare breasts before settling against you. He kisses you. Lets you sink into the sensation. And then he pulls back and says,

“Aren’t you going to tell me you love me too?”

You don’t know if you’ll ever get enough of that dorky smile.

But you do know the tears threatening to spill over are rising from the deep, unnamable affection that rolls through your chest, finally released from silence. You want to call it love, and that is what you will call it, but there’s also something that goes so much deeper than the word itself. Something you know you will spend your whole life trying to explain to him.

read more: masterlist 

Taglist: @taestannie @thatlongspringnight @spicykoreantatertots​ @usuallynervoussheep​ @hesperantha​ @myimaginationsrunningwild​@lucedelsole97​ @heichooou​ @jiminskth​

[glowingbadger]

Hi it’s me, crawling through the window. Would it be possible to get a crumb of arranged marriage w/ Hubert? His line w/ Dorothea about being willing to get married for politics sake has fueled my brain rot for him.

Good God I need to secure my windows-

I mean HELLO FRIEND ANON YES IT WOULD BE MY PLEASURE

Lol actually though, I have been thinking about this for Hubie since we all started chatting about that arranged marriage stuff! I think it's a perfect concept for him~

This like... got weird while I was writing it though?? Idk man hahaha it ended up on the less-spicy side of what I usually write, and with some very weird dialogue in places... Idk, I hope y'all like it. Maybe if there's interest, I'll follow this up eventually with a more smut-focused piece?

I've been traveling and working so much lately that I just don't even know what writing is anymore or how it works hahaha

TW: A brief mention of non-con

Hubert (FE3H) x Reader ("wife," neutral pronouns)

Arranged Marriage - semi spicy i guess?

"Frankly, he's a pain," Linhardt must be able to see your surprise and confusion written across your face. He goes on, "He's reliable and capable, of course, but also the most persistent nag you'll ever meet. Actually, no-" he glances upward as though to cross reference his own thoughts, "No, her Majesty is worse. But Hubert is a close second to be sure. Always on and on about sleep schedules and proper nutrition and etiquette..." He sighs and closes the massive tome on his lap, as though to close the conversation with it, "frankly, he's an insufferable mother hen. Does that help?"

"Well, it's... Not what I expected," you admit with a shrug, "but thank you all the same."

~

It's been several weeks since the papers binding you in marriage to Hubert Von Vestra had been signed- and this alone had sufficed. No ceremony, no grand ball, just paperwork and a handshake with your father. A handshake that ensured that, even under the Empire's unification, he would maintain nominal control over his considerable portion of land, and in return, would swear absolute loyalty to her Majesty. It was a beneficial arrangement for all parties, and you were not ignorant to the part you played. You were hardly even a bargaining chip- moreso, a hostage.

Your new husband had made no secret of what manner of harm may befall you if your family were to renege on their deal. Fortunately, you know your father to be a reliable coward, so you have no reason to believe he would be bold enough to step out of line.

Hubert Von Vestra is a terrifying man. A zealously loyal man of storied cruelty and a frigid disposition. His frame looms over you whenever he's near, and though he's hardly placed a finger on you since you'd been given over to him, his mere presence is... arresting. There's a sort of charisma to him that's equal parts frightening and fascinating. Perhaps it's madness brought on by your circumstances, but you can't help wanting to glimpse just the slightest bit into that brilliant, ever churning mind.

Unsurprisingly, he has been resistant to your attempts to understand him. He hardly indulges you in small talk, and if you were the paranoid sort, you'd think he intentionally makes himself busy when you're around. Eventually, perhaps out of sheer stubbornness, you'd settled on a routine of bringing coffee to his study adjoined to your bedroom in the evenings. He'd been visibly surprised the first time. It wasn't until the fourth night that he'd given a curt "thank you." About two weeks in, he'd actually sat back in his chair and laid down his quill pen to receive the cup from your hands. After a month, he'd leveled his narrow gaze at you and said,

"I cannot begin to fathom what satisfaction you glean from playing 'maid' to me."

"Well, I, uhm," you hadn't expected him to address you so directly, but you managed to say, "You... work so hard, I wanted to do something for you, I suppose."

His expression is inscrutable as he replies,

"You are aware that my work was much the same before you arrived."

"I am," you say softly, "But- all the same..." you trail off, and Hubert seems content to let the matter rest. And so you leave him be amidst his reports and correspondence, coffee at his side on the desk. Yet for as unproductive as your exchange might have seemed, it does leave you with an idea. The thought to learn about the man from those who knew him long before your arrival at the capitol.

~

Your investigation into the true character of your husband does not stop with Linhardt. In fact, his testimony only leaves you with further questions. But perhaps the others would say otherwise; perhaps the United Empire's most up and coming crest scholar simply inspires maternal behavior. This has to be the case- you simply can't imagine that the notoriously ruthless heir of the even more notorious Vestra lineage would be so... Doting.

And yet the more you learn of him, the more contradictory he seems.

Caspar's take is much like Linhardt's- a picture of a man far closer to a school marm than any assassin or master of torture. Ferdinand seems both smitten and incensed by him, oscillating wildly between the two. Then eventually, to your shock, Bernadetta takes the initiative to speak to you about Hubert of her own accord.

"I'm, uh, really so-sorry to bother you!" she approaches with arms drawn close to her chest and eyes resolutely avoiding yours, "I- I just heard that you were... asking about Hubert, so, I, uh..."

It takes some time to prompt her further. You assure her again and again- no, this isn't intrusive at all- yes, you'd very much like to hear her perspective- no, you're not mad at her. In truth, you're endlessly intrigued about what a gentle soul like Bernadetta would have to say about a man feared across the continent. Finally, she manages,

"He's... actually really kind!" she blurts out, as though the words would abandon her if she gave them the window of opportunity. Your eyebrows raise slightly.

"You think so..?"

"Yes, completely-!" she stammers, "I know he's super, super scary, and powerful and spooky and cold and, uh, all of that. But still," her voice falters as she continues, "He only scolds people when they do something dangerous. And he only hurts people to protect others. I... I know he's done some te-terrible things. But... he's always been nice to Bernie," finally, she meets your eyes with an imploring look in hers, "So, uh, I'm really grateful to him. And I think it would be really nice for someone to reach out to him. If... if that's not too weird or anything. For you."

