#and looking for that person is too forced and weird | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

starrbishops · 1 day ago

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⟡Not So Secret⟡

(John Walker x Reader)

Summary: After months of keeping your relationship secret, you and John are finally caught.

Word Count: 2k

Notes: (Set after the events of Thunderbolts*, horny fluff, talk of sex, John Walker praise kink (the people have inspired me) established relationship, Bob appearance!

a/n: i cannot help it i love putting this man in silly ass situations so here we are again. Now featuring Bob!

“This movie is really fucked up.”

You turn from your spot on the couch. “So you are watching it?” John stands directly behind the couch, arms crossed and brow furrowed as he stares at the screen. “I’m just passing through.”

“You’ve been passing through for 20 minutes, babe.”

He stays silent, prompting you to hold out a hand, which he (finally) takes as he climbs onto the sofa next to you.

“Took you long enough.” you get comfortable, throwing your legs over your boyfriend’s lap and wrapping your arms around his shoulders, while he snakes an arm around your waist.

“It’s just, I get wanting to get paid, but dude, forcing an amnesiac to be your wife is fucking nuts, even if she does suck as a person.” he gestures at the TV, where an old rom-com you’d put on absentmindedly plays. “Like, I’m a shitty dude, but I’m not that shitty, jesus.”

“You gotta stop talking about yourself like that.” you sigh, “but yeah, this is a very weird premise.”

John throws his free hand up. “Thank you.”

“We don’t have to watch it, y’know.”

“No, I care now. I need to know how this ends so I can complain about it properly.”

You laugh, seeing how he gets riled up over the stupidest things. With most people John has a tendency to be contrary, disagreeing with anything and picking stupid flights over it. He’s been better about it recently, especially since you pointed it out to him. Instead he gets out the general frustration that seems to always hang on him through the most random complaints. It’s cute, seeing what he gets overly enthusiastic or angry about. Last week Bucky accidentally hit a little too hard in training and he brought it up just about any time the other super soldier was in the room.

The two of you sat in a comfortable silence, letting the movie play on in the background. You peer over at John, who lays back against the couch, absentmindedly rubbing circles with the hand on your waist.

He looks relaxed, something you don’t see often with him. His jaw is clenched, head rolled back. You lean over and peck a kiss on his cheek.

He turns as you pull back, surprised a little. “What’s that for?”

You shrug. “What, I can’t just kiss my boyfriend for the hell of it?”

“If you’re gonna kiss me, do it right.” he leans in and presses his lips to yours, smiling as he does it. John is never one to half-ass something. His other hand cups your cheek, pulling you closer before running through your hair.

He grunts a little as you pull away, already leaning back as you giggle. “I thought you were watching the movie.”

“Fuck the movie.” he mutters, grabbing the remote to shut the TV off as he catches your lips again, running his tongue along them before delving into your mouth, as if he's claiming his territory.

You groan as he presses you down against the sofa, now laying on top of you as you wrap your legs around his waist. His large hand grip your hips like you’re going to vanish if he doesn’t hold on.The heat between you grows as you press yourselves as close as possible, as if trying to meld into one.

“So perfect.” he mutters as he comes up briefly for air, moving his mouth to your jaw and trailing kisses down your neck. “Drive me fuckin’ crazy, darlin’.”

His Georgia drawl peeks out when he gets like this; intense, single minded. If the hardness pressing against your stomach is any indication, the blood has left his head and gone straight to his dick, not that you’re complaining.

“John,” you manage to get out as he starts to push a hand under your shirt. “Babe, we shouldn’t-”

“Why not?” he continues to paper kisses to your collarbone, although his hand has stopped, waiting for your consent to go any further.

“We’re in the living room, what if someone walks in?”

“No one’s gonna walk in”

“Babe.” you grab his chin, forcing him to look you in the eyes as you give him a sharp look. It’s not that you don’t want your teammates to know about the two of you. It’s been a few months, long enough for you to know you’re serious about this, and that John is too. You’d just rather not defile another public living space.

John sighs, hanging his heaven the crook of your neck. You pat him on the back, getting a laugh out of him. “Alright, good boy.”

He goes a little still at that, and you worry for a moment before realizing what you’ve done. “Oh, you’re into that aren’t you?”

“Shut up.” he grumbles as he sits up, pulling you up with him.

“What, you like it when I tell you how amazing you are?” you tease, one hand running through his beard. He leans into the touch, always happy to take anything you have to offer. “How handsome you are, how good you are in bed?”

“You keep talking like that, I’m not gonna make it to the bed.” he warns, his hand coming up to meet yours. You just chuckle, kissing him once again. Then his hands are moving back to your waist as he lifts you, never breaking the kiss as he moves them to grip your thighs. You tighten your grip around his waist, feeling how aroused he is as he kisses you.

You’re in for a hell of a night, you think, before you hear a sudden “Oh!” from behind you.

You and John both pull away, whipping around to see Bob standing in the entryway, eyes wide and embarrassed. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know you guys were busy, um, I can, I can go, I didn’t mean to-” Bob stutters out incoherent apologies as you and John stand frozen, unsure of what to do.

“Bob.” you finally manage to say. “It’s okay. Sorry you had to see that.” you pat John’s shoulder indicating to put you down, which he does, his face still in a state of shock as he stares at Bob.

“It’s okay, I know you guys- I mean, um, it’s fine.”

“You know what?” John breaks his silence as he presses you to the front of him, hiding his still present erection.

Bob opens his mouth again, although no sound comes out as he tries to come up with something to say. “Well, I kinda knew about you guys. For a while.”

Once again, you and your boyfriend stand shocked as Bob begins rambling. “I didn’t mean to not tell you, I just didn’t want to like, invade your privacy because I could tell you wanted it to be secret, sp I didn’t say anything-”

“How long have you known?” John barks out, less angry and more confused and irritated than anything.

Bob wrings his hands. “Um, like three months?”

John hands his head, and you stifle a laugh as you look up at him. He just shakes his head, looking down at you embarrassed. You can’t help it, you start laughin at the ridiculousness of it all.

“We’ve only been dating five months.” you tell Bob through giggles. “How did you even find out?”

“Oh, well, there was this one time I woke up really early by accident, so I went to the kitchen ‘cause I was hungry, and you guys were in there.” he explains, still nervous. “And you seemed, um, busy, so I left.”

“Oh my god.” John mutters, recalling the day in question.

John has a tendency to wake up early; it’s built in from years in the military. Having begun to spend most nights in his bed, you’d started getting up with him, the two of you enjoying the peace and domesticity of breakfast together in the kitchen.

You sat on the island, watching as John made the two of breakfast. You never would’ve expected him to be competent in the kitchen, let alone a good cook. Yet most mornings, he was the one making you both food, always insistent it was “the most important meal of the day.”

“Okay.” he handed over a plate of bacon and scrambled eggs, leaning against the island next to you. You furrowed a brow at him.

“None for you?”

He shrugged. “Not hungry.”

“What happened to the most important meal of the day?” you joke as you elbow him, getting a chuckle in return. Again he just shrugged. “Well, now I feel bad eating because you don't have anything.”

“Come on,” he moved to stand between your legs. “I like doing things for you. Takin’ care of you.” he brushed a stray piece of hair behind your ear, the rest still messy from a long night together.

“Besides, I can think of something else I’d enjoy.” his hands moved to massage your thighs, a sly grin on his face.

“Jesus, John, again?” you were still sore from the night before, although he didn’t seem to care much as kneeled down before you. Your food was long forgotten, tossed somewhere else on the island as he pressed a kiss to your inner thigh.

“I like takin’ care of my girl.” he tugged at your shorts, his Southern accent peering out before you heard a sudden noise from the hallway.

You whip[ed around, only to see nothing but an empty entrance.

“Hey.” John squeezed your thigh, drawing your attention back to him. “No one’s up at this hour. We’re good.”

You ran your hand through his hair. “You’re cleaning up the counter after this.” you joke.

He just smiled, pressing another kiss to your legs. “Fine by me.”

“Oh, Jesus christ.” you cover your eyes in shame, “That was you?”

“Yeah. I didn’t see anything though!” he assures you. “Um, besides, like uh. The setup.”

“Oh my god.” you repeat, remembering how Bob would avoid the kitchen island like a plague.

“Well, at least it was a good morning.” John jokes, prompting you to smack his chest. He clears his throat. “Sorry you had to see it though, Bob.”

“It’s okay. You guys are cute. Whenever I see you together you seem really happy.”

“Thanks Bob- what do you mean whenever?”

Bob eyes eiden against, realizing he’s said something he shouldn't. “Um, well that wasn’t the only time-”

“Oh god, Bob you pervert.” John cries out, waving a hand in the air as you laugh again.

“It’s not my fault! You guys are just kinda obvious!” he defends himself, raising hands in a show of peace.

“Bob- stop laughing!” John insists, and you stifle your laughs with her hand. “Bob, please stop watching me and my girlfriend.”

“I don’t watch, yo guys are just always making out in public places!” he argues, shutting up at a sharp look from JOhn. “Okay, I’m sorry, I’ll stay out of it. Congrats, though, I hope you two are very happy together.”

“We are. Now go.” John waves a hand towards the doorway, which Bob quickly walks to before pausing in the wnt raya.

“Could you just, like, not have sex on the couch? I like the couch, I don’t wanna have to avoid it forever-”

“Bob!” the man runs out at the warning from JOhn, who sighs as he lays his head atop yours. “Jesus Christ.”

“I told you this would happen.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. You were right.”

You smile a little, again reaching up to move his chin to face you. “You know, I don’t mind him knowing.”

John grumbles a little, though he nods. “Yeah. Just rather he does not find out by seeing me eat you on the kitchen counter.”

“Well whose idea was that?” you point out, receiving more grumbles from John above you. “We gotta tell the others, you know.”

He nods, reluctantly. “Do we really have to?” he squeezes your hips. “I like having you to myself.”

“Would you rather have Alexei walk in on us?” he shudders at the thought, eliciting another chuckle from you.

“Okay.” he concedes, spinning you around to face him. “But tomorrow. I want one more night of just us.”

You smile, reaching up to kiss him again. “Okay.” you agree as you pull away. “So can we get back to what we were doing earlier?”

“God, yes.” you yelp as John lights you again, kissing you firmly as he carries you off towards his room.

a/n: Anotha one. I have so much fun writing these it's silly. Hope you have just as much fun reading them! Signing off again:

#john walker #thunderbolts*#john walker x reader #fanfic #marvel #thunderbolts #us agent #bob reynolds #sentry #the void

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jburrgf · 15 hours ago

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CRAVE, MATT REMPE.

pairing: !ny rangers¡matt rempe x !pr girl¡reader

summary: forced proximity, coworker paring, fake dating,

description: you’re a personal assistant working behind the scenes in the NHL world — organized, focused, and determined to keep things strictly professional. But when you cross paths with Matt Rempe, everything starts to unravel. What begins as tension and irritation slowly turns into something far more complicated: stolen glances, blurred boundaries, and a possessiveness that neither of you are ready to face.

word count: 7.4k

You meet Matt Rempe for the first time on a Tuesday.

It's raining — not enough to be romantic, just enough to ruin your hair and smear your eyeliner in the reflection of your cracked phone screen. You're fifteen minutes late to the morning media meeting because the subway stalled, your umbrella flipped inside out, and someone spilled iced coffee on your blazer. It's one of those days where everything feels like a dare from the universe.

You burst into the media room at Madison Square Garden with damp shoes and an apology on your lips, and that's when you see him.

Him.

Six-foot-seven. Hockey gear is halfway off. Hair curled damply at the nape of his neck. Legs stretched so long that you're almost offended by them. And his most irritatingly amused expression as he watches you stumble through the door, breathless.

"Oh," he says, eyebrows lifting. "You must be the new PR girl."

You blink—PR girl.

"I'm the media relations coordinator," you correct flatly, trying to shrug off your coat with what's left of your dignity.

He grins, slow and lazy like he's already won something. "That's cute."

Cute.

You seriously consider quitting right then and there.

You don't get far.

Before you can even find a seat, your boss, Richard — salt-and-pepper hair, tired eyes, Mets mug always in hand — waves you over from the head of the table.

"Good, you're here," he says, flipping through a packet of printed media notes. "I need you to focus on Rempe this week."

You blink. "Me?"

Richard nods. "He's a walking headline lately. Fights, interviews, that whole clip of him saying he wants to 'punch the moon' or whatever? It went viral again last night. We need to soften his image. You're going to shadow him for content and prep him for interviews."

You glance over.

Rempe's now poking the sharp end of a pen into a Gatorade bottle. For fun.

You turn back to Richard. "I'm sorry. You want me to clean that up?"

Richard sighs. "He's not as dumb as he looks. But he is chaotic. You'll figure it out. Get him to post something sweet. Please give him a dog, or a grandma, or something. Make him charming."

"Can't we just… let him talk less?"

"Too late," Richard says, flipping the page. "He talks. Make it work."

The next few days are… not smooth. Matt was making everything more challenging for you. First, you try to get him to film a "Day in the Life" TikTok. Second, he misses his Lyft, saying that he got a stained sweater. And then he shows up twenty minutes late, unshaven, wearing mismatched socks and a Shrek hoodie.

"Are you seriously wearing that?" you ask.

He glances down. "What? Shrek's a style icon."

You pinch the bridge of your nose. "You're ruining my life."

He smiles, teeth flashing. "C'mon, PR girl. Admit it. You love the chaos."

You do not. Except maybe — just maybe — you do.

Later, when you finally get him to sit down for a short interview clip, he leans forward and goes: "Hi, I'm Matt Rempe, and my favorite pregame ritual is headbutting a locker until I see stars."

You stare at him. He smirks. And then, you roll your eyes for the 60th time just that day.

"I'm kidding," he says, eyes sparkling. "Mostly."

You and Matt don't go very far with the content. You record half of a video with the camera, and as you walk down to your car, you find weird selfies from Rempe on your phone. And on that afternoon, you badge in Richard's office—hair a mess, zero patience.

"I can't do this," you say.

He doesn't look up from his computer. "What happened now?"

"He called me PR Girl again. He refused to stop juggling pucks while I was trying to interview him. He ate two protein bars at once and choked mid-sentence. I had to edit out a Heimlich maneuver."

"Sounds like a productive day."

You glare.

Richard sighs. "Look, I know he's a lot. But he likes you."

You scoff. You cannot believe in that. "He does not."

"He does. I've never seen him listen to anyone, Y/N. And you got him to show up to something that wasn't optional andstay the whole time. That's a miracle in itself."

"He licked the mic, Richard."

"Baby steps."

[...]

On Friday, after practice, you catch him stretching near the edge of the rink. He's sweaty, flushed, laughing at something Trocheck said, and you hate that he still manages to look stupidly good even when he smells like a locker room. That was almost impossible. But there was him.

Strangely handsome.

You approach with your phone already recording.

"Okay, last try," you say, holding it up. "Three questions. Answer them like a professional, and I'll buy you lunch."

His head tilts. "You're bribing me?"

"I'm desperate." You have to say.

He grins. "I'm in."

You hit record.

"What's one thing fans don't know about you?"

He pauses, thoughtful. Then: "I can play the piano. Badly."

You raise an eyebrow. "Seriously?" That could never be serious. He was… Matt Rempe! Matt didn't do cute things. Right?

He shrugs. "A couple of years of lessons when I was a kid. I learned the Titanic song for a girl once. It didn't work."

You laugh — genuinely — and his eyes flicker like he wasn't expecting that sound from you.