You smile warmly and nod,

"Thank you, Bernadetta. I know it can't be easy for you to come to me with all of this, but... I'd like to try, if I can."

The opportunity doesn't come in the way you expect.

At first, it seems the night will proceed like many others before. You bring a cup of coffee to your husband's desk, setting it down quietly so as to not disturb him. He's silent, but this is common enough, so you head back to the bedroom to undress for the evening. All nights prior, he would lay beside you long after you'd settled in, then rise to resume work in the morning before you woke up- all the while never allowing your bodies to interact in any way.

Tonight, just as you're about to close the door to Hubert's study behind you, long fingers catch around your wrist, visibly startling you.

It's the most physical contact you've had to-date, but he only says,

"One moment."

You whip around to face him, a touch of anxiety evident in your eyes. It's clear in his own that he notices, but if anything, he only seems amused. He steps forward, his taller frame menacing you as he speaks,

"I understand that you have been busying yourself with some manner of investigation as of late."

It takes a moment for his meaning to reach you. When it does, your face burns and you can't bring yourself to meet his scrutinizing gaze,

"Oh, uhm..."

"I assure you, my dearest wife," he says with barely concealed venom, "anything that I do not wish for you to know will be kept from you. Aside from which, your efforts thus far have proven amateurish at best."

Something seems off about his tone. You could understand if he felt uncomfortable or hesitant about your efforts to learn about him, but this seems far more grave, more... business-like. He steps towards you once more, and you step back in turn. Yet before long, you feel your legs bump the edge of the bed. A gloved hand trails a fingertip down your jawline to your chin, then urges you to look up at him.

"Whatever you are planning, my dear, I promise it will be fruitless. You had best rethink how you spend your days before your actions bring you to harm."

"No, I-" your brow creases deeply, your face burns, your body burns hotter and you don't want to consider why, "I've just been trying to learn about you as a person, nothing else. We're- we're married, after all, so..."

He gives an abrupt, dry laugh.

"Ah, so I am to believe that you've been interrogating my allies out of some misguided affection, is that it?"

"Hubert, just listen to me!" for a moment, you feel bolstered, defiant, and you straighten your posture, "You won't tell me the first thing about you- the only way to learn so much as your favorite color is to ask someone who's known you for a decade!"

Briefly, he does seem to consider your words. But his eventual reply is as aloof as any prior,

"If you're no spy or politician, then you're worse- a fool." he says, and before you can respond, he's seized both of your wrists and pushed you back onto the bed. For a moment, the room spins and your voice leaves you. A shrewd eye watches you with cruel condescension as he pins you against the sheets.

"I should think that you'd be well aware what I'm capable of," he nearly whispers, "I personally ensured that the rumors spread through your father's territory and further still. Do you think that anyone would even dare lift a finger to help you if I chose to seek retribution for this recent behavior?" He draws nearer, his grip tighter at your wrists, "Perhaps as punishment, I'll simply take my pleasure from you by force."

Your lips tighten, you take a breath. Then, meeting his gaze directly, you reply,

"You won't."

His visible eye narrows.

"And what evidence do you have to prompt such unfounded confidence? Perhaps you have crafted a flattering falsehood of me in your mind," a mocking smirk curls his lips, "Am I a misunderstood sentimental sort to you, then? A sad, lonely man for you to save?"

You scowl, though you suspect it looks more like a pout to him.

"I don't know what I think of you yet- not completely. But I don't pity you like that, and I don't think you're sad or lonely. I know you're not."

For the first time, it seems that you've caught him off guard. That frigid mask falters for just a moment, and you go on before he can replace it,

"You're surrounded by people who care about you. I've seen it for myself. Whatever you've had to do in the service of your ideals- it hasn't kept the people around you from wanting to know and understand you, even if it's despite you."

Hubert is silent for a moment. His gaze bores into you like he thinks he'll discover some hidden layer if he can just keep digging. Then, he sighs,

"How did I ever become bound to such a troublesome spouse..."

When you wrest your arms from his grasp, his hands fall away with little resistance, and you think that perhaps he had never truly intended to keep you in place by force to begin with. He moves to leave the bed, but your fists find the front of his clothing and tug him back down to you.

You press your lips to his without hesitation, and you can feel him inhale sharply, his entire body rigid above you. His lips are surprisingly soft, his scent like coffee and old parchment, and though your heart threatens to burst from your chest, you hold firmly to him by his clothes. Near imperceptibly, he leans down against you, and your fear, along with any remaining doubts, begin to dissolve. Knowing he won't pull away, you let your hands relax against him, running up his chest where you can feel his own pulse pounding. It's so human, so entirely reasonable and normal. Now, at last, Hubert Von Vestra is merely a man of flesh and bone.

Your tongue meets his naturally, your lips parting in time with his as your kiss deepens to a fevered pace. One hand reaches that sharp, handsome jawline, reveling in the erotic sensation of his mouth moving against yours. And yet, all the while, his hands remain staunchly on the bed beside you. He doesn't touch you- doesn't even let his body meet yours.

It's impossible to tell whether passion or madness drives you to bring your teeth to his lower lip, a single insistent bite communicating desire mounting faster than you can contain. And for a moment, you sense something new; a sound catches in Hubert's throat, a reaction he fights to stifle. Then, he pulls away. His pale skin is tinted a rare shade of pink, and his hair is ruffled out of place enough to reveal both narrowed eyes. His cloak has spilled around his frame to surround you both, and somewhere in your frazzled mind, you imagine that you're caught in some beautiful, velvet-lined trap.

"I- must... return to my work." Hubert says stiffly. He pushes up from you and turns away, leaving you still flustered on the bed behind him. You sit upright, holding your arms tight around your body as you watch him straighten his hair and clothes.

"You, uhm..." your face reddens still as you search for the right words, "you could... join me in bed, if you liked."

Hubert turns to the door of his study, speaking without daring to even glance your way,

"Anything that you offer to me now will be born from the impulse to survive. I have been bargained with before." His shoulders slack just slightly, his voice low and sober, "The proudest nobleman will even sell off his own child to a monster if he feels it will spare him its teeth."

You open your mouth to protest, then shut it without a word. You feel that you know your mind and heart, even in this moment, but you lack the words to convince a man like this. In a feeble attempt, you murmur,

"You don't frighten me, Hubert. Not anymore."

He half turns toward you, though his hand remains on the handle of his study door.

"You yourself said that you do not know what you think of me," he says, "As such, I will not lay a hand on you until the day that you do."

You stare down at your hands in your lap, barely registering the sound of the door clicking shut as he leaves you in the bedroom. No matter how you try to sort out your tangled thoughts, the memory of his lips on yours won't leave them. If anything, it eclipses any sense of reason, standing resolutely in the way of your path to clarity. Letting out a groaning sigh, you fall onto your back on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling as if it could offer you any advice.

What do I think about my own husband? You wonder, the thought nearly enough to make you laugh. Well for one, he's a pain.

[reidsnose]

Window

overview: reader accidentally falls out of a window while having a late night talk with spencer (loosely based on the song: home by edward shapre and the magnetic zeros)

genre: angst? FLUFF

warning: blood, head injury, hospital visit, overdramatic reader thinks shes dying

a/n: i really really dont know if yall will like this but i do and i think its cute so please lmk what u think ab it :)

masterlist

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Spencer knew it wasn't the safest thing in the world. you did too. but something about sitting on the outside window ledge together, talking and laughing, was far too tempting of an offer to pass up. and besides, it was just over 6 feet off of the ground! whats the worst that could happen?

and so you sat, shoulders smushed together so you could both fit. a blanket wrapped around you both, keeping the cool night air locked out. however, you were so close together (and so flushed) that even without the blanket you'd both still be warm.

you adored nights like this with him, thinking to yourself how you got lucky enough to call him your best friend. to anyone else, it was obvious you two were deeply yet obliviously, painfully in love. you watched as he retold a memory he had of the two of you, eyes widening and hands peeking through the blanket to gesture wildly with each sentence. though you were listening to the story, growing more and more fond of the memory now that it was being told from his perspective, you couldn't help but be distracted by him. his essence. his being. he was...intoxicating.

and then he cut to the punch line and looked to you for a reaction, watching beauty radiate from you as you threw your head back and laughed. he didn't even realize how funny it was until he saw how hard you were laughing. and then you snorted, which of course caused you to laugh more. with tears nearly coming out of your eyes, you wrapped your hands around your aching stomach, trying to control your laughter and completely forgetting that you needed your hands to keep you balanced on the window.

he took you in, a tranquility like no other filling his heart.

and then it happen.

in slow motion he watched you lose your balance, unable to catch his grasp as you fell towards the ground outside. fear coursed through his veins as he tried to calculate every possible out come. and then suddenly time was back to normal, and you were on the floor, a fresh cut on your head.

without missing a beat he jumped out after you, landing far more gracefully than you had.

you felt him lift your head into his lap, barely hearing his muffled words. you nodded when he asked if you could hear him for the fourth time. and then you felt some blood trickle down your face. and you did not do well with seeing your own blood.

that was it. you were gonna die. you never told him how you felt and you were going to die. you could even feel death pulling on your eyelids.

in reality, you had landed on your hip and your head hit a pointy rock. it felt like hell but medically you would be just fine. it looked a lot worse than it actually was, head injuries produce far more blood than other body parts.

spencer knew this as he peeled the cardigan off of his shoulders, bunching it up and applying pressure to your wound.

he picked you up bridal style, trying hard to cradle your head at the same time. he was beyond relieved at how relatively minor this was going to be. you would heal, and you would be ok. he got to his car and gently placed you in the passenger seat before running to the drivers side and taking off as fast as he possible could.

"Spencer," you rasped.

"don't talk very much right now. don't worry i'm going to get you to the hospital just stay awake for me you've probably got a concussion." he explained, looking over worriedly.

"im going to die." you told him, your brain feeling foggy from seeing your own blood.

"no you wont. i promise you wont die."

you went on telling him again and again how you would die and how the team shouldn't cry for you. and he patiently explained every time that you would be ok. and as he carried you into the ER you took one look at the cardigan that had rested against your forehead and convinced yourself 110% that you were on your death bed.

so it was now or never.

"Spencer before i die i want you to know that i love you. i always have. i just had to get it off my chest before i left this world with you still in it." you blurted as the doctors began to take you away.

he stood there, mouth agape at your confession.

"she is not going to die." one of the doctors reassured Spencer before turning on his heels and jogging to catch up with the rest of them.

it had to have been the loss of blood. or maybe a concussion fogged your thinking. or maybe he's in shock and he's hearing things. because there is no possible way that that just happened.

and so he sat in the waiting room for nearly an hour while they stitched up your head, nervously tapping his foot to match the pace of his racing thoughts.

he was thinking through every single moment the two of you had ever shared, wondering if-hoping that there was some truth to your confession, when they called out your name. he shot up faster than he ever had before, even getting a little light headed at the sudden quick stance.

he walked in to see you sitting up, drinking some apple juice that the nurses had brought you. and even then, in a hospital bed with half a dozen stitches in your forehead, you looked more beautiful than ever. he was astonished. absolutely astonished at just how radiant you were. your eyes twinkles as you smiled at him.

"so false alarm.. i didnt die." you joked, trying to hide your embarrassment, handing him a hospital issued jello.

"im so glad youre ok. you know i told you from the start we shouldnt have sat on the window," he chuckled, eyes feeling teary for a reason unknown to him.

"i know i know, you're always right." you giggled a little before wincing in pain from it.

his hand came up and lightly brushed your hair back, soothing you so much your eyes immediately fluttered closed. he had to bring it up, he had to know.

"did you mean it?" he asked.

you tried to control your heart rate while you played it dumb, "well yeah i really did think i was going to die."

"thats not what i meant."