"Next question," you say, voice a little softer. "What's something you'd be doing if you weren't playing hockey?"

He hums. "Probably teaching gym class in Saskatoon."

"Saskatoon?"

"Big dreams."

You smile. "Last one. What's your favorite thing about game day?"

There's no pause this time. "The crowd," he says, voice lower now. "It's loud. Messy. Feels like everything matters."

You stop recording—something in the air shifts. You clear your throat. "That was… good. Thank you."

"No problem," he says, and for once, there's no teasing in his tone.

You turn to walk away, grabbing your bag on the floor and ready to go.

"Hey," he calls after you.

You glance back.

He's still sitting, lacing up his shoes now, but his gaze is steady. "You're good at this. The media stuff. The wrangling thing."

You blink. "Thanks."

He grins. "Still gonna call you PR girl, though."

You roll your eyes. But you're smiling as you walk away.

Later that night, Richard texts you.

"Great clip, Y/N! You're onto something. Keep pushing him. Let's make this work.

You stare at your phone, thumb hovering over the keyboard, and then tuck it away without replying. Because for the first time since you took this job, you're not just thinking about how to manage Matt Rempe's image.

You're thinking about him.

The fact that he didn't seem to be the monster that he looked like.

And that? That might be the real problem.

[...]

You don't hear from him for three days.

This is annoying because, technically, you're the one who's supposed to reach out first. You're the one scheduling clips, organizing posts, coordinating with digital, and trying to make the Rangers' wildest rookie seem less like a cryptid who wandered onto the ice by accident and more like an actual human being. But for some reason, ever since that final clip on the edge of the rink — the piano thing, the Saskatoon thing, the look — you've hesitated to press send.

And, of course, that's when your boss decides to show up at your desk.

"Big idea," Richard says, clapping his hands together like you're not drinking coffee out of a chipped Stanley cup and scrolling through Matt's Instagram to see if he's posted another blurry picture of his feet.

You blink. "That's terrifying."

"You and Rempe," he says, ignoring you, "are going off-site."

You stare. "I'm sorry?"

"Media day. But casual. The internet loves authenticity. We're setting up a video shoot in Brooklyn — an ice cream truck, a dog rescue, and a couple of kids from the youth hockey league. You'll be shadowing."

You narrow your eyes. "You want me on camera?"

"No," he says with a dismissive wave. "But you'll be there. And people will see you. Which, frankly, isn't the worst thing. You're sharp. You're organized. You're good with him. I wouldn't mind the internet knowing who's behind his PR glow-up."

You hesitate.

Because it's one thing to be near Matt, it's another to be next to him — under the same lens, the same spotlight, the same curated chaos.

"I'm not trying to be a face of anything," you say carefully.

Richard shrugs. "You're not. But proximity sells. Especially when he looks at you the way he does."

You freeze. "Excuse me?" What was he even talking about?

He arches a brow. "You haven't noticed? He does everything you say to him to do it."

You have. And you don't want to talk about it.

"I'll book the car," you say, standing too fast. "If I'm going to survive a dog shoot with that man, I need caffeine and a sedative."

[...]

The shoot is set on a quiet block in Williamsburg, just off the water. The ice cream truck is painted pale pink. The dogs are chaotic and too cute to be real. And Rempe — God help you — shows up in a navy blue beanie and a soft-looking hoodie that makes him look like the hot guy in a Hallmark movie who fixes antique clocks and only cries once.

You hate him.

"PR girl," he says as he approaches, a dog already climbing up his leg. "Didn't know you were making a cameo."

"It's not a cameo," you say, gently tugging the leash. "It's supervision."

He smirks. "You love babysitting me."

You give him a flat look. "You ate chalk last week because you thought it was candy."

"It was pastel!" he protests. "Who makes candy that isn't edible?"

You open your mouth. Close it again.

"Point is," he adds, smiling widely, "I missed you."

Your stomach does a thing. It's a stupid, fluttery, PR-inappropriate thing.

"Try not to lick anything this time," you mutter.

The cameras start rolling.

It's chaos — but good chaos. Matt holds a Chihuahua in one hand and a vanilla cone in the other. The kids from the hockey league swarm him like he's a giant jungle gym. At one point, someone throws a tennis ball, and four dogs and Matt all chase after it.

You stay off to the side, managing the handlers, the photographer, the digital team — but you notice the way he keeps glancing over at you between takes like he's checking if you're still there.

Like you matter.

And that's… dangerous.

Because this isn't a friendship.

This isn't flirting.

This is work.

And getting close to a player — even Rempe, who seems incapable of subtlety — is not part of your job description.

But then it happens.

You're crouching to help one of the kids tie a skate when someone calls Matt's name, and he turns too fast, tripping over a leash, a cone, and his own ridiculously long legs.

You don't see it coming until he crashes into you.

You land on the sidewalk hard.

And he lands on you.

Full body. Heavy. Hands braced on either side of your head, face inches from yours, chest rising and falling like he just ran a marathon.

You blink up at him.

He doesn't move.

And neither do you.

Somewhere, a camera clicks.

You hear laughter. Whistles. Someone yells, "GET A ROOM!"

And suddenly — so suddenly — it's not funny at all.

Because his eyes are on yours.

And nothing is teasing in them this time.

"Sorry," he breathes, voice rough.

You shake your head, barely. "It's… okay."

He doesn't move.

You don't ask him to.

[...]

The clip goes viral within three hours.

You're not even back in Manhattan when your phone starts vibrating like it's possessed. The Rangers account posts it with the caption: "Just two people, falling for each other." You want to scream. Or throw up—or both.

By the time you return to your desk, the clip has garnered 2.1 million views, and you are trending.

Not him.

You.

"I'm going to die," you whisper, staring at the screen.

Richard walks by and casually says, "You're welcome."

You turn to him, horrified. "You planned this?"

He shrugs. "Not the fall. But I'm not mad at the result."

"It's inappropriate," you snap. "He's a player. I'm staff."

"You're not kissing him," he says, then pauses. "Yet."

You shoot to your feet. "Richard—"

"Relax," he says, raising both hands. "Just keep it clean. And keep it going. The internet's obsessed. He's finally marketable."

You open your mouth.

Close it again.

Because you know he's right.

And that's what terrifies you most.

That night, your phone buzzes with a message.

Matt Rempe: Still thinking about the fall?

You stare at it.

Please ignore it.

Try to sleep.

Fail.

Because you are thinking about it.

And the worst part?

You don't want to stop.

[...]

You're barely through the doors when you feel him watching you.

The charity gala is precisely the kind of thing you dread — overly formal, stuffed with people who care more about who'sseen supporting the youth hockey program than actually donating to it. You've been prepping for weeks, building storyboards, syncing schedules, and coordinating influencer coverage. But nothing prepared you for what Matt Rempe looks like in a suit.

Or, more specifically, what it feels like when he sees you in a dress.

Because the second your heels hit the marble floor, his eyes find you. And they don't leave.

Not when he's talking to the GM. Not when the team photographer calls for group shots. Not even when one of the donors pats him on the back and says something about "rising stars" and "young blood."

You try to pretend you don't notice.

You fail.

"What are you even doing here?" he murmurs when he finally sidles up next to you at the champagne bar, voice low enough that it makes you shiver. "I thought PR types hated events like this."

"I do," you reply coolly, adjusting your badge. "But someone has to make sure you don't go viral for eating all the hors d'oeuvres."

He grins. "I only did that once."

You arch a brow. "You stole a shrimp tower."

"I rescued it."

"From a child."

"She didn't even like seafood!"

You roll your eyes and sip your champagne.

"You look nice," he adds after a beat. It's casual, almost throwaway — but the way he says it makes something hot bloom low in your stomach.

You glance over at him. "Thanks."

"Like, really nice."

You narrow your eyes. "Are you flirting with me at a team-sponsored event?"

He shrugs. "I flirt with you everywhere."

You nearly choked on your drink.

The situation worsens when the press arrives.

There's a freelance reporter — tall, polished, confident — who sidles up to you near the silent auction table and immediately starts laying it on thick.

"You handle the Rangers' social?" he asks, leaning a little too close. "That explains the tone shift. It's gotten sharper. Funnier."

You shrug modestly. "We're trying new things."

"Like the Rempe stuff," he says, smirking. "Smart angle. He's the goofy rookie with a PR handler who dislikes him. It's got tension."

You blink. "Excuse me?"

He grins. "It's obvious. You're always trying not to smile in the videos. Feels kind of charged."

You step back, heart racing. "We're professionals."

"Sure," he says, clearly not buying it. "But the internet's rooting for you. I mean, the fall? The way he looks at you? Come on."

You're about to snap when a hand lands on your waist.

And not just any hand.

Matt.

"You okay?" he says, looking only at you. His voice is low. Firm. Different.

You nod.

The reporter raises an eyebrow, amused. "Speak of the devil."

"Funny," Matt says, not smiling. "Didn't realize this was an interrogation."

"Just a conversation," the guy replies, unbothered. "But maybe I'll circle back."

He walks away. You exhale.

Matt doesn't move his hand.

"You didn't have to do that," you say, avoiding his gaze.

"I know," he says softly. "But I wanted to."

You finally look at him, and what you see makes your stomach flip.

Because for the first time, it feels like the flirting isn't a joke.

It's something else.

Something real.

You don't leave together. You don't even talk much after that. But when the storm hits Manhattan just past midnight and all the bridges close, you realize two things.

One: You're stuck in the gala hotel.

And two: so is Matt.

You find him in the lobby, hair damp, jacket slung over one shoulder.

"We're snowed in," you announce, stating the obvious.

He looks up. "Yeah."

"We're not allowed to leave."

"I noticed."

You hesitate. Then: "Do you have a room?"

He nods slowly. "Do you?"

You do. But it's a double. And it's cold. And you're too wired to sleep.

So when he says, "Wanna hang out until the power comes back?" — you nod.

And follow him upstairs.

His room is dim, lit only by the warm yellow glow of a desk lamp. He pulls off his jacket and throws it on the bed. You hover awkwardly by the window, watching the snow swirl.

"I can sleep on the chair," he says.

You turn. "What?"

He nods toward the armchair by the TV. "If it comes to that."

"I'm not staying the night."

He grins. "Sure you're not."

You scowl, but your cheeks go warm.

He crosses the room and sits on the edge of the bed. For a moment, the only sound is the wind outside and your heartbeat inside your ears.

"I meant it, by the way," he says quietly. "What I said earlier."

You blink. "Which part?"

"You look nice. And that I missed you."

Something in your chest tightens.

"You don't even know me," you whisper.

He stands.

Steps closer.

"I know you don't let people in easily," he says. "I know you're too smart for half the idiots in this building. I know you roll your eyes when you're flustered. And I know the only reason you're pretending not to like me is because you think it's safer that way."

Your breath catches.

"I'm not trying to make this complicated," he adds. "But it already is. So, if you want me to back off, say the word. But if you don't…"

He doesn't finish, and you don't need him to. Because you're already stepping forward, and for one heartbeat, neither of you moves.

Then, suddenly — finally — he does.

And the distance between you disappears.

[...]

You wake to the sound of silence.

Not the sterile kind that fills your apartment after a long day. This is something softer. Sleep-heavy. Still. The type of quiet you don't notice until you've been wrapped in it for a while.

Your eyes blink open slowly. The room is pale, with morning light filtering through thick snow-draped curtains. For a second, you're disoriented. This isn't your bed. This isn't even your hotel room. It's—

Your head turns.

Matt.

He's on the other side of the bed, turned slightly toward you, one arm bent beneath the pillow, lashes casting faint shadows on his cheek. His mouth is parted just a little. His hair's a mess — flattened on one side, ruffled on the other — and his long legs are tangled in the comforter.

He looks peaceful.

You don't.

Because the second your brain catches up, everything from last night crashes over you like a wave.

The gala. The flirting. The hand on your waist. The room. The way he looked at you like you were the only person on the planet.

You didn't sleep together — not in that way.

But you'd shared a bed.

And the intimacy of it somehow feels more dangerous than anything physical ever could.

You sit up slowly, carefully, trying not to disturb him. Your feet hit the carpet. You tiptoe to the window, and the snow hasn't let up. Manhattan is a postcard in grayscale — all blurred edges and icy stillness. You let your forehead rest against the cold glass.

You should leave. You should go back to your room, drink the bad hotel coffee, and put all of this into a box labeled 'mistake.' But then you hear the sheets shift.

You turn.

"Hey."

Matt's voice is low and rough from sleep. He squints at you, then rubs a hand over his face. "You okay?"

You nod. "Yeah. I just… woke up early."

He sits up, the blanket pooling at his waist. His bare chest is broad and freckled and unfairly distracting. He stretches his arms over his head with a groan.

"Sorry," he says. "Didn't mean to take over the whole bed."

"You didn't."

He looks at you for a moment.

And just like last night — and the night before that, and every time he's gotten too close — it feels like the air shifts.

He runs a hand through his hair. "You sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine."

"You're lying."

You roll your eyes, but you're too tired to fight him. "I just… don't know what this is."

His expression softens. "It doesn't have to be anything. Not yet."

You stare at him. "But it feels like something."

"Yeah," he says. "It does."

There's a long pause.

And then, quietly: "I'm not gonna push you. I know this is complicated. Work, and optics, and… us. But I meant what I said last night."

You feel your heart climb slowly into your throat.

"I like you," he says.

And somehow, that's the most terrifying thing of all.

Later that day, the snow starts to melt, but your sense of control doesn't.

You'd made it back to your room. Showered. Dressed and gathered yourself like armor. You even slipped Matt a sheepish "thanks for not kicking me out" text before heading back to the arena.

By the time you're at your desk, you've almost convinced yourself that maybe—maybe—no one will find out.

And then it happens. You're staring at your inbox when your phone buzzes once.

Tracy (Social team)

— omg, have you seen this???

Attached is a video. Shaky, dimly lit. Filmed from across the hotel lobby.

You hit play.

And freeze.

It's you and Matt from last night. You're standing too close. He's got his hand on your lower back. You're laughing—not professionally, not distantly. Softly. Like you're used to him touching you like that.

Which you're not.

But the video doesn't care about the truth.

It ends with the two of you stepping into the elevator. Alone.

Tracy

— girl, it's going viral on hockey Twitter

— "Enemies to lovers, snowed-in edition" LMAO

Your blood turns to ice. Seconds later, your office door opens.

Your boss steps in — tablet in hand, expression unreadable.

"We need to talk," she says.

[...]

The meeting isn't a disaster. But it's close.

They don't accuse you of anything directly. Just ask a lot of questions — about professionalism, boundaries, and player access. You answer carefully, voice even, nails digging crescents into your palm under the table.

You explain that nothing inappropriate happened. You explain that you were snowed in. You explain that, yes, maybe there's chemistry, but you've done nothing to compromise the integrity of your role.

They don't say you're fired. But they do say this:

"We need to get ahead of it."

This is how you end up in Matt's apartment that evening, pacing in front of his kitchen island while he watches you like you're about to detonate.

"So let me get this straight," he says. "They want us to pretend we're dating. To explain the video."

You nod. "Just for a few weeks. Until the story cools down."

He blinks. "But we're not dating."

"Obviously."

"Yet," he mutters.

You pretend not to hear him.

He leans against the counter. "So what's the plan? Just hold hands at games and pretend we're each other's favorite people?"

You give him a look. "You already are my least favorite person. That part will be easy."

He grins. "You sure about that?"

You don't answer.