"i know." you admitted. "yes. i meant it. i still mean it and if thats weird for you and you want to leave i completely understand-"

he cut you off by pressing his lips to your own, soft but passionate, tasting of jello.

it was a better profession of love than any speech he could try to make. because regardless of how many big words he used, it wouldn't be enough. not to mention that being around you makes his brain turn into mush, rendering it completely useless.

your heart rate monitor started going absolutely wild, beeping quickly and erratically. you both started laughing into the kiss, reluctantly pulling away. euphoria coursed through your veins, two lovesick bozos in the hospital.

you two talked for a little, buzzed from the kiss., smiling like a couple of idiots. but you were happy. sitting in the hospital with a cracked open head and you were still happy. because Spencer was there. and he makes you happy.

after talking to the doctor and a phone call with hotch, you were told to take two weeks off of work. spencer insisted that he go home early every day so he can come over and take care of you. and that was fiinnneee by you.

-

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ultra mega super cool taglist:

@mac99martin @imhreid @spencersmagic @hollydaisy23 @raelady1184 @a-broken-pact @padfootswife @hey-there-angels @star-stuff-in-the-cosmos @sonnydoesrandomshit @averyhotchner @laurakirsten0502 @reidyoulikeabook @rem-ariiana @spencerreid9 @vampire-overlord @takeyourleap-of-faith @s1utformgg @violetspoetic

[softpine]

ok thanks to that anon this is what i imagine happening to the group after they graduate and life starts Happening:

asa and stevie stay super close bc they’re cousins too so that bond is just. it’s unbreakable ok cousin crew for life

jada is kind of the cryptid. she goes to some art school that people have Heard Of but nobody really knows where it is exactly and her sleep schedule is just so wildly fucked that most of their contact w her is getting some vague, slightly concerning text in the middle of the night after 2 weeks of radio silence and then nothing again. asa is usually up tho so they end up having more conversations just bc he answers right away. she always picks up when they call and is happy to talk for hours but she’ll never call first.

elaine frees herself from her expectations (and austin even tho i love my trash boy) and is living her best life at some bigggg cosmetology school somewhere far away. she’s not home a lot but always makes an effort to keep in contact. calls all the time, ESPECIALLY jada. it never feels like any time has passed w her. sends postcards and little trinkets for birthdays/christmas if she isn’t home.

stevie goes off to do her women in stem thing. she goes to a school that’s a reasonable drive from home but long enough that her parents don’t want to visit all the time. without the constant distraction of her parents… existence, she throws herself into school and habitually burns herself out. comes home at the drop of the hat to see asa and the others; refuses to visit her family outside of school breaks.

asa takes a gap year (or a few) i think and really focuses on taking care of himself for once. i think by this point he and jada are aware of each other’s abilities, and who knows honestly if finn is around, but i think regardless he gets to the point where he realizes he’s gonna have to practice some self love and learn how to set boundaries w literal ghosts. turns into a big ol hippie. gives therapy a real shot, and eventually finds one who accepts him and doesn’t try to diagnose him w stuff just bc he happens to be able to talk to ghosts (secretly they live for his sessions bc he always has some wild story about the newest ghostie to pop up, but they always have to remind him that they’re there for his benefit not the dead lmao). always wants to get lunch and makes sure get together as a whole group at least once every break.

JFKSJDSJ omg???? if anything ever happens to me i’m entrusting you to tell everyone how frozen pines ends because you clearly understand it just as well as i do 😭 this was such a treat to read!! 🥺💖💖 i wish i could tell you which parts you got exactly right, but it’ll probably be more rewarding to see for yourself :P

[homosexuality-at-its-finest]

Hey honey! You think you can make a part two to the recent fic with Steve? where the reader and Steve are both turned to super soldiers and both go into ice? Steve’s found first and thinks the reader is dead until the reader pops up in an avengers interview years later with Bucky by his side because he saved Bucky?

Sorry baby I already commented this but I just thought I’d send it here too❤️

A/n: I am LIVING for the pet names, thank you for sending the request here! It makes it easier for me. I hope you like it!!

Plot: Requested

Pairing: Steve rogers x Male reader

Y/n: Your name

L/n: Last name

H/c: Hair color

E/c: Eye color

Warnings: Angst, cussing, temporary death, reader is also a super soldier, fluff

Word count: 1302

As the plane nose-dived towards the cold ocean, all Steve could think about was Y/n, the man he loved more than anything. His head turned to the side, locking eyes with the other man, any words Peggy was saying was blocked out as the lovers wordlessly gave their goodbyes. The H/c haired mans fingers intertwined with his own, bringing Steve’s hand up to press a kiss to his knuckles.

The plane hit the water with a thundering crash, and Jesus it was colder than anything Steve could’ve imagined. He squeezed Y/n’s hand as hard as he could as they sank into the abyss, selfishly happy that if they died, they at least died together.

Death was colder than Steve thought it would be, but that belief slapped him in the face as his baby blue eyes fluttered open, met with harsh sunlight shining into his eyes. For a second, he thought it was all a dream, looking to the side to find the spot next to him empty.

“Y/n?” His voice was hoarse, throat burning with apparent disuse. His gut twisted, a sick feeling festering in him. The super soldier had escaped the room and had come to an alarming conclusion. He was no longer in the 1940’s, he was in the 2010’s now and he was all alone.

The thought hit him harder than a train, making his knees weak and it felt as though there was a hole where his heart used to be. In such a short span of time (For him) he’d lost the two most important people in his life. Apparently when they’d found Steve in the ice, Y/n was nowhere to be seen. His body had never been recovered and Steve had to live with that guilt and pain every day for the rest of his life.

He was given a distraction in the form of the Avengers, a group of extraordinary people fighting the battles no one else could. It didn’t fill the hole in his chest, but he no longer felt so alone in this world. He had a purpose again, saving as many people as he could with his newfound family.

The only thing he had from his past was a photo of Y/n that he kept in his compass, the H/c haired man’s head was thrown back in laughter, his beautiful E/c eyes screwed shut as he laughed at some cheesy joke Steve had told.

Every day he missed the other man, but over time the pain became easier to handle. He pushed himself into his workload, designating himself as the captain of his team. He fought many battles and over time he selected new enhanced individuals to join the team.

Today was another day of interviewing people Nick Fury had specifically chosen out, himself and the other Avengers picking them apart to decide if they were good enough to join his team. The super soldier was honestly ready to call of the rest of the interviews for the day, so far no one had even slightly peaked interest, and he was beginning to believe that the team was fine the way it was.