Because you're no longer sure about anything.

Except for this: the more time you spend with Matt Rempe, the harder it's getting to remember what you're supposed to be pretending.

[...]

It starts with your hand in his.

Not for any real reason — not at first. Just that you're getting out of the Uber together, and there are photographers outside the foundation gala venue, and Matt turns to you with a look like Ready? And you, despite every nerve screaming otherwise, nod back.

And then he takes your hand.

And doesn't let go.

The sidewalk is slick with leftover snowmelt. The cameras start flashing as soon as the two of you step into the light. You know, the moment the shutter clicks that, it'll be everywhere by morning.

Rempe. And the team's media manager. Hand in hand.

You tell yourself it's a strategy. Optics. It's a clean narrative.

But that doesn't explain the warmth of his palm against yours. Or the way his thumb brushes yours when he thinks no one's looking.

It doesn't explain why your heart stutters when he leans in to whisper in your ear.

"You okay?"

You glance up. He's in a suit. Navy. Perfectly fitted. A tie that matches your dress — coordinated because the PR team insisted you look "believably coupled." He smells like cedarwood and sharp winter air and something distinctly Matt.

"Yeah," you breathe. "Just a little overwhelmed."

He squeezes your hand gently. "You look beautiful."

You blink. That wasn't part of the script.

"Thanks," you say because it's the only thing you can think of that won't give you away completely.

The event itself is a blur.

There are sponsors and speeches and passed hors d'oeuvres, and every time you drift more than a foot from Matt, someone catches your eye with a knowing look. You're suddenly no longer the quiet girl behind the camera or the press release. You're his date.

You.

The most frustrating man you've ever met is now holding open doors for you, getting you champagne, and resting his hand on the small of your back like it's always belonged there.

You're too busy pretending to be in love to realize how natural it feels.

Until the photo.

It's taken near the end of the night against a branded backdrop. One of the foundation's social team members calls you both over.

"You two look amazing," she says. "Give us something sweet. Come on — just one for the team!"

You freeze.

Matt doesn't.

Without hesitation, he steps behind you, hands resting lightly on your waist. You tense as he leans in, but instead of kissing your cheek like you expect, he whispers into your hair.

"This okay?"

Your throat is dry. "Yeah."

You don't look at the camera. You feel him smile against your temple.

Later, you see the photo.

It's devastating.

You're tucked into his chest, both of you slightly out of focus behind a shimmer of falling snow. He's looking at you like you hung the stars. You're looking at nothing — stunned, maybe, by how easy it is to forget what's real.

Or by how badly you want it to be.

Later in his apartment, you're barefoot in his kitchen, holding a glass of water as if it might anchor you. The dress is off. His tie is draped on the couch. And neither of you has said a word in fifteen minutes.

It's not awkward. It's not quite comfortable, either. It's something else — the space between rehearsed affection and something you can't name yet.

Matt breaks the silence first.

"You were amazing tonight."

You glance over your shoulder. "So were you."

He leans against the doorframe. "I didn't hate pretending."

You look away. "Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Say things like that. It's not fair."

He doesn't move. "It's not pretend for me."

Your breath catches.

"Matt…"

He steps closer, slowly, as if you're something fragile. "I don't care about the cameras. Or the stories. Or what anyone thinks. I just… I like being with you even when we're arguing. Even when you glare at me like I'm the worst person alive."

"You are," you whisper, but your voice is trembling.

He smiles. "Then I guess I'm your problem."

His hand brushes your arm. You close your eyes. "Say something," he says.

You turn to face him. And for once, you don't have anything to say.

So you kiss him.

It's not fireworks or slow-motion magic. It's messy, honest, and a little desperate. It's like you've been holding it back for too long and finally let it slip through the cracks. He kisses you back like he's been waiting. One hand at your waist. The other is in your hair. He kisses you like he's not acting anymore.

Because he isn't.

Neither are you.

When you break apart, he doesn't say anything.

You don't know how long you stand there, forehead to forehead, letting the silence hum between you like it's trying to say something neither of you can.

Your lips still tingle. Your heart won't settle. Matt's breath ghosts across your skin, and suddenly, the space between pretending and something real disappears completely.

He's the one who leans in again, and this time, you don't hesitate.

You kiss him like you mean it now. No script. No audience. Just you and him in his dimly lit kitchen, your dress hanging off a chair, his tie forgotten, and the tension that's been building for weeks finally breaking open.

His mouth is soft but hungry like he's trying to memorize every part of this. Of you.

You drop the water glass on the counter without looking. It lands with a soft clink that neither of you notices. All you feel are his hands — one curling around your waist, the other sliding up your back, fingers splaying across your spine like he needs to keep you close or he might lose you.

You press into him without thinking.

Your body fits against his like it's meant to. He's tall — too tall — and you're always a little aware of it, but here, now, it doesn't matter. You like the way you have to tiptoe to meet his mouth. You want him to bend to reach you as if it's second nature.

His hands skim the edge of your ribs.

You gasp — barely — and feel him pause.

You pull back just enough to look at him. His eyes are heavy, his jaw clenched, and he's breathing like it's taking everything in him to stay in place.

"Is this okay?" he asks, voice low, rough around the edges.

You nod.

Then, because you want to be sure he knows, you say, "Yeah. It's more than okay."

The smile that pulls at his mouth is crooked and boyish, a little stunned as if he can't believe this is happening. You can't, either.

His lips find yours again, more deliberate now. He kisses like he thinks this might be the last time — like he doesn't want to waste a second of it. The kitchen counter digs into your hip. Your hands slip under the hem of his button-down. His skin is warm and solid, and he shudders when your fingertips drag across his stomach.

You feel him tense.

Then he pulls away, just barely, and looks at you. Not down at your mouth or your body, at you.

"Do you wanna go to my room?"

It's not rushed. Not cocky. Just quiet. Honest.

You could say no. You know he'd back off in an instant. But you also know this isn't just about tonight. Not really. It's about all the almosts. All the things you haven't let yourself want until now.

You reach up, slide your hand into his hair, and whisper, "Yeah."

He kisses you like thank you.

He doesn't rush.

That's the first thing that surprises you.

For a guy who usually barrels into everything like he's too big for the world — too loud, too impulsive, too much — Matt is soft here. Careful. Patient.

He shoves you backward until your spine hits the door, and you don't even flinch — your fingers already tugging at the collar of his shirt, frantic to get him bare. But he's faster.

Matt grabs your wrists with one hand and pins them over your head, holding them there like it's nothing. You gasp, breath catching in your throat.

You step into his room and barely have time to take in the simple, masculine chaos of it — dark sheets, one lamp on, a worn Rangers hoodie on the back of the chair — before he turns to face you.

And then you're kissing again. But this time, it's deeper. Messier.

His mouth slants over yours with a hunger that's been simmering for weeks. You feel it in the way he breathes, in the way he fists the back of your dress and pulls you in like he's starving.

Your hands go to his chest, then lower, fumbling with the buttons on his shirt, yanking it out of his pants. His skin is warm under your palms, a mix of hard muscle and softness in all the places you had imagined.

He lifts you like you weigh nothing and tosses you on the bed. Your back bounces against the mattress, legs falling open without hesitation. He stares down at you — messy, panting, wet — like he's starving and just found his fucking feast.

You groan against his mouth when he bites your bottom lip.

He pulls back just enough to look at you. His pupils are blown wide, his jaw tight, voice low and wrecked:

"Tell me to stop, and I will."

"I don't want you to," you breathe, and then he's on you again.

You feel it in the way his hands finally touch you, like he means it — one sliding up the back of your thigh, the other gripping your waist tight enough to bruise. He walks you backward until your knees hit the bed, and then he's kissing down your neck, sucking marks into the skin like he's claiming you.

"Fuck," he mutters into your collarbone, voice thick. "You have no idea how long I've wanted this."

You do it because you've wanted it, too.

You moan when his hands tug at the zipper on your dress, and he pauses, just for a second, to look at you again.

"You sure?"

Your answer is a breathless "Yes. Matt. Please."

He swears under his breath as the dress hits the floor. And when his eyes rake over you — bare skin, underwear, all of you laid out and open in front of him — his breath catches like he's never seen anything so fucking perfect in his life.

"Jesus," he says, stepping closer. "You're gonna ruin me."

You tug him toward you by the waistband of his pants.

"Then let me."

His kiss is punishing. Teeth. Tongue. Possession.

"Fuck, I knew you'd be like this," he growls, mouth dragging down your neck. "All bratty and loud until I get my hands on you."

"Matt—" you whimper.

He smirks darkly. "Still got something to say, baby?"

"Take that shit off," he says, voice low. "Now."

You scramble to obey, peeling off your top. You're left in nothing but your panties — soaked through — and he groans when he sees the wet spot.

"Look at you," he mutters, dropping his jeans. His cock springs out, thick and hard and already leaking. "You're fuckin' dripping for me, and I haven't even touched you yet."

Your mouth goes dry.

He kneels between your legs and drags your panties down with one hand, the other already sliding up your inner thigh. His fingers brush over your slit, and his grin turns cruel.

"This wet for me already?" he says, pushing two fingers in without warning.

You cry out, hips jerking — but he doesn't slow down.

Matt pumps them hard, deep, curling them inside you like he's trying to make you scream. Your hands fist the sheets. He watches every twitch of your body like a man possessed.

"Fuckin' knew it," he mutters. "Knew you'd take my fingers so pretty. Bet your pussy's even better."

You're already spiraling, moaning, back-arching. But right before you come, he pulls his fingers out.

"No—Matt—!"

He grabs your jaw with his wet hand, squeezing your cheeks until your lips part.

"Open."

You do without thinking, and he shoves his fingers into your mouth.

"Taste yourself."

You moan around him, licking eagerly, and his eyes roll back like he's losing it.

"Jesus Christ."

He jerks your legs wider and lines up his cock without warning — not even grabbing a condom. And for a second, you blink.

"Wait—Matt—"

He pauses, eyes flashing. "You on the pill?"

You nod, barely able to breathe. "Yes."

"Good," he mutters. "Because I'm not fucking pulling out."

And then he slams into you.

You scream — not from pain, but from the stretch, the force, the overwhelming fullness. He's big, but more than that, he's brutal. He doesn't give you time to adjust. Don't ask if you're okay. He just fucks into you like he owns you.

"God, yes—fuck—Matt—"

"You like that?" he pants, one hand grabbing your hip so tight you'll feel it tomorrow. "Like getting your cunt ruined by me?"

You can't even speak. You nod, crying out with every thrust.

He fucks you hard and fast, grinding so deep your legs go numb. His hips smack into yours, the headboard slamming the wall in rhythm. Your nails rake down his back, your moans getting louder, rougher.

He growls, low and primal.

"Say it," he snaps. "Say whose pussy this is."

"Yours," you whimper. "Yours, Matt—!"

"Say my fucking name when I fuck you."

"Matt—fuck—Matt—please—!"

You're seconds from falling apart when—

Your phone rings.

Shrill. Loud. The vibration buzzed across the nightstand. You freeze. Matt doesn't stop. He grins and leans down, biting your lip as he grinds in deeper.

"Answer it."

"What—?"

He thrusts again, harder.

"Fucking answer it."

You fumble for the phone with shaking hands, your vision going blurry from pleasure. The screen flashes:

"Richard (Office)"

Your boss. You look at Matt, panic rising.

He slows but stays deep inside you, not backing off an inch. "Put it on speaker," he orders.

"Matt—"

"You wanna come, baby?" he breathes against your neck. "Then you're gonna answer it. While I fuck you."

You're soaked, trembling, lightheaded from the way he fills you — and you know you'll say yes to anything he says—your thumb slides over the screen.

"Hello?"

Richard's voice comes through, sharp and tired. "I've been trying to reach you for the past hour. We have a problem with the roster for tomorrow—"

Matt thrusts deep. You gasp.

Frank pauses. "Are you—okay?"

You force a breath. "Yeah. Yeah. Sorry. I—uh—was asleep."

Matt fucks into you again — hard — and you bite your lip so hard you taste blood.

Frank sighs. "We need you to resend the updated sponsor deck tonight. Can you handle that or not?"

Matt grabs your throat, not choking, just holding you there, and you can barely think.

"I—yes," you stammer, breath hitching. "I'll send it in twenty."

"Good."

He hangs up.

Matt doesn't even let the call finish clicking off before he pulls out and flips you over like you're nothing, dragging your hips back until your face is pressed into the sheets and your ass is in the air.

"Twenty minutes," he growls, lining up again. "Guess I better make this quick."

He slams into you from behind, and you swear you see stars.

You can't even breathe. He's fucking you like an animal now, grip bruising, pace vicious, filthy praise spilling from his mouth.

"Such a fuckin' good girl," he pants. "Letting me use you while your boss is on the phone. Letting me ruin your fucking cunt. You love it, don't you?"

"Yes—Matt—fuck yes—!"

Your orgasm hits so hard that your vision goes black.

You scream his name, your whole body shaking, and he doesn't stop — he keeps going until you're sobbing, overstimulating, and twitching. And then he comes.

With a growl, Matt slams into you and stills, cock pulsing deep inside, filling you up. He stays there, breath heavy on your neck, hands gripping your hips like he never wants to let go.

Neither do you.

You don't rush out of Matt's room. You don't bolt for the door like you're trying to escape some mistake because this wasn't a mistake. Not even close.

Instead, you lie there for a long moment, your chest rising and falling in rhythm with his steady breaths. The bed dips where he's still half on top of you, warm and heavy, his fingers tracing lazy, featherlight patterns along your spine as if memorizing every inch of your skin.

The silence between you feels like an electric current — thick, potent, and humming louder than any words could be. It's not awkward. It's not uncertain. It's just this — two people tangled in a moment that's theirs and theirs alone.

You lift your head to look at him, the way the soft light casts shadows over his jaw, the slight curl of his mouth when he catches your gaze. His eyes—dark, raw, unguarded—hold a kind of fire that makes your stomach flutter and ache all at once.

"Not running," he says quietly, his voice low and rough from what you just did to each other.

You smile, breathless. "No. Not running."

He presses a kiss to your temple, his hand sliding up to cup your cheek, thumb stroking gently. It's a touch so different from the roughness before, soft and careful, like he's holding something precious — you.

You close your eyes and lean into it.

For a while, you stay there, wrapped up in the aftershocks of everything that happened. The way his skin feels against yours, the lingering heat in your veins, the slow fade of that wild, rough hunger giving way to a quiet, intimate calm.

Matt's lips find yours again, softer now, almost hesitant, like he's discovering a new language. You melt against him, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer until there's no space left between you.

"You good?" he asks after a moment, voice barely above a whisper.

You nod. "Yeah. Better than good."

He grins that crooked, dangerous grin that made your knees weak earlier. "Good. 'Cause this?" He gestures between the two of you, the messy sheets, the way your bodies fit together like puzzle pieces, finally found. "This isn't a one-time thing."

You laugh softly, breath hitching. "I was hoping you'd say that."

He sits back just enough to look at you properly, eyes sharp but warm. "I mean it. You're not just some girl I fucked and forgot about. You're mine"

You feel that. The weight of it. The promise wrapped in those words.

"Neither are you," you admit, heart pounding with how real it all feels.

Matt reaches over to the bedside table, grabs his shirt, and starts pulling it on without a word. You follow suit, slowly slipping back into your clothes, still savoring the lingering heat between your legs, the ache that's both delicious and familiar now.

As you stand to leave, Matt catches your wrist, tugging you back down beside him.