Imagine his surprise when two familiar faces he hadn’t seen in 70 years walked in. Bucky, God how he had missed his best friend, looked very different. His brunette locks had grown long and shaggy. His once shining blue eyes were now dulled, a haunted look permanently reflecting in his orbs.

Then there was Y/n, he looked a bit different, but he still made Steve’s heart pound and made his knees feel like jelly. Steve was out of his chair before he could even process it, the sound of his chair scraping against the floor falling on deaf ears.

He had no control of his body as he moved forward, ignoring all the questions and looks his team was throwing at him. His arms were around Bucky before he could even think about it, a shaky sigh leaving his lips. He didn’t miss the way the other man tensed up, before hesitantly hugging back.

After a moment he pulled away and his attention was turned towards the man he had been endlessly longing for since the moment he woke from the ice. “Y/n…” It hurt Steve to realize how odd it was to say his name once again, part of him was terrified this was just a dream and he’d wake up alone in bed once again.

His baby blue eyes found the E/c eyes he dreamed about nightly, his heart twisting. Y/n’s hands cupped his cheeks, a delicate smile playing on his lips. “Hey Stevie.” Oh, how he’d missed hearing his voice, and hearing that nickname. He leaned into the other man’s touch; eyes fluttering shut.

An embarrassing sound left his lips as Y/n kissed him, but he couldn’t bring himself to give a shit. He brought up his shaky hands, cupping the sides of the other man’s neck, ignoring the indignant sound Tony made as the two men kissed.

Steve refused to pull away until his lungs begged for air and his head felt fuzzy from the lack of oxygen. His forehead rested against the H/c haired man’s own, heart pounding wildly against his rib cage.

“How are you alive?” Steve whispered, thumb brushing against Y/n’s pulse to reassure himself that he was actually there. The sound of Y/n humming met his ears, causing his body to relax a bit.

“Hydra.” The reply felt like a punch to the gut, he knew Hydra had still existed, not long ago they’d found out shield had been infiltrated by the organization. The idea of those monsters having Y/n or Bucky made him sick to his stomach, and he wanted nothing more than to rip them apart with his bare hands.

When Steve didn’t reply, Y/n continued.

“Guess they found the ship and grabbed me; I don’t remember when. I remember bits and pieces and then I found Bucky there too. Took a lot of time and a lot of planning but I finally got us out about a year ago, when you had brought down shield. After that we hunted Fury down and set all of this up.”

Steve could tell it was heavily simplified, probably not wanting to spill his and Bucky’s story to a room of strangers.

There moment was broken by Sam speaking up, an eyebrow raised. “Cap, you gonna tell us what the hell is going on?”

The super soldiers reluctantly pulled away from each other, Y/n giving the team an awkward wave. The action was so painfully familiar that Steve couldn’t help but bark out a short laugh. That caused a smirk to spread across his boyfriends’ lips, and Steve would tear the world apart to see him smile like that again.

“Uh hi, I’m Y/n and this is my stabby best friend Bucky. We fought with Steve in World War II.” Tony let out a groan, mumbling about there being more old men on the team. Steve simply ignored his friend, speaking up.

“This is my partner, Y/n and my best friend Bucky. Bucky is who Natasha and I have been looking for, for the last year.” Steve felt a bit awkward as the team fired questions at the trio, but Steve couldn’t find himself caring, not when he had Y/n back.

The world had torn them apart from each other, but now he had the man he loved back. He didn’t care if he had to fight a thousand more wars, as long as he had Y/n by his side he felt like he could do anything.

[northern-passage]

“you can tell the author was intending for it to be a Straight Relationship if you know what i mean” you’re absolutely right and you should say it thank you. like, i’m sure it’s super hard to write an if! i don’t think i could do it! but yeah, you can tell when authors are actually trying with the various romances versus… going through the diversity options for clicks ig.

yeah, hahaha, i'm glad you understand what i mean. i feel like every gay person has had that experience when playing a game... a very *looking into the camera like im on the office* moment.

it's something that could easily be fixed, too, imo... like it's really just the little things that make all the difference, but yeah most of these people don't actually care. like, i don't expect the romances to be Wildly different, obviously, they are still the same people, but there are some things that make me cringe as a reader when i see them. i think it becomes most prevalent in like... intimate scenes, if/when they are included, and you can tell this person has no idea what they are writing lmfao. and then stuff like that last anon brought up, where they just completely exclude certain lgbt identities because they refused to just pick up a single book on the topic.

more sinister examples would be like - choices is pretty bad for this - sidelining the gay characters, as well as the characters of color. now, personally, i don't think it's necessary for every RO/LI to have the exact same amount of "screen time" in each chapter, however, when i get to the end of the story it should have evened out... but a lot of times some ROs will literally just get less content, because the game spends all its effort on the white man RO, who has also been almost exclusively marketed as being straight even though he is romancable by all MCs. the marketing for choices, at least when i was last reading it (which to be fair was a long time ago) is painfully straight. it always is... until the company realizes they can make money off of the gay community.....

dragon age comes to mind as well, specifically sera, whose entire relationship quest consists of every other companion disapproving of the inquisitor being in a relationship with her. hello???? literally what were you thinking.... (bioware stop letting this man write your wlw characters oh my god) but this is why sensitivity readers are so important. like it literally takes just talking to one (1) gay person to fix some of this stuff.

obviously the racism from choices is an entirely different problem, and that's something other people far more qualified than me have already talked about, but it falls into the same thing of authors/game developers adding these characters just for the clicks and not because they actually want to add diversity to their story, and it's becoming more common now as, like i said, games realize they can make more money off of it.

at the end of the day i don't expect representation in games to be Perfect because that is not possible, again we already talked about it - everyone is going to have different experiences and connect with different portrayals - but damn..... at least try, you know? Make An Effort

[starbuckie]

𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐚

pairing: chris beck x reader

words: 4k words, 4.1k words with lyrics

warnings: angst, past-high school relationship, lots of fluff, post events of the martian, CHRIS BECK JUST BEING THE SOFTEST BOY EVER

summary: in which y/n reassures chris he can always come back home to her.

a/n: hey y’all! i’m here with the first part of the evermore series which i’m super super excited about. i know i was gonna post this like two weeks ago, but life and depression and the urge to throw myself off a bridge came first, but thanks to @extremelyblackandwhite​ and @captainscanadian​ and their lovely lovely motivation I got it up. i’d also like to thank @countryrockmama​ for beta’ing this fic, and um y’all should go check out all of their accounts for amazing stories and just because they are wonderful humans :) without any further ado, put your earbuds in, queue up dorothea, and enjoy! <3

main masterlist || sebastian stan characters masterlist || series masterlist

Hey Dorothea

Do you ever stop and think about me?