"Wait," he says, voice low and serious.

You look at him, curious. He leans in close, so close you can feel his breath against your skin.

"I want you. Not just tonight." His hand tightens slightly on your wrist. "More. You get that? I want you since the first time I saw you."

You nod again, the words caught in your throat.

"Good."

And with that, he presses a rough kiss to your neck, then lets you go. You step out into the hallway, the cool air hitting your skin like a shock after the heat of his room. You don't look back.

Because you don't have to, Matt Rempe just made it very clear — you're exactly where you're supposed to be.

#matt rempe #matt rempe fic #nhl imagine #matt rempe x reader #matt rempe imagine #matt rempe smut #matt rempe x you #nhl fanfiction #nhl x reader #nhl smut #hockey imagine #jburrgf fics

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miraculouslbcnreactions · 3 days ago

Note

Re: more eat the rich

It comes down, I think, to a particular moral framework that TA seems to ascribe to. JK Rowling is another good example. There's a name for it.. it might be Calvinist?

Basically: The problem isn't having rich people, it's having the *wrong* rich people. You're not a part of an exploitative system that concentrates wealth, you're a *bad rich person*.

The same lens is used for everything else. Nothing is actually systemic. The *system* can't be questioned, only individual actors within the system can be called out as bad at fulfilling their role.

If you use this lens to examine other points in ML that seem weird, I think you'll find they suddenly seem more coherent.

Now- this approach is patently wrong on it's face, but that never stopped people from believing in anything, ever.

(Post that spawned this ask)

The word you're looking for is probably "neoliberalism" and I've noticed it, too! I haven't mentioned it because JK Rowling and her works have become such an upsetting topic for many fans and former fans, but Miraculous absolutely matches Harry Potter's concerning messaging about people being the issue, not the system. The system is inherently good and should not be questioned. I hated that as a kid because I was an avid reader and this wasn't how this kind of story was supposed to go! Why wasn't anything being fixed? Why weren't the inequalities being address? Why weren't the slaves being set free? What is this mess? Don't show me a broken system if you're not going to fix it!!!

If anyone is curious about this world view, I'll give you a video essay on the topic of why Harry Potter is just like that. It's about JK Rowling's political views and how it's reflected in her books which does indeed match Miraculous with things like systems being inherently good and people falling into the categories of "good" and "bad" based on their world view or "team alignment" instead of their actions. The last one really shows up in Miraculous as you can see with the redemption nonsense. Nathalie is inherently good so we welcome her to the good side with no effort required. Chloe is inherently bad so redemption is impossible. Marinette is inherently good so her being mean to Kagami is no big deal. Chloe is inherently bad so her being mean to Marinette in similar ways is horrifically wrong. Really depressing way to view the world.

There are other similarities, too. I'm going to have the video start at the part where it really dives into the neoliberalism stuff, but I encourage you to rewind to the start and watch the hour before that part as it's still relevant to this discussion. Pretend it's about Miraculous and you'll be shocked how many matches there are! It's honestly kind of fun. Like there's a section that talks about time travel and how it was solved by just removing time travel from the universe in an incredibly forced manner and a section that talks about the house elves thing that you could easily port over when talking about the Kwamis. I think about the Kwamis' being slaves a lot. It's a lot more subtle than HP, but it's still there with things like Su-Han talking about how it's bad that Plagg is out of the box since he's supposed to be locked away forever apparently. A line that's played like a joke not an indication that a freedom movement is needed. Nooroo is the only Kwami whose enslavement is a problem because he has a bad master. The other kwamis being slaves is fine for some reason...

youtube

#generalluxun #ml writing critical #ml writing salt #tw jk rowling #tw harry potter #I've been tempted to bring up these parallels many times so thank you for giving me a reason to do it #I've pulled up this exact video so many times then talked myself out of it because I didn't want to bring HP up w/o prompting #posting this now since it's relevant to today's other post so we might up well bring up the 2 hour long video now instead of weeks later #ml's wacky morals #Fun fact: HP was one of the series that I honed my analysis skills on #Not because I wanted to but because any time people heard that I didn't like it they demanded to know why #As if my not liking it was some sort of personal insult

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sturniololuvz · 18 hours ago

Text

“who the hell are you?”

meanmatt! x partygirl!reader — part 8

⸻

You weren’t expecting the knock.

Not after everything — not after the late-night call, not after falling asleep with your phones propped up, not after the weird vulnerability of it all.

Especially not from him.

But there he is. Standing on your porch. Hoodie up, jaw set, hands shoved into his sleeves like he’s not even sure he wants to be here.

You open the door. Blink once.

“What,” you say flatly, “you don’t have a phone anymore?”

Matt doesn’t smile. Doesn’t look amused. “Could’ve ignored a text,” he mutters. “Can’t ignore this.”

Your heart thuds. “So you came to force your way in?”

“No,” he says, eyes dragging up to meet yours. “I came to try.”

You don’t say anything.

He shifts uncomfortably. “You said prove it. So… I’m here. Whatever that means.”

You stand there a second longer — then step back and let him in.

⸻

It’s awkward. At first.

He slumps into the corner of your couch, arms crossed, gaze flicking around the room like he’s cataloging your life but refusing to react to any of it.

You toss a blanket beside him, flop onto the opposite end.

“So this is trying?” you ask. “You brooding silently on my furniture?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

You scoff. “God, you’re such a dick.”

“And you’re still obsessed with me,” he shoots back.

You glare. He smirks — just barely.

Then: “Pick a movie,” he mumbles, looking at the remote like it personally offended him. “Before I regret this.”

You roll your eyes, but a tiny smile betrays you.

Fine. You pick something. Something stupid and light.

Matt stays in his corner. Legs stretched out. Arms folded like a defense mechanism.

You stay in yours. But after ten minutes, your head dips toward the cushions. Then your knees curl under you. Then slowly — like neither of you wants to address it — you start leaning closer.

By halfway through the movie, your legs are draped across his lap.

“You’re fidgeting,” he mutters.

“You’re boring.”

“You’re squishing me.”

“Then move me.”

He doesn’t.

⸻

It happens like this:

You shift slightly. Notice a tiny red dot on his chin.

“Hold on,” you say, eyes narrowing.

Matt tenses. “What are you—”

“You’ve got a pimple.”

“Okay?”

“And it’s annoying me.”

Before he can protest, you’re climbing onto his lap — knees on either side of his thighs, fingers reaching for his jaw.

“Stop,” he mutters, pulling his head back.

“Nope,” you grin, pinching his chin. “Be still, I need to extract—”

“I’m literally going to throw you off me.”

You giggle. “You won’t.”

“Wanna bet?”

But you’re already leaning closer, thumb pressing gently at the spot. His jaw clenches.

“You’re such a menace,” he mutters.

“And you love it.”

Matt scoffs, but it’s weak. You’re close now. Way too close. And when your laugh slips out again — soft and genuine and stupidly pretty — something in his face changes.

“Seriously,” he mutters, voice lower now. “Stop moving.”

You freeze. “Why?”

He doesn’t answer.

But you feel it.

The shift. The tension.

And when you glance down — oh.

Yeah.

“Matt,” you say, eyebrows raised.

He groans. “Don’t. Don’t say anything.”

But you don’t listen. Of course you don’t. Because you’re you — stubborn and wicked and maybe a little drunk on the way his breath hitches when you move again.

“So,” you smirk, fingers still on his face. “Guess this is what trying looks like, huh?”

Matt’s jaw tightens. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet you’re hard.”

“Shut up.”

You don’t.

Instead — you kiss him.

It’s fast, impulsive, barely even planned. Just a heat-of-the-moment spark that catches and blazes all at once.

And he kisses you back.

Hard.

Like he’s mad at you for existing. Like he’s mad at himself for needing it this bad.

His hands slide to your hips. Your fingers tug at his hoodie. It’s messy — all teeth and heat and unsaid things buried in every movement.

You gasp when his mouth drags down to your neck. “Matt—”

“Shut up,” he murmurs again, this time against your skin. “Just… let me.”

You do.

For once.

Because for once, he’s not pushing you away.

And yeah — maybe he’s still mean. Maybe he still rolls his eyes and pretends he doesn’t care. Maybe he’s still the most complicated boy you’ve ever met.

But he’s here.

He’s trying.

And for right now — for this moment — that’s enough.

⸻please like and re-blog!!!!

taglist: @sturniolo-szn2 @fadedstvrn @tezzzzzzzz @stayingstromboli @ivysturnss @sturniolofreakk @ihateemetoo @sturniolo-tease @sturniololuv3r @sturnsclam @nxra-cxm @csturniolo43 @mattspillowprincess @sturniolo-fann @izzylovesmatt @sturniolosymphony @bernardmatthews @bugs-tags @emely9274 @arianna1342 @stevielovesmatt @riggysworld @ph3ebssturniolo @whore4chris @amelia4chris

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calcifiedunderland · 2 days ago

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hi i have never made a request on tumblr so i hope they send it here, anyway i wanted to ask you something about the 500 followers event, the request is about azul and a one shot where he and the reader are friends (she is human) but they both have romantic feelings, so she decides to confess, taking azul swimming in his octopus form, only he doesn't believe her and runs away, in an attempt to find him she meets some mermen who speak badly of him and who suggest she choose someone else to love instead of a monster, but she doesn't accept it and defends him, azul in the meantime had hidden in a cave nearby and when he hears the argument he decides to intervene since the mermen are becoming a bit violent with her, after arguing with them they finally run away together into the cave where azul was hiding and stay there for a while finally he understands her feelings and they give each other a passionate kiss and get together leaving all his friends shocked, thank you and i hope you will accept this request

💌 🐙🖋️Request received! Thank you for your message, your delivery is ready~

I loved this idea!!! Hope you like it, thank you for requesting it!! ♥️ im horribly late to posting this, sorry for the wait!!

This is it, you thought as you downed the underwater breathing potion.

Summer was right around the corner, and you were staying with Professor Crewel at his summer home. You’d kept in contact with your friends, and when you mentioned you’d be close to the Coral Sea, Jade and Floyd shared a mischievous look.

Jade mused, “Perhaps Azul can take you with him. He was planning to go look for coins, and unfortunately Floyd and I cannot go with him.” And after long tirades of forcing you to not say a word to anyone about his merform, Azul finally gave in.

You’d managed to convince Azul to take you with him the next time he went ship-scavenging. Azul had come to pick you up from the Shaftland’s port on land, and lead you to a cave on the beach where you all would be heading off from.

You floated in an underwater cave, watching the merfolk swim in the distance with awe. They were so beautiful, shimmering scales and beautiful colors meshed in a bustling dance in busy streets. You grinned to yourself. You were secretly hoping Azul would shift to his merform while you were there.

It wasn’t a secret that the two of you had a very rocky start. After all, when your first meeting with someone starts with them trying to steal your dorm, usually you’d hate the person. And you sort of did, until you’d started becoming slow friends with Azul.

It began with little things, like running small errands for him when the twins couldn’t, or helping out with the tanks at Mostro Lounge. Eventually, your feelings grew more and more until you really couldn’t hide them anymore. You grew to admire the mer behind the merchant. You liked everything about Azul, even his weird schemey ways. From the cleverness in his contracts, to his soft curiosity, to the subtle gentleness he had whenever you interacted with him.

Somewhere along the way, enemies turned into acquaintances turned into friends turned into a crush on the Octavinelle Housewarden. And you honestly had an inkling he liked you back too. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but you were still going to try. It would be better to get it off your chest, you psyched yourself up. Besides, Azul always held his cards close to his chest. Maybe if you were the first one to bare your heart…

Azul floated behind you, still in his human form. He sighed, looking a tad strained. “You remember our deal, yes? Not a word about my merform to anyone, got it?” You nodded, trying not to look too eager. This was it! You’ll finally see Azul in his merform!

He shut his eyes, and a soft blue light emanated from him. The light rolled over him, and his form grew. Soft black tentacles unfurled themselves, and Azul’s pale skin took on a lavender hue. He felt his uniform fade off, and the cool oceanwater flow around the gills at his ribcage.

You watched, fascinated. You couldn’t imagine anything like it - Azul looked beautiful. His hair even seemed to glow. A stray tentacle began tugging at your ankle, while another began messing with your wrist. Azul didn’t seem to notice as he ran a hand in his hair, pointedly avoiding your awestruck gaze. He didn’t even seem to notice he was holding onto you until you chuckled, softly rubbing the tentacle at your wrist.

He cleared his throat, releasing you immediately. “Let’s go. Time is wasting.” He began swimming off, and you gasped before kicking off behind him. Slow octopus, who? He was still faster than you, tentacles shifting over themselves along the sea floor. You kicked your legs as fast as you could, determined to keep pace.

Soon, you reached a shipwreck. Morbid fascination spread over you as you took in the ship’s vastness. You gulped as Azul floated next to you, looking at you pointedly. “You’re not scared, are you?” He asked quietly. You shook your head, “n-no. Let’s go.”

You were determined to find something for Azul in the shipwreck. It was like the twins knew your feelings for Azul when they let it slip that Azul had a fondness for ancient coins, and Floyd said offhandedly, “It’d probably make a real good gift for him~” You’d take their weird comments (however teasing they were) as a sign.

You steeled yourself and dove into the wreckage. “Prefect!” Azul followed you swiftly, and you dodged a tentacle that shot out to you. You grinned over your shoulder, “bet I can find more than you!” You kicked off into a room, hearing Azul scoff behind you.

This room you entered looked like the captain’s room. You squinted in the low light when a soft blue illuminated behind you. Azul’s hand gently gripped your shoulder and his tentacles wrapped around your legs gingerly, “are you alright? I was looking for you.”

Something fluttered in your stomach as you turned to look at him, face flushed. “Yeah, I’m fine.” You stared at each other for a bit too long before Azul cleared his throat, “good. I wouldn’t want to be liable for any injuries you get down here, so you’d better stay close.”

You two began exploring the captain’s room, and you did your best to look with Azul’s bioluminescence lighting the room. If I were a captain, where would I hide my money? Your attention drifted to the bed, where you noticed the mattress looked disturbed. You swam over, jostling it until you spied a little pouch underneath it. You peered inside, then grinned. Little coins rustled inside it. Jackpot!

Meanwhile, Azul pondered over the vanity. You’d shown a fascination with undersea treasures. He lifted up some jewelry in a box, eyeing it with fascination. He remembered the way you looked fascinated at the Atlantica museum, how you’d followed him to return the photo. Your curiosity was enchanting.

He wouldn’t admit that something about you was interesting when you’d walked into his office with a spark in your eyes, negotiating his contract and eventually putting Ramshackle on the line to save your friends. It wasn’t until after his overblot that he truly began reconsidering you.

He’d always thought he had to prove himself in order to be meaningful to someone, but he’d done the exact opposite to you. Your resilience was something he’d always admired, and eventually admiration turned into feelings.

Azul Ashengrotto did not do feelings. He was merely looking for treasures to repay you back, he told himself. Jade and Floyd had no idea what they were talking about, anyway. He cleared his throat, “Prefect, I’m going up to the top,” he called, and he swam out the window before you knew it.

You glanced up before looking at the coins. These look really good, you grinned before pocketing the pouch and swimming after Azul.

Azul shook his head before looking at the deck. You poked your head up to peek at him. The sunlight shimmering in from the surface made him look beautiful. Warmth filled you, and you bit your lip.

“Hey, Azul?” You swam over the ledge and he spun to you. You were looking at him with so much tenderness that he wasn’t sure he deserved. You looked ethereal in the ocean light of his home. He felt his heart skip a beat.