When we were younger, down in the park

Honey, making a lark of the misery

“Y/N, you’re gonna get yourself killed, Jesus Christ!”

A sixteen-year-old Chris Beck followed a fifteen-year-old Y/N L/N into the lake out behind his house, carefully trying to search for anything potentially dangerous they could step on in the dark, murky liquid while the rambunctious girl swam ahead of him, giggling while trying to keep herself afloat. They’d been watching over his baby sister when she’d thrown her rubber ball a little too hard and it landed somewhere in the lake. While Chris didn’t care about the eleven-year-old’s crying and whining about her stupid ball, Y/N was much too kind for that and offered to hop in the lake at nine in the morning, in March, to grab it. On second thought, her kindness was probably the reason his mom hired her as a babysitter. But regardless of what she was hired to do, she was Chris’ friend, his most stubborn one at that, and now he was nearly freezing his balls off in the water in fear of his friend’s safety.

“Chrissy, it ain’t gonna hurt you if you swim, there’s no damn alligators in the waters here.” Y/N treaded water in the middle of the water, staring at the trees around them as rain lightly fell on her head. Chris finally caught up to her, breathing heavily, his arms still flailing wildly in the water while his best friend laughed at him. When she’d reluctantly stopped poking fun at him, she ducked under the water, the only indication that anything was in there being the small air bubbles that rose to the surface as she swam in a circle. Y/N popped back up with a small gasp, wiping the water out of her eyes. “I’ve been feeling around the water and I don’t think we’re gonna find Amy’s ball. Oh look, she’s so upset!”

Sure enough, the little girl was sat at the edge of the lake, staring at the two teens with tears in her eyes. Y/N was upset that Amy was upset, but Chris… he really couldn’t care less. No, he was much too transfixed on the way droplets of water trailed down the slope of her nose and the way he was studying the column of her neck was far more than just “friendly”.

“Hey, Chris?” The boy looked up, blushing that he’d been caught pretty much checking out her body less than three feet away from her, but that’s when he noticed the starstruck look in her eyes, and he knew right then he was a goner. “Kiss me.”

His arms wrapped around her waist in the water so elegantly, nose judging hers as she grinned, her smile wide as could be. It was awkward, extremely so for the two best friends, but when Y/N’s mouth reached up to find his, their cold lips pressed against each other as her hands grasped the back of his neck, it felt right. Amy screamed loudly, as all little kids did when anyone showed affection, running inside to hide from the two enamored teens. Y/N giggled into Chris’ mouth, feeling like she was meant to be in his arms all along, thanking whatever supernatural being brought them together in that moment. This was the turn in their relationship: it was a kiss that promised, “I’ll be here forever”.

Y/N often thought about this moment when she walked to the Becks’ house. Today her heeled boots hit the sidewalk in time with the Taylor Swift song she was listening to, feeling awfully melancholic, for what, she wasn’t exactly sure. Well, she was sure, but she just thought she had moved on and refused to admit it.

Her memories with Chris stayed prevalent even more than twenty years after their first kiss. In her secluded world of education where the other faculty didn’t like her and her dates that she went out with thought she was strange, the only people Y/N had left were the family of her ex-boyfriend of ten years. The Beck family would always be her family of course, they’d made that clear after Chris had upped and left Connecticut, but it had been him who stole her love and shoved it in a locket, currently on a rocket ship headed towards Earth. Even after all this time the roots he’d grown in her heart, his love, his morning kisses, and soft words, they were all still engraved in her memories and refused to budge.

With a sigh Y/N pulled the periwinkle cardigan she wore tighter around her chest as the orange leaves that scattered across the sidewalk began to dance. She was on her way to pick up Amy, who refused to get her car fixed, to bring her out for a long due spa day. The lineup of facials and massages planned had taken up nearly two months of her paycheck, but damn it, after weeks upon weeks of grading high school papers and dealing with shitty coworkers, it was what she deserved.

Y/N was aware that Amy had some kind of call with Chris in the next few days, and from what she’d heard from the news, his crew was coming home soon. She’d be lying if she said that didn’t make her heart beat the littlest bit faster, anxious to see him finally come home after ten years. No contact, no calls, no voicemail after he left her alone in their previously shared apartment, and though she was angry, infuriated, for the longest time, now that she’d cooled down, she wanted nothing more than to run into his arms and beg him not to leave again. There were several times he could’ve died in space. Y/N was well aware of the risks of space travel, having watched several takeoffs failing, and of course Chris’ crewmate, Mark Watney, be stranded on the planet Mars. Chris Beck was a name known to nearly every damn scientist and doctor and astronaut across the globe, having shown exemplary skills in his trade and he just got that much more fame from the Ares 3 mission. Occasionally, very occasionally, she cursed the damn television when his face showed up on the news, her heart churning inside of her rib cage in homesickness, longing to be held by him just one more time.

It had been a while, but she missed him.

A terracotta pathway led to Amy’s childhood home, still painted a dark forest green, a color she had chosen actually, back in middle school. The Amazon truck must’ve come early as well, as a large box, probably a new slow cooker for Mrs. Beck, sat in front of the front door. Y/N picked up the box with a small groan, digging around in her pocket for her key, but paused to ready herself to face a house full of memories of a lost love, before entering with a smile.

You got shiny friends since you left town

A tiny screen's the only place I see you now

And I got nothing but well wishes for ya

Chris stared at the computer system on the Hermes, the little melodic tones playing elevator music, keeping him on edge as he waited for his little sister to show up. The connection was always difficult, of course, considering the entire ship was in space, but he had been out there for nearly two and a half years, homesick and tired, with absolutely zero wishes to touch ground on any planet besides Earth ever again. While he was eternally grateful for the opportunities, he’d been given his entire life, scholarships to Yale and several spacewalks, the Ares 3 mission he was still on, he knew he’d had his fill.

Of course, he missed his family too. Chris’ parents had gotten over his departure quickly, though they were always worried for him, but his sister took a bit longer to heal from the loss of his presence. He should’ve understood, after all the two of them were partners in crime for twenty-five years and he’d just left her without a second thought or an ounce of sympathy.

The first call he had gotten with his family, God, was it already two years ago? The first call he had, only his parents showed up, his sister, Amy, going as far as to leave the house when his face so much appeared on the computer screen. But slowly and surely Chris wormed his way back into her heart, not that he had really left anyway.

A loud chime shook Chris out of his reverie, letting him know that the connection was secured, and the smirking face of Amy Beck showed up on screen. It’d been a while since he talked to her, nearing a year, but the woman still looked as lively and badass as ever, her now turquoise hair with white highlights on full display. She’d never been able to stick to one color for more than two weeks, at most. Chris could see the interior childhood house behind her, the living room exactly the same as he left it, turquoise sofas, and the front door with pictures of college tacked up on it still there. A pang of home sickness and sorrow hit his chest like a bullet, longing to be in the safety of that room again.

God, he really missed home.

“Lay it on me, bitch, what’s new?” Chris rolled his eyes at his younger sister’s words, not surprised in the slightest despite the fact that she was thirty-four years old and still acted like a teen.

“Well, you know, I’m still in space so nothing new, really.” Chris quipped smartly.

Amy genuinely smiled, tying her thin hair up with a purple scrunchie as she responded. “Twenty-eight days to go, right?” He nodded with a great grin of his own.

The siblings chatted for a bit more, thirty minutes seeming to go by quickly with quick little anecdotes and updates about the family and recent events happening on Earth. Apparently, Olivia Rodrigo was recently married, good to know. Chris listened as Amy animatedly told him about how the girl she was crushing on at work asked her out, when he saw the front door of the house start opening, a figure dressed in a long cardigan emerging from behind it.

“Uh, Ames, are you expecting anyone over right now?” Chris asked. The woman furrowed her brows at the monitor, before a look of shock and remembrance came upon her face. Suddenly, she was frantically grabbing at the screen, seemingly trying to remove it from the wall. “Amy, what the hell are you doing? Is there something wrong?”

As Amy tried to brush off his question, a sweet voice sounded from behind her, a voice that had Chris thought he’d never hear again. “Amy, what are you doing with the computer? It’s plugged into the wall socket; you’re not going to be able to move it well.”

Reluctantly, Amy set the computer down, her face flushed, and expression resigned and that’s when Chris saw her.

Y/N looked older, after all it had been over ten years since he last saw her, but no less beautiful. That hair of hers that he used to run his fingers through every night looked almost the same, the new cut just making his chest hurt just a little, and he was sure that if he closed his eyes, he could still smell her: mango perfume, she had always reminded him, just a hint of jasmine. And when her eyes met his, that smile that he loved so much dropped, and her eyes widened by a tenfold, surprised to see him as well.

The former lovers stared at each other, both unable to move and throats as dry as the desert. Y/N’s hands let go of the box she was holding, staring at the screen in a trance.

Chris didn’t know what to say. There wasn’t anything he could say that would relieve the throbbing of his chest or that would make up for the ten years of silence. No words could justify how he left their shared apartment, bags packed to the fullest before having his sister explain to Y/N that he had made the decision of moving to Texas by himself and believing that it was the right thing to do. Because who was Chris Beck without a fear of confrontation?

Still a damn coward was who he was.

He knew he shouldn’t have been in shock that Y/N was hanging out in his childhood home. After all, she had been Amy’s babysitter before his girlfriend, the sweet, pretty, friendly girl in his physics class who he had a crush on before his parents hired her, and she became his best friend. Though his sister was four years younger than them, she and Y/N had been close friends ever since their childhood years, only bonding closer after his sudden departure from Hartford.

Amy sat holding her breath, looking between the silent adults. It was awkward, there was no doubt about it, and she was on the edge of her chair, begging for someone to say something. More specifically for Y/N to say something because she knew if Chris opened his mouth, he’d probably cry. She knew how her brother still felt about Y/N, it was obvious in every call when he asked about her, and how disappointed he was when Amy refused to tell him anything about her. But nonetheless, it was clear: Chris Beck was still strung up on the same girl he’d been in love with for twenty-two years.

It was Y/N who finally broke the silence, coming to rest her hands, on Amy’s shoulders from behind. “Hey, Beck, long time no see,” she joked with a tense chuckle.

Now, Y/N had had years to properly deal with what she felt towards Chris after he left. For the first three it was anger, lots of it, for leaving her by herself in a cold, half-empty apartment. These were the years that were filled with hatred, self-loathing, sorrow, wondering what she could’ve done to have him leave her so suddenly. But slowly she grew up and moved on. After all, what else was there to do?

Chris on the other hand had no closure. Ten years had passed since he left her without a goodbye. Every night for ten years he sat in his small Houston apartment, guilt eating its way through his body and broken promises plaguing his thoughts. Wondering how Y/N was doing but pausing in fear when his finger hovered over the call button. He was a fucking coward.

“H-hi, Y/N.” He saw his ex-girlfriend give him a faint smile through the screen, and he gulped, hard, trying to push down the bile rising in his throat. “You look really good.”

“You do too, Chris.”

Amy spared a glance up at Y/N, the woman longingly staring at the screen ahead of her. Her bottom lip was pulled taut between her teeth, the silence so deafening that Amy could practically hear the tension radiating around the room, and she’d had enough.

“That’s it, dumbasses, get your shit figured out, I’m outta here.” The younger Beck gave a mini salute to Chris through the screen and pecked Y/N on the cheek, before heading upstairs without another word. Both of them gave a quiet, awkward chuckle and Y/N couldn’t remember a single moment that she’d felt so at a loss for words around anyone. But then again, she’d never had to deal with the aftermath of her boyfriend of ten years leaving without a goodbye, so firsts were really an ongoing theme of her day.

Chris cleared his throat silently, glancing down for a moment before choking out, “I’m sorry.”