“Have you found anything, Prefect?” He managed, not realizing he’d begun twisting his tentacles into one as if to make them look smaller, more together, and packing them beneath himself. You nodded, crossing your legs on the deck and sitting down next to him.

“I found this, actually. I wanted to give them to you later, but I…” you took a deep breath, “um, here.” You dropped the pouch into his hands, and he glanced at you before opening it. It felt like there were many coins in the pouch. He gasped, pulling out a coin and holding it up to the light. “This is…” he admired it, and you smiled at him softly.

“I’m glad you liked it. I really wanted to find something for you,” you blurted out. “Hmm?” Azul’s attention suddenly turned to you, sharp and focused. “Why?” Interest piqued in him, could this mean…? “W-well…” you trailed off.

“I just… wanted to… er...” Azul’s eyes widened, clenching the pouch. They couldn’t be making fun of me, could they? No, you were too kind for that. You twisted the edge of your shirt. Azul’s gaze made you nervous.

“I… wanted to thank you for helping us over winter break?” You fibbed, smiling awkwardly. Azul hummed, frowning slightly, “well, there’s no need to thank me for it now,” he said. He considered it paying you back after trying to steal Ramshackle. Or at least that’s what he told himself.

“I-I mean, you really helped Grim and I out,” you said, trying to cover yourself. “The whole dorm was outwitted, and it was all thanks to you.” You couldn’t help but start gushing - your friends were already tired of hearing your crush woes, and you just couldn’t stop. “I’ve… never met anyone like you,” you rushed out, face feeling hot.

Azul felt on edge. What were the chances of you telling him exactly what he wanted to hear? He searched your face, trying to find any hint of dishonesty. After everything that had happened this year - trying to take Ramshackle, his overblot, Styx - he was convinced this would never happen. Not to him, at least.

“I mean, the way just know exactly what the best strategy is? And you’re so smart and handsome too, it’s honestly no wonder I-“ you immediately cut yourself off. You hadn’t planned to confess like this, but Azul had already caught on. “What?” he asked, feeling his heartbeat in his ears.

This is it, your heart beat harder, now you’ve done it, (Name). You squeezed your eyes shut, “I… Azul, I like you.” The words hung in the space between you.

Azul was silent for a breath. “Why?” He rasped, squeezing the coin in his palm. This had to be some kind of joke. There was no reason for you to like him back. Suddenly it was like he was a young octomer again, feeling that crushing sensation of others mocking him, leading him on only to hurt him. Even those who were kind to him before. Even the ones like you.

“Who put you up to this?” Your eyes widened, “N-no one! Azul, I-” Azul felt his eyes sting. “Who told you how I felt? The twins? Someone from the dorm?” You stood, unsteady from the ocean currents around you, “No one did, Azul, I promise! I’ve liked you since winter break.” There was nothing but honesty in your eyes but still. Old emotions stirred up in Azul. He felt his lower lip tremble, and shame burst in him. You were lying. You had to be.

“I…” He turned away from you, hand pressed to his mouth, “Excuse me.” Azul swam away in a whoosh of bubbles, and you reached your arm out for him. “Azul, wait!” you tried to swim after him, but he was too quick. You floated there, suspended in the water, feeling crushed. You really thought he’d… You felt your throat tighten as you bit your lip. Did he really think you were lying?

“Wow, that was pathetic.”

You swirled around at the unfamiliar voice. Three merfolk swam over some rocks - undoubtedly, their hiding spots. Emotions mixed in you - had they watched your confession? Rude. Their leader appeared to be a sharkmer. His upper half appeared human. The two behind him looked like a dolphinmer and a merman with a clownfish tail.

“Hey? What’s a human doing here?” The clownfish mer asked, looking you up and down. The sharkmer grinned at you, sharp-toothed like the twins. “A pretty human, too.”

The dolphin mer squinted at you, and she swam up to your face, “you actually confessed to Azul? That’s new,” she said snarkily. The sharkmer started laughing, “I can’t believe someone likes that slow, dumb octopus!” The clownfish looked at you with pity, “were you dared do confess to him?”

You tensed. These must’ve been the bullies who tormented Azul when he was younger. Your stomach felt queasy. They were even nastier than Azul made them out to be.

From the nearby cave, Azul’s earfins pricked up. He heard you mention his name. He peered around the cave, gasping soundlessly. Those three…! He immediately recognized them from gradeschool. The pokes. The prods. You’re just a slow dumb octopus no one likes you your ink is weird crybaby–

“H-hey! Azul is not slow or dumb!” Azul’s attention snapped to you. You had a fierceness in your eyes that he recognized from his overblot. You were passionate. You were… defending him.

His nails dug into the rocks. They were circling you now.

The dolphin mer looked at you with mock pity, “you don’t have to defend him. He’s just a weirdo. I’m pretty sure he lied about getting into Night Raven College, too. He probably lied to you to make himself seem smarter.”

That got your blood boiling. “No, you’re lying. He is a student there. In fact,” you said sharply, “he’s in the Sea Witch’s dorm. He’s the Housewarden, actually.” The dolphin mer started cackling in laughter, “you expect us to believe that? He probably lied about that too!” You looked at her in disbelief. The audacity?!

“I can’t believe this. You’re all wrong!” You yelled, and all three of them stopped. “Azul is one of the smartest people I’ve ever met! And he’s clever and hardworking!” Who are these guys? you thought back to the school photo Azul put back at the museum. You recalled different merfolk in the picture. Are these mers his old classmates or something?

Azul felt his heart swell. You really meant it? When you said you admired him? You had no reason to lie about it to these bottom-feeders.

The clownfish suddenly swam to your side, wrapping his arm around yours, “Y’know, you don’t have to hang out with him. He’s just a weirdo who likes making his contract things. He even took his ability to swim,” the clownfish mer gestured to the sharkmer.

“Ashengrotto’s a weird barnacle. You should hang with us,” the clownfish grinned at you, and you felt yourself cringe on the inside. The sharkmer swam to your other side, “yeah, you’re better off being with someone else. Someone stronger” he grinned at you. The dolphin mer tapped your shoulder from behind, and she grinned cheekily, “or faster.” The clownfish chimed in, “or prettier~”

You unhooked your arm, swimming backwards as fast as you could, “I like being with Azul, actually. I should get back to Night Raven College, now if you’ll excuse me-”

Suddenly the sharkmer shot through the water, blocking your math. “Nah, you should come with us. I bet that octoweirdo didn’t even take you to the fun places. Probably just stuck you in his octopot! Did you see him ink?” The three of them burst into laughs, and you tried to weave your way around them.

Azul tensed, tentacles clenching and unclenching. He wasnt the fastest or strongest swimmer. But he supposed you were right. You’d told him to give himself more credit - while he certainly was clever and hardworking on land, there was something you didn’t know. His octopus physique was slow in the water, yes - but he made up for it in sheer strength. He absently stretched all eight of his lower limbs. Strength eightfold, actually.

“Aww, look at them! Humans really are clumsy!” The clownfish giggled at you. Shame burned your face, “y-you guys-!” You shoved the shark mer away from you, “leave me alone!” Recognition shot through Azul. No, they couldn’t touch you. Not you.

The shark mer’s smirk turned into fury. You shrank back, trying to back away while swimming. He bared his teeth at you in a grin, eyes flashing, “Y’know, you’re on our turf human. You’d better watch it.” His lackeys immediately switched their demeanors, and soon you were being stared down by three very angry mers.

Azul decided he’d had enough. He shot out of the cave without a second thought, and all you saw was a black and lavender blur. Just as the shark mer raised his very sharp claws to grab your wrist, he suddenly felt something wrap around his tail. He yelled when he was yanked back roughly into the sand, and soon you, the dolphin mer, and clownfish mer were staring down a very angry Azul.

Azul swam over you protectively, one tentacle wrapping around your torso. The dolphin mer shot through the water towards you with a growl. Azul reflexively raised one tentacle up and spat ink in her face, pulling you behind him while retreating. He batted the clownfish away, one arm reaching back to touch you softly. You gently squeezed his hand, “I’m okay,” you said quietly.

“You will not hurt (Name), not now and not ever. If I ever see you again, or if you even think about going to my restaurant,” he seethed, blue eyes sharp, “I will put you in a contract that you could never hope of getting out of. “If it’s a fight you want,” Azul’s eyes flashed and you got the sense that he was scheming even now, “then you’d better pick on someone your own size.” His tentacles spread out, blocking most of the light. He looked much bigger, even larger than the three of those merfolk put together.

The sharkmer scowled at Azul, before gesturing to the other two. “Still a weirdo…” the dolphinmer mumbled before racing after the clownfish and shark. You sighed in relief, before Azul turned to you.

“Are you alright?” Azul looked at you with his brow furrowed. You nodded, “yeah, I’m fine.”

Wordlessly, Azul took your hand in his and the two of you began swimming towards the caves. It must be sunset now, you thought. The light in the water had turned orange.

The two of you broke through the surface of the dimmed cave. You perched on a rock while Azul kept his lower body submerged. He still showed some bioluminescence that illuminated the water, shining on your faces.

“…thank you for saving me,” you said quietly. To be honest, you weren’t sure Azul would come back for you, let alone save you. He looked upset, and you weren’t sure he’d want to see you again.

Azul’s tentacles wrapped loosely around your ankles, “I couldn’t let you get bullied by them, now could I?” He let out a humorless laugh. Silence passed between you two, until you said softly, “do you like the coins?”

“I do,” Azul agreed. “And I’ve had some time to… think about what you said.” Your eyes widened, “Azul, I really did mean it. I wasn’t lying.”

“…I may have been hasty in that moment,” he said finally, not looking you in the eyes. A dark purple blush spread on his face before he finally looked at you, “I… feel the same, (Name). I’ve had feelings for you for a while now,” he swallowed thickly.

Your eyes sparkled, “you mean it?” You asked excitedly. Azul nodded, looking bashful now. “Will you forgive me?”

You grinned, launching yourself off the rock. Azul gave a startled shout when you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, and the two of you crashed back into the water. You pressed your lips against his, and Azul’s eyes widened before closing again as he wrapped his arms around you.

You pulled back, breathlessly laughing, “of course I do.”

It hurt my soul to write mean things about Azul I’m ngl lol

I also spent way too long googling ‘natural predators of octopi’ for the bullies. I love the ocean, man I wish fish were real.

Some notes (info from google)

-octopi technically shoot ink out of a siphon, which is located close to their heads. In this, I made Azul shoot ink out from the underside of his tentacle arms bc from his octo merform I don’t think he has the siphon on his upper body? So I think it would have to be on his lower half.

-I also looked up predators of octopi. Basically I kept it simple-not simple by using sharks (strong swimmers), dolphins (fast swimmers) and clownfish (pretty tails) to show different things that Azul wanted when he was younger, and wanted a tail instead of octopus tentacles

Anyway thanks for reading!! Until next time~ xoxo Calci

#calci’s 500 follower event #twst mermay #mermay 2025 #twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #azul ashengrotto #twst azul ashengrotto #twst azul #azul ashengrotto x reader #azul x reader #calcified writing

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rivwritesiguess · 1 day ago

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Focus

Word Count: 3.9k Hurt/Comfort Zayne x Xavier x gn!reader Summary: You and Xavier go on a mission together to take care of an area that is a hot spot for wanderers. It seems to be going well, until you get hurt and Xavier has to rush you to the hospital where the other person in your relationship is taking the night shift. Warnings: Injuries, surgery (probably a lot of surgical and medical inaccuracies) Notes: I'm trying a bit of a new format of things in general for my fic, adding dividers and yapping too much at the beginning like I'm doing rn. This is also my first time writing in 2nd person and publishing it, and I think I prefer it for reader fanfic. This is the fic I was referring to in this post. Zayne and Xavier are probably ooc in this, I struggled trying to portray their part of the relationship, but I tried my best since the fic is mainly them interacting. The fic focuses on Xavier and Zayne, the reader literally doesn't say a word throughout the entire thing and is unconscious for nearly all of it 💀 Photos from Pinterest (Xavier and Zayne) and little divider thing made by me with Photopea :) Navigation

It all happened so quickly. One second you were next to him, the next you were thrown to the other side of the field by the force of the wanderer’s hit. You hit a tree with a loud thud. You fell to the ground. Xavier continued fighting, horror overtaking him when he realized you weren’t getting up. You were completely still.

Xavier had to stay focused. He had to get rid of the wanderer. The wanderer was eyeing your collapsed form against the tree. Xavier couldn’t let the wanderer get the chance. He couldn’t risk it. He had to protect you.

When the wanderer fell, Xavier didn’t even look at the protocore it dropped before running to your side. He kneeled next to you, carefully putting his hand on the side of your face. His thumb ran over your cheek a few times as if you were sleeping, and doing this would wake you up. However, you didn’t move, still lying still aside from the rise and fall of your chest.

Xavier glanced over your body, not knowing if he felt relieved or not upon not seeing any blood. Sure, there was no blood on the outside. But what does the inside look like? What injuries are hiding beneath your skin? How much pain will you be in when you wake up? If you wake up?

When the thought crossed his mind that you might not wake up, Xavier jumped into action. He couldn’t call for help, not with this area being an active wanderer hotspot. Sure, there were none here right now, but that doesn’t mean they might not pop back up. He had to move you himself.

He carefully rolled you onto your back. He checked your breathing, making sure it wasn’t too shallow or fading. He untucked your shirt, lifting it enough to see the area around your ribs to check for any weird bumps. If you’ve broken a rib and it’s positioned against your skin, that will make this ten times harder.

The only thing he found was some intense bruises forming. Sure, it was bad, but it wasn’t your bones sticking out of your skin bad. He put your shirt back down and carefully proceeded to roll you onto your stomach. He lifted your shirt once more, feeling along your spine, checking for any deformities or misaligned vertebrae.

Nothing.

He moved to your hips. He wanted to move your pants down to check for bruising near your pelvis, but it felt wrong. Instead, he pressed gently with his hands on each side of your pelvis bone.

He was relieved when you didn’t give a reaction to the light pressure he was applying. Sure, it reminded him that you were passed out, but it also meant the pain wasn’t enough for you to make any noise in your current state.

Unless you physically couldn’t make any noise. Just how unconscious were you? Should you be reacting? Should he be doing this? Is he doing it right? Is he even fast enough to get you to a hospital in time? Is there any time? Were you going to stay asleep? Was he going to lose you?

He shook his head slightly, snapping himself out of it. Now was not the time for panic. He had to stay focused. You needed him to get you out of here.

You needed him.

With the small reassurance that there was nothing wrong with your spine, he took the risk of moving you around once more. Carefully, he sat you up, one hand on your back and the other keeping your head aligned with your neck. Then, he moved next to you, wrapping your arm around his shoulder and then slowly standing. He leaned down enough so he was able to lift you over his shoulders once he stood up properly.

He put one hand over your legs, holding them to his chest. The other held your hand that swayed in front of him. Your head lulled a bit too much for his liking. He wondered if he should’ve figured out a different way to move you. Maybe he could’ve laid you down on his jacket and pulled. Maybe he should’ve.

He doesn’t have time for this. He moves as quickly as he can without jostling you too much. He gets through the trees and after about two minutes, he makes it out of the woods, seeing the car you two had taken waiting just a couple yards away.