I know. Or that’s what she wanted to say, but instead Y/N’s eyes betrayed her feeble attempt at a strong facade and her heartbeat sped up while she tried to look anywhere but Chris’ face through the screen. It was hard enough, seeing him, talking to him after she’d convinced herself she had moved on, but Chris's soft voice stopped her.

“No, Y/N, please don’t look away, please don’t cry. I didn’t-” he gulped, “I didn’t even think at that moment I left the apartment, I didn’t even try to contact you for ten years, Y/N. I-I need you to yell at me, or scream, or do something other than be sad, please.”

His pleading blue eyes, the ones that used to be so easy to fall into spoke in volumes, even across the universe. Those damn angel eyes were impossible to say no to, so she steeled herself and calmly looked back into the camera.

“I’m not going to scream at you. I would never, ever, be able to scream at you,” Y/N chuckled, eyes darting to her hands that seemed just oh so interesting all of a sudden. “I’d never forgive myself if I did. But you hurt me, Chris. I told you, I promised you that I would be supportive of whatever you chose to do, as long as we were together, but you went along and made that decision for us by yourself.” Y/N took in a shuddering sigh, her heart clenching at the sight of tears leaking from his eyes.

She remembered days spent in bed with promises of rings and white picket fences, days spent together somewhere on the West coast with warm weather kissing their skin for the rest of their lives. Together forever.

But that fantasy, that illusion of hers had been shattered when Chris started to focus on working for NASA. Y/N understood his love of science, his passion for space and fixing people when they couldn’t fix themselves. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t her original dream of moving to California and starting a family, she was so far gone for him that she’d have followed him to the ends of the planet if he asked.

But he didn’t.

“You ruined all other guys for me, Beck,” Y/N chuckled mirthlessly. “In ten years, ten damn years, I can’t think of one person who I loved more than I love you.”

I love you. Chris sat, starstruck by her admission to him, but the same pool of guilt still boiled low in his stomach. Yet, even through her confession, he was unable to form the correct words to say. “God, there were so many ways I had planned out this talk going, and this was definitely not one of them.”

That coaxed a smile from him, the collar of his grey crewneck stained with tears as he felt his heart grow lighter. “Yeah, I can imagine why.”

The time on the side of the screen made a small noise, alerting him that he only had two minutes left on his call. It was Martinez’ turn next and if Chris ended late, he knew the man would kick his ass all the way back to Mars. Or embarrass him in front of Y/N and tell her all about the nights he’d spent crying over her. Either option was not desirable or efficient in fighting for a chance to be with her again.

His heart screamed at him to tell her that he was still hopelessly in love with her, but his mind taunted him with guilt-ridden questions: did he still have that right? To tell her he loved her? Chris was sure he’d caused enough damage to Y/N’s heart, to her love life so it seemed from what she told him. To quote her exactly, she’d never loved anyone else as much as she loved him. She could’ve had a family by now, someone else to fill the void of emptiness is her chest that he left behind, but it was far too late to undo the damage.

“Chris, I can hear you thinking from outer space,” Y/N joked. “This isn’t your fault. Well, it is, but-”

What other words could describe I want you back? What other way was there to tell Chris, a way to grab him by the shoulders and reassure him that she wanted to try again. That she couldn’t stop loving him, no matter how hard she tried. That she was physically incapable of not loving him, addicted to his happiness and his love just as much as he was with hers.

“I’ll be here when you get back to Earth, Beck, is what I’m trying to get at. It’s never too late to come back to my side, so please, just don’t see this call as a goodbye, or closure, because I think we’ve both had enough of that to fill an entire lifetime.”

Her words struck like a chord through him, a golden needle and thread stitching his aching, broken heart back together. A fleeting flutter in his chest for a chance at a new beginning for them, and the life, the love he thought he could never have after years of being separated from Y/N.

His smile never faltered in the slightest when he whispered back, “I’ll see you soon, sweetheart.”

This place is the same as it ever was

But you don't like it that way

It's never too late to come back to my side

The stars in your eyes shined brighter in Tupelo

And if you're ever tired of being known for who you know

You know, you'll always know me

The sign in Y/N’s hands grew heavier with every second that passed by. The Beck family would be returning from Houston soon, having spent about a week with Chris down in his apartment before moving back home. All of his things were being shipped back to Connecticut, not that it was too difficult considering he wasn’t living in his apartment for more than two years. Y/N checked the clock on her phone, its bright light letting her know that it was three in the morning.

Ten minutes until the love of her life was touching ground in Hartford again. Twenty-five until she’d see him face to face since he left her that fateful night ten years ago.

The month that she had waited for him to come home seemed to be years long, the days at work spent nervously tapping her foot and daydreaming, while nights were filled with sleepovers at the Beck’s house and happily chattering with the family in waiting for Chris’ arrival. Y/N had spent a lot of time thinking to herself during that period too. It wasn’t that she was scared of him leaving her again, but it had been ten years since they’d been together, much less talked to each other. That was a lot of time for change, maturing from naive post-grads to adults, and whether that change was good or not was going to be discovered soon, and she did not like the anticipation one bit.

Grasping for a way to soothe her rattling nerves, Y/N stared out of the large windows at the terminal, trying to count the amount of stars she could find. Once upon a time, she and Chris had regularly snuck out of their houses to climb to the large grassy hill behind the high school, her head in his lap, his fingers tracing constellations on her moonlit skin as he sung her to sleep. It was a song that was sung to him when he was little, The Way I Am by Ingrid Michaelson, and though they were nearly adults at the time, it was always exactly what she needed, the calm to the raging storm of emotions that flooded through her every day.

“You can see the stars out tonight pretty well, can’t you stardust?”

Y/N was unaware that she’d even fallen asleep, a light tapping on her shoulder bringing her from her dreamless rest. Her eyes blinked wearily, the bright white lights of the airport pouring into her sight, framing the smiling face of Christopher Beck like a halo.

“Chris?” She whispered dreamily. “You’re back.”

Chris’s palm trailed down her sweatshirt arm to cup her hand in his, and he kneeled in front of her, tears already forming at the corners of his eyes.

“Had to come back home to you, didn’t I, sweetheart?”

And when Y/N’s voice allowed a sob to break through and Chris was in her arms again, she knew that he was home, finally for good.

Dorothea

Dorothea...