He suddenly felt incredibly grateful about Zayne’s insistence that the two of you drive in a car. You and him had been talking about taking two of the Association’s motorcycles. Zayne overheard the conversation and mentioned it would be raining around the time the two of you left. You and Xavier had brushed it off, saying you could both handle a bit of rain. Zayne, however, wasn’t having it, insisting that you take a car instead, claiming the roads would be too wet and a car has better traction and motorcycles are dangerous enough anyway and listen to him or else he won’t cuddle with the two of you tonight.

Xavier walked over, opening the back door. He bent down as best as he could while carrying you on his shoulders. He let go of your hand, leaning slightly to the side where your hand had been to keep you on him and not falling off. With his free hand, he moved the back seat to lay down flat.

He nearly flinched when he heard the soft groan leave you as your body twitched slightly. He froze for a moment, wondering if you were waking up, but you didn’t make any more movements.

He continued, carefully maneuvering you on his shoulders so he could lay you flat in the backseat. Then, he took off his jacket, placing it to support your head and neck through the ride to the hospital. He put his backpack and your backpack on either side of you, hoping it would limit the amount of jostling.

He checked your breathing one last time to make sure he wasn’t losing you. When he didn’t hear any abnormalities, he quickly moved, getting into the front seat and starting the car. The car navigation was saying that the ride to the hospital would be twenty minutes using the legal speed limit.

It was late at night. He would mostly be on the highway. No one else would be on the road. The rain would’ve mostly dried.

He was not going to be following the legal speed limit.

His hands were trembling on the wheel. He thanked whatever God or gods there were for the lack of red lights. When he got off the highway, he mainly slowed down to make sure the turns he was taking weren’t too sharp. He started slowing down when he was about thirty seconds from the hospital, making sure he wouldn’t be stopping too fast with you unbuckled in the back seat.

He got to the hospital in 13 minutes. He immediately felt regret over not calling ahead, but he didn’t let himself dwell on that as he stopped the car near the sidewalk and got out, running into the ER.

The next few minutes went by in flashes. Xavier didn’t remember the in-betweens. He remembered moments.

There were his words when he went in. He partly understood what he was saying, but a lot of it was also from Zayne’s lectures on different types of injuries. The doctor had wanted you and him to know what to say to any emergency responders in a situation like this. Judging by the way the people seemed to drop everything to get to work, Xavier assumes what he said means a lot.

“My part- coworker is in the car, they're a hunter, they’re unconscious. They got thrown against a tree. Blunt force trauma, possible head injury. They’re breathing is stable but they aren’t responsive. I checked their body but I didn’t see anything abnormal for a spinal injury but I don’t know for sure, I carried them to the car and drove them here, I-”

The hospital workers had interrupted him. Three had already come over to him when he came running into the room. He heard someone ask for the keys. He handed them over, seeing the keychain that you and Zayne had gifted him for his birthday swinging as the three people rushed outside, one wheeling a stretcher out with them. He went to follow when another person stopped him.

The next thing he remembers was when you were being wheeled in. The nurse who had stopped him had been saying words, asking him more questions. He doesn’t remember answering. He barely remembers the face of the nurse.

He remembered seeing you. The stretcher rolled along the floor smoothly. You had a brace on your neck, keeping your head stable. Your eyes were still closed. He only got a flash of your face before one of the ER workers was moving near you and blocking his view. He tried to follow them as they went into the back, but he was stopped.

The next chunk was when he’d sat down. He was deadly still, staring blankly at the floor. His mind raced, not knowing if he’d done everything right or if he might’ve killed you himself.

You weren’t going to die. He’d seen others recover from circumstances far worse than yours. They were fine, so you would be too. Obviously.

Xavier hadn’t even thought of it when he first went in. He didn’t think about what hospital he was in. He didn’t think about his other partner’s shift schedule.

He didn’t think of it until he saw Zayne walk through the doors, walking over to one of the nurses with a clipboard to ask questions. For a moment, Xavier didn’t know what to do. Would Zayne be upset? Would he freak out?

Zayne didn’t freak out. Not outwardly. He and Xavier were similar in that way. They experienced their emotions internally. Sure, Xavier was definitely panicking. He’d been panicking ever since the wanderer hit you. But it was in his head. Zayne’s panic was normally there as well.

You, on the other hand, were not like that. You were such a contrast to them. You wore your heart on your sleeve. Around them, you never masked your emotions. You were happy to tell them how you felt, even if how you felt was the opposite. They always listened to your expressive rants, whether you were excited or angry.

And yet, when Xavier had seen you just a few minutes ago, you were so… neutral. Like him and Zayne. It isn’t right. He couldn’t even tell himself that you were just sleeping. Not when he had seen you hit the tree. Not when he saw you fall to the ground. Not when you didn’t move, even when he was attempting to rouse you.

Zayne didn’t notice Xavier at first. He asked the nurse at the ER desk to fill out the paperwork he was handing them. As he handed it over, he took a quick glance around the waiting room, getting ready to ask the nurse about the recent admissions.

His gaze immediately froze on Xavier, standing a few feet away from where he’d just been sitting. It wasn’t right. Xavier was supposed to be with you on a mission right now. If he’s here, in this room, and you’re not…

“Where are they?” He said, dropping the clipboard and quickly going over. “Are you alright? What happened to them?”

“We thought we’d gotten rid of all of them, but a wanderer popped up out of nowhere. It got them, hit them with full force. They went flying and hit a tree. They were knocked unconscious.”

“Immediately? Did they wake up before you got here?”

“No, they- they didn’t, I haven’t seen them in a few minutes, so they might’ve by now, but- but I don’t know. The workers took them back about five minutes ago.”

Zayne nodded, more to himself than Xavier. He took a moment, thinking. Then, he reached over, pulling Xavier into a tight hug. It was only for a moment, but it did help Xavier relax slightly. Zayne was here now, and he was the expert. If he was hugging him, then it meant that going to you wasn’t an emergency. You’d be fine.

Zayne was doing it for one of two reasons. He wanted to calm Xavier down, of course, but he also needed the hug. He needed to feel that it wasn’t both of you. That one of you was okay and here with him, not back being examined for the full extent of whatever injuries you have.

He pulled back, looking at Xavier with calm eyes.

“The people working here have their full attention. I’m the only surgeon on call right now. I haven’t been called back, so they’re not in need of any emergency surgeries. It’ll probably be another twenty minutes before someone comes out to talk to you.”

Xavier nodded.

“Will they let me go back to see them?” His voice was quieter than he wanted it to be, but he couldn’t change it. Not when Zayne was now here, telling him you’ll be fine. That’s the reassurance he needs. He’s not going to feel entirely better until he sees you, but seeing Zayne helps. It definitely helps.

“They’re going to allow both of us to go back and see them.” Zayne didn’t elaborate much, but judging by the tone, Xavier got the feeling that it wouldn’t be normal for them to be allowed to go back so quickly and that Zayne might be pulling a few strings with his position here. It definitely wasn’t ethical, but Xavier wasn’t going to call him out on that. He’d do the same thing, maybe worse.

It was going to be fine. It was all going well. You were going to be fine.

At least, that’s what Xavier and Zayne thought. However, right as Zayne was prepared to ask more questions, his pager went off.

Emergency surgery: Patient with internal bleeding in the abdominal area and a hemothorax.

“I have to go.” Zayne pressed a kiss to Xavier’s forehead before quickly turning.

“Is it them?” Xavier said, quickly following as far as he could.

“I think so. Emergency surgery with the description of the injuries they have. Stay out here. I’ll be back out as soon as I can.”

Zayne walked through the same doors you’d been wheeled through less than ten minutes ago.

Xavier was alone once more, only knowing that your injuries were bad enough to warrant emergency surgery.

Only knowing that your injuries were bad enough for Zayne to show a small flicker of fear in his eyes.

Zayne watched as the anesthesiologists placed the mask over your face. You’d woken up for a moment, a bit dazed. He didn’t have much time to explain what was going on to you, but he simply told you to trust him. He told you you’d be fine.

He had no plans for what he said to be a lie.

The surgery was one he’d been prepared to have to do. He had nightmares that went like this every time you and Xavier were out on a mission and couldn’t give him updates. The nightmares were all the same.

You or Xavier being brought into the hospital. Him being the only one able to do the surgery. Him cutting into either of you in an attempt to save your lives. The blood…. So much blood.

And the worst of it?

He never saved you or Xavier. You always ended up dead on the surgical table, either due to his own error or you having been too far gone.

But that wouldn’t happen this time. He knew exactly how to handle your injuries. He had done this hundreds of times before on hundreds of different patients.

He just had to focus.

It was just a bunch of steps he had to follow. Make the incision. Find the source of the bleeding. Stop the bleeding. Clean out the blood. Confirm the bleeding has stopped.

The internal bleeding was handled.

He didn’t want to be the one to put a tube in your chest cavity, but the bleeding there had to be drained somehow. He never felt weird about doing it on others, but this was you. It was different. You weren’t supposed to be in this position.

And he shouldn’t be the one treating you. It was a conflict of interest. But he wasn’t going to wait until they could get another surgeon here. He’ll just need to file some complaints about the lack of help available at this time of night. You’d think with the size of the hospital they’d have more than one surgeon on call at night, but apparently not.

With the bleeding controlled and the organs checked to not be affected, Zayne and the assistant in the room started working on closing you back up. The dressings were applied. You were cleaned up and brought to the ICU.

Zayne wasn’t able to follow immediately. He had to get himself cleaned up and sanitized. He did it as quickly as he could while still being thorough.

Once he was done, he went immediately to find Xavier. The other man was still in the waiting room. He was sitting in one of the chairs, head resting on his hand as he slept. His other hand held his phone loosely.

After a few hours in surgery with you, Zayne was getting a bit tired of seeing his partners passed out in the hospital. He walked over, lightly tapping Xavier’s shoulder.

The hunter let out a soft sigh as he started waking up. He went to rub his eyes with his hands, accidentally dropping his phone. A small smile came to Zayne’s face watching the process of Xavier waking up that he’s seen hundreds of times. He bent down himself, picking up Xavier’s phone.

Xavier quickly remembered where he was when he recognized that Zayne was wearing his doctor’s coat. He muttered a quick thank you before quickly standing up, much to Zayne’s dismay. Zayne never liked when Xavier or you got out of bed so quickly. With the work you two do, you need to allow yourselves time to relax. Of course, every time he tells you two this you both flip it back on him, quickly ending the argument.

“Are they alright?” Xavier asked. Zayne nodded.

“The surgery went well. We were able to get the bleeding under control. They have a chest tube in right now to drain the blood around the lung.”

“They’re still bleeding?”

“Yes, but it’s not what you think. It’s residual bleeding. It’s expected to stop within a day.”

“So they’re going to be fine?”

“Yes. They’re going to be fine.” Despite his reassurances, Zayne could see Xavier was still anxious. He grabbed Xavier’s hand. “You got them here in time. You helped them. If you hadn’t, there would’ve been complications that the team might’ve not been able to handle. You got them here, and now they’re going to be just fine. Our love is going to be fine.”

Xavier gave a small nod along with a squeeze to Zayne’s hand.

“I know, thank you, Zayne.” Though Xavier took in Zayne’s words, he still couldn’t fully grasp you being okay until he saw you. Zayne could see that in Xavier’s eyes.

“Come on. They’re not awake just yet, but they should be settling in the ICU.”

The walk to the ICU was quick. Xavier was ready to get to see you. He knew you wouldn’t be awake yet, but he hadn’t seen you in over five hours. He didn’t care whether you were asleep or running around like some crazed maniac. He just had to see you.

Once they got there, it was hard to see you. You were intubated in order to keep your airways clear. The ventilator hummed steadily next to the bed you laid on. You laid completely still.

Xavier sat down in the chair next to yours. He reached out, holding your hand. Just the simple act of feeling your hand in his filled him with relief. He relaxed into the chair, feeling much better.

Xavier was ready to go back to sleep when he realized something: Zayne wasn’t sitting with him. He looked back and saw Zayne still standing near the door, looking at you with caution. As if you were going to break apart any minute now. Xavier glanced back at you, giving your hand a small squeeze before standing up and walking over to Zayne.

Just like Zayne had done earlier for him, Xavier took his hand.

“You saved them. They’re going to be just fine. You can relax now.”

Zayne stared at you for a moment before looking at Xavier. He looked into the man’s eyes, taking in the sincerity and calmness. He let out a soft sigh before nodding. A slight smile came to Xavier’s face.

“I think you’ve done enough work. Let’s take this-” Xavier let go of Zayne’s hand, reaching for the buttons. “-off. You’re off duty for now.” Zayne didn’t move to help Xavier but didn’t stop him either.

Once the coat was unbuttoned, Xavier grabbed the coat and lightly tugged it off Zayne, who limply lifted his arms to somewhat help with the process. Xavier placed the coat on the hook on the door. He led Zayne to sit next to the bed with him, but not before taking the page out of his front pocket, pressing a button that said Dr. Zayne was unavailable, and putting it in the pocket of the coat.

Xavier let Zayne take the chair he’d just been sitting in, walking around the bed to grab a different chair and bring it over to sit near Zayne. He sat to Zayne’s side while facing you.

“Come on, Zayne,” He said quietly, grabbing Zayne’s hand. Then, he lifted it and placed it on top of yours. He placed his hand on top of Zayne’s. “They’re alright. We’re all going to be alright.”

Falling asleep happened pretty quickly for the hunter and the surgeon. Xavier leaned in his chair towards Zayne while Zayne did the same towards Xavier. Zayne’s head rested precariously on Xavier’s shoulder and Xavier’s head did the same on Zayne’s. Xavier’s hand had fallen off of yours and Zayne’s, ending up resting on Zayne’s knee. Zayne’s hand was still on top of yours, now holding your hand.

Waking up was an experience you didn’t like. Being intubated was the first thing you noticed. You wanted to cough to clear your throat, but you physically couldn’t. Your mouth felt dry. Your breathing felt… wrong. It didn’t feel right. But you couldn’t fix it.

You felt weak. You couldn’t move properly. You wanted to move your arm, figure out exactly what was going on around you, feel the tube you can feel coming out of the side of your chest and the tube in your mouth. But you couldn’t.

For a moment, you almost panicked. You were confused. Scared. Disoriented. But then, you felt another thing.

Zayne’s hand is on top of yours. You tilted your head slightly, looking to the side. There were your two boyfriends, passed out in two chairs next to your bed. The panic you had just started to feel faded as it was replaced with a warm feeling.

You were still uncomfortable. You were still in a bit of pain. But seeing your boyfriends like this made you able to focus on something else.

You were able to focus on them.

#love and deespace #love and deepspace x reader #zayne x reader #lads zayne #lads x reader #lads #lads xavier #xavier x reader #zayne love and deepspace #xavier love and deepspace #zayne x you #xavier x you #zayne x xavier #snowstar #snowstar x reader #chat i might be a bit gay for these men what can I say #i love them <3 <3 <3

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yandere-sins · 1 day ago

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The Octopodes' Tale - Chapter VI

Took a bit longer again, but let's find out more about our little Leomaris, shall we? :3 Not sure yet if I'll be able to write another post for next week as I will be on convention, but I'll try! :D

Fandom: Original Content Pairings: Yandere!Octopus Merman x GN!AFAB!Reader Words: ~2k Warnings: Yandere, Monsters (Tentacels, Oversized Mention, Mermaids, Monster Appearances, Sharp Teeth, Claws), Minor Sexual Content (Discussion of Procreation, Mention of Penis), Fear of potential harm, Mention of Depression (in animals/monsters), Mention of Death

If I were in his position, you thought, I’d want some space, too.

Nodding to yourself, you turned away from the pool, instead slipping on the stool next to the research table, and took a deep breath. You allowed yourself to roll your head and your shoulders to sack first, feeling the tension that had built up in your joints and muscles over the morning. There was no way of denying it, but you slept surprisingly well despite being surrounded by a giant half-octopus that made the faintest snoring noises while curled against you. Leo had kept you secure with his body wrapped all around you, but he neither crushed nor forced you into an uncomfortable position. It had been a little weird, sure, but for the space you two had in your little apartment, it worked very well.

But from the second that the Professor marched into this scene, you had been on edge. So had Leo. You tried to explain what was going on without making it seem weird. However, it had been very messy getting Leo out of the cramped space and making yourself presentable, the hasty morning now catching up to you as you rubbed your eyes. There was no time to waste when it came to this research; the Professor made that crystal clear. And even if everything was okay right now, you still needed to finish up and leave, your boundaries getting pushed more and more every day.

You still had a hard time forgetting how clinically brutal it had been as Leo was fished out of the pool by the capture machine. The way the metal arms hovered over the water, then suddenly snapped forward. The mechanical sounds of exhaustion as his heavy body was pulled from the water, and the way he was wheezing and gasping as the machine tightened its hold on him constantly. It wasn’t a pretty sight, and although Leo seemed to understand that he needed to stay still, you could see how much he struggled against every metal clasp instinctively, his body rejecting the idea of being captured like this. Even at night, while he seemed completely asleep, his tentacles would sometimes move and check the surroundings, ensuring everything was safe. You doubted they could truly stay still even if he willed them to, as it went against his very being.

Resting your arms on top of the table, you looked down at the stack of papers between them. It felt reassuring to know someone had been here before, in your very position, documenting all the things you had never imagined finding out about. Whatever happened to the person, whether they left or died—the thought running a shudder down your back still—you were thankful for their hard work. You started at the top of the pile, diving right into the unknown yet mesmerizing research of Leo’s previous caretaker, reading every word carefully.

Time passed as you made new discoveries, from Leo’s prescribed diet, height, and weight to how they learned to communicate with each other with hands, feet, and tentacles until their languages matched, Leo proving to be a quick learner. Every word was written down in proper scientific speech, but it didn’t hide the feelings of success or disappointment the caretaker was feeling as they made progress with him. As one might expect, Leo was initially much more aggressive and reserved during the first few weeks of his imprisonment at the facility. The caretaker continued to write about him being restless and bored in his enclosure until they convinced the higher-ups to provide him with food that was alive and needed to be hunted and also occupied him with various items that quickly evolved from children’s toys to much more complex puzzles, as he proved too clever for simple tasks.

You snorted as you read about his adventures of breaking out from the enclosure as he became too intelligent to be contained and too curious for his own good. How very octopus of him, you thought to yourself as you read about him being found in different pools of other species, although your heart raced as you read about the countless fights he got into and the wounds obtained by both parties. It showed that despite his good-willed nature towards you, he had a much darker side. An aggression you weren’t familiar with.

There were some, albeit very few, notes about actual research being conducted on his body by them. Apparently, there had been some setbacks, especially whenever they got close to unraveling the secrets of his reproduction. Leo completely withdrew from them and even lashed out to the point that they sustained injuries and couldn’t get close to him anymore after a few attempts. There were loads of brief documentation of days that were simply spent repairing the lost bonds and how his caretaker tried to mend their relationship.

Finally, the caretaker’s notes became shorter permanently. Research barely happened anymore, as force proved to cause severe reactions from the subject, and they hadn’t found a sedative that worked on him yet. Instead, they talked about how Leo was drawing back from them more regardless of what they did, showing signs of depression. How he engaged less and less, asking to be let go and return to his “mate”, and hid for hours, not resurfacing or coming out of hiding even for food. He wouldn’t allow anyone to touch him anymore, although he had seemed eager to explore everything in the beginning as well, creating mutual understanding and trust at first.

You could see the decline of the previous caretaker’s research and relationship with Leo from how they wrote. The tone of frustration and desperation as they documented cuts to their pay and stricter limitations, more urging from above. Eventually, they deemed the research to be at an end and fruitless, switching from formal speech to a list of tasks to wrap it up. At the very end of the list, it said: “Kill specimen,” the task never crossed out, and you gulped.

For a while, you simply stared at the white papers, feeling like they had created more questions than answers, and yet, you were definitely wiser than before. Your head was buzzing with thoughts and assumptions, and you realized you had yet to drink or eat anything. Maybe a brief walk to the staff room wouldn’t hurt, although you dreaded meeting any colleagues and possibly embarrassing yourself further.

Sighing, you realized that you had no choice, sliding off the chair instead until your foot bumped into something beneath the table. Looking down, you saw a cardboard box. In it, there were lots of colorful things, such as a deflated water ball, various board and card games, dog fetch toys, and other trinkets that you assumed were the things Leo was entertained with. Feeling nostalgic for a memory that wasn’t yours, you pulled the box forward, sitting down next to it on the floor and combing through it, reading the instructions of the games and browsing the items until your fingers hit the bottom.

However, instead of cardboard, you felt paper against your fingertips, driving your hands over it until you found an edge to dig beneath. A manilla envelope crumbled through the toys until it surfaced, and you raised a brow at it, wondering what kind of things were kept inside of there. Another game? Something like drawings? There was only one way to know, and you tore open the flap, looking inside first.

A bunch of papers greeted you, and you nearly groaned, not really in the mood to read anymore, especially while your head was still full from the research documents. But something was brewing in your gut, a feeling that this wasn’t just slightly boring scientific papers, considering they had been stuck beneath all the toys of the previous caretaker. You gave a quick look around, assuring yourself that there was no one near you. The cameras, which you had noticed in the corners of the room, were now also out of sight, unable to see you beneath the table.

Digging in, you pulled the smaller stack out of the envelope, confused when you could barely make out row after row of observations scribbled on them in gray pen. The words were tiny and handwritten, but numerous timestamps and named locations within the facility were written down. “G1456 18:43 Reception,” you whispered out loud, confused about the meaning. Were those some sort of coordinates? A treasure hunt?

Skimming through the pages, they were all full of the same kind of information, and you slowly began to have an inkling of what they were. Observations. Presuming it was the work of the last caretaker, they had been observing several things or people moving around the facility for a very long time. However, there were no explanations or instructions. On the last page, finally, they used a darker pen, but whatever it said, it was a language you couldn’t understand. In fact, it didn’t look like a language at all, although it could have been hieroglyphs judging from the little symbols you could make out. None of this made a whole lot of sense to you, but perhaps you were just overworking yourself the longer you wrecked your brain around it.

One thing was clear: whoever put the envelope into the box didn’t want just anybody to find it.

Not knowing where else to put it, you buried it back beneath the toys, feeling your racing pulse for the first time since you picked it up, and took some deep breaths to calm yourself. As if everything hadn’t been strange enough, it was getting even stranger by the day. But for now, the only thing you could do was concentrate on yourself and your well-being, and judging by how faint you felt all of a sudden, you were not doing a good job.

Getting back to your feet, you walked across the enclosure, looking down through the gaps in the floor to try to spy on your protege. Disappointingly, there wasn’t even a tiny spot of red in the blue, no sign of Leo even when you reached the door. You punched in the code quickly before stepping outside, back first, wondering if maybe the sound of the door would alert him. Still, he didn’t show, completely withdrawing from your eyes, much like the previous caretaker described him in the later stages. Reflecting on it made your heart clench, even though you tried to remain professional.

Not lingering too long, you eventually reached the staff room, a few tables occupied by other researchers, most of them looking exhausted and drained while they sipped their drinks or stuffed their faces with food. You scoured the displays with various pastries and the few lunch options available, allowing yourself a quick meal before fetching something sweet and a fresh bottle of water to take back to your research station, trying to stay unseen and unheard as best as you could. Having an embarrassing encounter with someone who witnessed all that happened the previous day was on your list of things to avoid, like the pest.

Strangely enough, the only place you could find yourself taking a deep breath in was Leo’s enclosure, your back hitting the door after it closed behind you, arms packed with provisions for the day. Outside, you were treading with anxiety at every step, but here, you felt safe. Ironic, considering the giant predator you were locked up with.

The same one that was sitting at the edge of the pool, tentacles splashing in the water. You noticed his eyes on you when you realized he had come out of hiding, but Leo quickly looked away again, slowly sliding back into the water as you crossed the walkway.

“Hey!” you called out, and he bopped in the water, his back turned to you, making it clear that he was listening, although not yet comfortable enough to give you his attention. The mood between you two felt awkward, as if you two had a fight but shared an apartment. You thought about how to address the situation without making Leo draw away again. If his assumption about his last caretaker’s death were correct, you really couldn’t afford to lose him to the same reclusive depression. As weird as it was, you two were fairly dependent on each other now, regardless of how that made you feel.

Shoulders slumping as Leo didn’t engage further, you walked to your desk, setting down the goods you grabbed from the staff room, your eyes lingering on the brown paper bag. Dogs die when they eat chocolate, but would a small treat like a fruit pastry do the same to Leo? With his size alone and the approximate weight of a car, there was a high chance it wouldn’t really mess with him too much. Besides the sugar, that was.

Then again, maybe it would help him, and, in turn, he would help you.

You still had lots of questions in your mind. About the restrictions on his body and the strange letter you received. Who put those tarps and ropes on him, and why? Clearly, given his emotional state, they were either concealing something precious or something dangerous. If something was hurting him beneath the cover… you had to know. Even if he was a siren, if a wound or infection spread, who knew how fast it would be over for him? And otherwise… was there any reason to hide it from you other than shame? It was not like Leo had been very shameful or embarrassed around you before.

What about the letter? After eating something and refreshing your mind with enough water, you remembered how the caretaker wrote about them learning to understand each other and speak the same language. If that was the case… maybe those signs, too, were something Leo understood. And if not, perhaps he at least knew what his caretaker had been writing down every day before storing it in the box. Maybe they told him something!

Holding the pastry in your hand, you thought about how to approach him first, given that this might be your only chance if something went wrong with him eating the sugary delight.

Thoughts and reasoning as always, are welcome! ♥

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ranunculussy · 18 hours ago

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enigma | part 07.

ꕥ part 01. | part 02. | part 03. | part 04. | part 05.| part 06. ꕥ pair: Spencer Reid × BAU!fem!reader ꕥ warnings/tags: canon-typical violence, kinda graphic description of the next crime, swearing, somewhat oblivious Reid and reader, age gap, moderately jealous Spencer, slow-burn, mutual pining, rivals to lovers, english isn't my first language so bear with me pls, if there are other warnings or tags i should add let me know ꕥ small author's note: hey guys, i'm back from the nine hells! i'm honestly really, really sorry that i disappeared for such a long time but i discovered that the ao3 writer's curse is, in fact, real as fuck. i've been sick for 2 months on and off, which resulted in me, ending up in the hospital and even spending my birthday there lmao. anyway, i think i lowkey reached the end of my recovery and i am back!! hope you'll enjoy this chapter and thank you so much if you're still here after so much waiting, i love you with all of my heart <3 ꕥ small author's note 2: i'll be describing a rather weird(?) crime this time that was inspired by a song (i'll attach it at the end of the chapter, i heavily recommend it - check it out on youtube too, it has a nice mv). i was very hesitant at first about whether i should write this or stick to the good old, bit more basic plots but then i was like fuck it, i have creative freedom for a reason and this series is already filled with weird crimes so why not ꕥ small author's note 3: i am also working on the sapphic knight!Emily × princess!reader, so you can expect that very soon ^-^ let me know if you're interested in it and would like to be notified when it's published ꕥ word count: ~2.6k ꕥ summary: Spencer can't quite figure you, his rival out and this annoys him more than it should [this fanfic is also available on AO3 with the same title and username]

wednesday

“We got a case. A bad one. Like really, really bad.” The word ‘anxious’ couldn’t even describe exactly how Garcia speedwalked through the bullpen in her neon pink high heels with her rhinestoned tablet in hand. The rest of the team—except for Hotch, were all gathered around Rossi’s desk since he was showing pictures of his grandson with a puppy that he got for his birthday.

“Dare I say Florida?” you murmured audibly enough for some of them to snort at your comment, which was only half a joke. With the amount of utter bullshit that went down there and resulted in the ‘Florida man’ news nothing was surprising anymore. Let’s just say, you accidentally hit the bull’s eye.

“Brace yourselves, my sweet, sweet crimefighters, because what I’m about to show you is very gory.”

You lowered your gaze to the bright screen of your tablet, where photos of the crime scene popped up. Well… Garcia was right. It was gory.

Not even half an hour ago divers found the second dead woman on one of the beaches in Florida. It looked like she got sewn into a seal’s skin and laid down there, making it look like it was a deceased animal, swept to the land by the stronger waves. Lucky for you, since this exact thing happened a few days ago, people were more cautious and thus, the scene remained in its original, uncompromised state.

“Sarah Moore is the second victim in three days. Today, the Florida Police Force has invited us in officially.” took over the word your unit chief, shifting everyone’s glance from the tablets —and printed out files in a particular doctor’s case—towards him.

“What, they didn’t find this” Derek pointed at the device still displaying the graphic photos of the scene in front of him, “freaky at the first time!?”

“There has been a rather public scandal involving the police in Florida, which resulted in replacing almost every person at command there. I think the new chief wanted to show that he can handle things by himself, since many eyes are on him and his work.” explained the man on your right, gesticulating with his big, slender hands. As your eyes unintentionally traced the line of his fingers, you wondered if he ever played the piano. He had the hands of an artist.

“Great. I wonder how much of an asshole he will be to us. I bet he’ll try to demonstrate his superiority.” your let out a groan at the thought of having to handle a grown man who acts like a demanding child, thinking that he is better and smarter than everyone else there. You had problems with people like him. Swallowing your pride when you knew that you were right was challenging for you.

“I wouldn’t exactly use this wording, but Y/N is right. Chief Miller will do everything to make himself look good in the eye of the public, even if it means undermining us. We will have to be exceptionally careful. Wheels up in 30.”

You sat at the window in one of the lounge seating areas of the jet. Next to you was Emily, Reid sat in front of you, Derek next to him. The laptop—making it possible for Penelope to join in the briefing that took place on the plane—was set up on the table between the four of you. Hotchner, JJ and Rossi gathered around your seats with tablets and case folders in hand.

All of you were reading the detailed police reports, that seemed more like a plot of some series than an actual crime committed by actual humans. None of you have met with things like this before.

Both victims got partially skinned ante-mortem, then sewn into a seal that was cut open from its jaw to its belly. The only skin remaining on Sarah and the other poor woman, named Ruby, were on those parts of their bodies that didn’t get covered by the animal. This meant the area of their stomach, chest and face. Even their scalps got removed.

“Garcia, do we know if the seals were real or a costume?” asked the doctor after looking up from the files.

“What am I, if not the queen of supplying you with all kinds of unsettling information? I already checked, however, and couldn’t find anything on this.”

“They didn’t check?” asked Emily in a dumbfounded tone.

“Well, if they did, there are no records about it anywhere.”

“Wanna bet that Chief Whatever-the-hell-his-name-is—” you started but got interrupted by Reid, chiming in, correcting you with a slight smile on his annoying face, as usual.

“Miller.”

“Yea, that. So, wanna bet that Chief Miller wanted to wrap this case up as quickly as possible by finding a fitting culprit and putting them away, whether they’re the real killer or not? Wouldn’t surprise me if he simply forgot to check this detail.”

The briefing went on for a long time. Ideas from everyone kept popping up the more you thought about the crime, its meaning, what it tells about the UnSub, the mode of display and basically everything regarding to the case. You even debated against each other if you found some holes in the other’s logic, but everything remained civil. Even between the doctor and you. Which was rare, but not impossible. It just so happened that none of your ideas went directly against the other’s so there was no use of wasting your time with bantering.

“We are landing in 15 minutes. JJ, Prentiss and I will set up at the station. Morgan, Rossi, go to the M.E., find out what you can about the victims, C.O.D., and ask for an exam on the seal. Reid, L/N, go to the latest crime scene. We have to find out if this is a ritual or some sort of radical activist statement.”

The warm weather and the smell and sound of the sea would’ve been calming in any other situation, just not when you were squatting next to a blood soaked, dead victim. It was impossible to tell whether the animal that looked like it’s consuming Sarah was real or not. Its size, texture and smell were very lifelike. You couldn’t see the insides, not until the M.E. cuts the poor woman out of the mammal.

“It’s obvious that the UnSub was careful with the sewing, it’s very precise. Can you see the thread from where you stand?” you looked back at the man who was standing a few steps behind you, taking in and analysing the bigger picture. He slightly furrowed his brows and narrowed his eyes, trying to spot even a tiny amount of straying yarn with little to no success. From where he stood, it looked like the human and animal were one and the same. Like they were meant to be this way. He shook his head as an answer, then walked right behind you and leaned down, so that your heads could be at the same level.

You felt the warm air leaving his nose as he breathed out near the small of your neck, causing goosebumps to run across your covered skin. Thank fucking God for the long sleeves, I’d look like a fool.

These past few weeks moments like this became a common occurrence. You were convinced he pulled these antics to make you flustered, to make you look like a fool, for his own amusement. You caught him staring, more often than not, but he never looked away, just slightly raised his eyebrows and challenged you to a silent staring contest. His comments or arguments became vague or had double meanings, trying to catch you off guard. He also became more physical, which baffled you the most. Dr Spencer ‘Germaphobe-and-Social-Distancing’ Reid, who he himself said that kissing would be more sanitary and safer than a handshake, was initiating physical contact with you. You didn’t understand this at all. Things were rough between the two of you ever since you started working at the BAU, so you were careful, so fucking careful not to touch him accidentally whenever you handed him anything, since you didn’t want to worsen anything. But now… Now he made a habit of standing closer to you than to anyone else, making his fingertips brush your skin whenever you gave each other something, and so on. These would’ve been small things with anyone else but not with him. You were silently fuming whenever he did something like this. You worked so hard trying to make him comfortable. Yes, you were arguing all the time, but that was strictly professional, you never crossed any personal lines. And now he seemed to take a 180°.

Of course, you saw this as a challenge. You weren’t kidding when you said, “Game on, doctor.” in that hotel room a few weeks ago, when you first noticed how strange he behaved. Did he want to make you less competent than him by making you look like some silly girl that blushes at every small thing a man does? Well yeah, you would never let that happen. Two can play this game, and you held yourself true to your word. You fought fire by fire, acting like he did. You’d never shy away from some teasing, especially when your honour was on the line.

You turned your head towards him. He was so close, your nose almost touched his left cheek. “What are your thoughts, doctor?”

He faced you, so his eyes could find yours. What he foolishly didn’t calculate is how awfully close you two would be. His breath hitched as his gaze flickered between your irises for a few seconds, taking in all the variations of colours that danced around your pupils, then he lowered his eyes to the tip of your nose that almost touched his, finally, he stopped at your lips, barely out of reach, before finding his way back to your eyes. All of this happened in split seconds, but you noticed it all. You would’ve been a hideous profiler if you didn’t. A victorious smirk formed on your face and your confidence was through the roof as the not so collected doctor’s cheeks took up a light shade of pink, barely visible to anyone else. You won this round.

The team got set up at the conference room of the modern police station. A few hours after landing, everyone gathered there. Dave and Derek arrived with crucial information regarding the first and second victim and the seals, while you shared details about the latest scene.

“According to the M.E., the cause of death was exsanguination in both cases.” said Morgan, who was fidgeting with a mustard-coloured pencil.

“Isn’t surprising in cases involving being skinned alive.” Emily’s monotone tone came as a response as she read through the tox screen. “They found a high dosage of ketamine in their system, meaning that they were possibly paralysed and awake during the skinning and sewing, making our UnSub a sadist.”

“Yes, most definitely.” agreed Reid, who was standing in front of the huge screen on the wall of the spacious room. On the screen, an anatomical drawing of the human body was displayed. “And the UnSub must have some degree of medical knowledge, because they avoided all the main arteries during skinning, making the victims suffer much longer.” during his explanation, the doctor pointed at all the pressure points of the body to show where the two women weren’t cut.

“The way of stitching further proves this; it was really precise.” you added with a slight nodding.

“So, are we looking at a doctor maybe? But then what do the scenes mean? This is one hell of an M.O., and way too specific to have no deeper meaning to it.” next to Emily, JJ was swiping between all the photos from both scenes, zooming in on the gory details, hoping she can find something, anything.

“Well, we still can’t rule out radical climate change or animal rights activists, especially since the Caribbean monk seals that were once native to this region gone extinct because of humans. They were overhunted and due to overfishing, the remaining starved to death.” Reid said this as if he was reading it out of a book.

While the others shared their ideas back and forth, your mind wandered to a different direction. Ever since morning, when you first got introduced to this case, you couldn’t shake a thought and after seeing the scenes and becoming more familiar with the details, it just got solidified, but it was a bit too out of reach. That’s why you excused yourself and quickly left the conference room. You didn’t stop until the parking lot, which was empty, to your relief. You quickly dialled the only person who was able to help you out with your dilemma, the one and only Penelope Garcia.

Your conversation was quick, but you got everything you needed and were ready to head back to the team, now confident in your theory, however, as soon as you turned on your heels, you slammed into something rather… familiar. Reid.

“Ah, for fucks sake.” you murmured as you stumbled backwards. “Do you crave physical contact this much, dear doctor? Next time just ask.”

“Why, would you comply?” he raised an eyebrow, his lips formed a somewhat cocky smile, but it was tamed enough to get missed.

“Maybe. If you beg for it.”

“Oh, between the two of us, I’m more than certain that you’d be the one that begs.” he stated confidently, as if his awkward self never existed. “But feel free to try and prove me wrong.”

“I- khm…” no matter how much you fought against the red hotness crawling up on your neck towards your face and ears, you couldn’t shake feeling weird. “You’ll have to do a lot more work to make me want to prove anything to you.” your comeback, if one can call it that, came out weaker than it sounded in your head, so before things could’ve gotten even more embarrassing for you, you decided to change the topic, silently noting that you lost this battle. “Anyway, why did you come after me?”

“For one, to check on you. For two, the others are ordering lunch and wanted to know what you would like to eat.”

“As you can see, I’m perfectly well.” you nodded, trying to solidify your statement after your previous banter, partially for him, partially for yourself.

Before he could ask or say anything else, you decided to head back to the rest of the team, with Reid, sticking close to your back.

“Mmh, I can see. No erubescence at all.” he said in a playful tone as effortlessly caught up with you, thanks to his long legs. You ignored his comment as you pushed the glass doors in and shifted your attention towards the other five people.

“Is everything alright, pretty girl?”

“Yes, I just had to confirm something real quick before presenting my groundbreaking theory to you, guys. So,” you said as you sat down in front of the laptop that was connected to the huge screen, opened Google and typed in one single word to the search bar: selkie.

thank you again for reading my work, hope you're having an awesome day! i hope it isn't a problem that this fic is getting longer, i'm just taking slow burn seriously (only thing i can do lmao) taglist: @halfbloodwriter @starrystormwritings @kspencer34 @maisyyyyyy @theseerbetweenus @throwaway-things @pleasantwitchgarden divider from @cafekitsune gif from @reidgif

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maracujatangerine · 12 hours ago

Text

95. On the phone 7

CW: institutionalised slavery, dehumanisation, box boy universe, pet whump

“Hi Benjamin.”

Lydia’s voice was thin and tired, she sounded pale and worn-out, like she hadn’t slept properly for quite some time.

“How are you doing, Lydia?”

“It’s fine…” She paused, cleared her throat. “Actually, it isn’t. Everything is weird, and tense. We are honestly mostly avoiding each other.” She sighed. ”Christmas was… stiff. Cory is doing his best ’respectful pet’-impression, especially when we are having company, but we aren’t close anymore.” Another pause, her voice shivering. ”I think neither of us knows what to say, really. Or what to do.”

“I can understand that.” Benjamin said, gently.

He took a breath, too.

”I have done some research on your behalf, but I’m afraid you’re not going to like it.” He paused. ”Like we discussed, what you are looking for probably can’t be done…”

A rustling on Benjamin’s side of the phone. ”Andrew is here with me now, too.”

”Hi Lydia!”

”Hi Andy.”

”Well,” Benjamin continued. ”As you know, when Coriander became a pet he was declared unfit for life as a person. That means that he was defined as non compos mentis - of unsound mind - and not able to look after himself, or able to take decisions on his own. All his rights were ceded to first WRU, and then to his legal owner, that is, you.”

”We already knew that. So what about reversing the decision?” Lydia sounded tense, on edge.

”There are few precedents of pets being disowned by their owner, of them yet fewer still have had their personhood legally restored. I could only find a handful of cases, and they all include the former pets still being declared non compos mentis.”

”What does that mean in practice?”

”It would likely involve an institution of some sort. A few have been staying at locked wards at mental health institutions, some at facilities designated for people with dementia. I found two cases of pets being kept in prison despite not being sentenced.

There are rumours that the WRU are somehow involved with the institutions.”

Andrew’s voice. ”It makes sense the company would not want the evidence of their wrongdoing out and about in society. Also, if pets can become legally human again, doesn’t that mean that the whole idea of pets being unfit for life as humans is discredited? I’d bet you anything that the full force of WRU lobbyists is marshalled against any idea of former pets gaining independence.”

”Also.” Benjamin sounded grim. ”There’s more. A not insignificant number of these former pets have died shortly after being disowned. Various reasons, from ill health to traffic accidents. Now, it doesn’t have to mean anything. Death from health reasons could be a result of them being mistreated and thus vulnerable. Accidents could be bad luck and simple chance. Since the numbers of pets involved are few, it is impossible to be sure.” He cleared his throat. “I still don’t like it.”

“There is another option.” Andrew said. “There are safehouses. Underground Railroad type of things. I have mostly encountered them overseas, but there might be some in this country as well. It is hard to be sure. They don’t really advertise.”

“It is an option.” Benjamin said. ”But it is illegal. That would mean a life on the run. Coriander would have independence, but it would not give him back his personhood.”

”Maybe it would still be worth it?” Lydia sounded thoughtful. ”Is it true freedom?” She sighed again. ”He would be free of me. The way he has to react to me, the feelings they installed in his head. Maybe that would be worth it for him?” She paused, taking another shivering breath. ”It’s so hard…” Her voice broke, she tried again. ”It’s so hard to know that my feelings for him are genuine. At least as much as possible in this situation… but that his feelings for me are manufactured.” She tried to laugh, shakily. ”Look at me being all self-pitying. Let’s go, what can we do?

”Do you want us to come over?” Benjamin asked. ”We could sit down with him and go through the options.”

”Yes.” Firm decision in her voice. ”Cory deserves to have all the cards. He should get to choose for himself.” Another pause. ”Not yet, though. What you are telling me is pretty bleak, and I don’t want him to feel that I am using you guys to strong-arm him into saying that he wants to stay with me. I will talk with Carla, we should discuss less drastic options first, and then present your findings.” A bleak smile in her voice. ”Thank you so much. I really appreciate you having my back.”

”No worries.” Andrew said. ”And don’t be too hard on yourself, Lydia. None of us knew about this. It isn’t your fault.”

”Thanks Andy, thank you Benjamin. Take care.”

”Take care.”

I am on a bit of a hiatus at the moment, but there is more Lydia and Coriander on the way. Thank you for your patience. ❤️

@cupcakes-and-pain @whump-em @whumpzone @wh-wh-whu @neuro-whump @carnagecardinal @cowboy-anon @whump-me-all-night-long @redwingedwhump @myst-in-the-mirror @haro-whumps @eatyourdamnpears @bloodsweatandpotato @pinkraindropsfell @whumptywhumpdump @theydy-cringeworthy @whump-in-progress @whumpsy-daisy @nicolepascaline @whumpcreations @briars7 @shiningstarofwinter @whumppsychology @alex-ember @miss-kitty-whumptastic @whumpy-writings @in-patient-princess @youtube-fandoms-bands @goblinchildindabog @mazeish @distinctlywhumpthing @inpainandsuffering @canniboylism @icannotweave @incoherent-introspection @kim-poce @broken-typewriter @the-monarch-whumperfly @whumpers-inc @grizzlie70 @lil-whumper @writingbackwards-blog @sunflower1000 @wingedwhump @thecitythatdoesntsleep @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @onlybadendings @rabass @wolfeyedwitch @melancholy-in-the-morning

#pet whump #bbu #box boy universe #box boy multiverse #whump fic #caretaker #pet whumpee #conditioned whumpee #lydia and coriander #writeblr #writers on tumblr #original writing

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clonetrooperjournals · 3 days ago

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Hello, I saw your “Cry baby” fic and absolutely fell in love with your page lol, I was wondering if you could do a Bad Batch x Reader where’s she shy and they’re like “wow she wouldn’t hurt a fly how will she fit in with us?” But then one of them gets hurt in the field and they see her b!tch slapping droids out of the way and sucker punching anyone in her way so she can get to the injured clone. Hope you’re doing well! -🤍

Summary : You are a civilian medic who asks to be assigned to Clone force 99. The boys wonder why someone actually wants to work with them but turns out your a little weird too... Pairings : Pre-order 66 Crosshair x Fem!reader Warnings : mentions of injury, slight angst, self doubt talk, fluff, cute, happy ending, crosshair being a softie Words : 2.2k A/N : So sorry this request took so long! I hope you enjoy it! I went a slight different route but I do like how it turned out! Crosshair is the secret softie we all love and that made him the star of this fic masterlist here

When the bad batch first got assigned a field medic, they thought it was a joke.

“H-Hello boys...” you say with bright red cheeks and your fists curled into your jacket.

The four clones look over you like skeptically, Crosshair is of course the first to speak up, “what is this? She's the same size as the gonk droid!”

Standing in front of them was this small 5ft woman in a medic's uniform that you hand stitched full of flowers and had ribbons tied in your boots. Your hair was pulled into a high ponytail and your eyes sparkled in the sunlight, you were the most innocent and beautiful person they’ve ever seen. What the hell were you doing working for them?

Hunter walks over to you with a curious look, “I’m Seargeant Hunter. You’re the medic?”

“Y-Yes that’s me...” you say with a shy smile, “I put in a request to work... with your squad.”

Tech walks over then, circling around you analyzing, “You... want to work with us?”

“Yes! I don’t really fit in and I-I thought...” you stutter nervously kicking your boot back and forth, “I just wanted... to work with people who were different too...”

They all look at you stunned, and Hunter grins, “Well let’s see if you can keep up.”

You trail your gaze over the four clones with a bright smile, “That won’t be a problem!”

...

It indeed was not a problem, and a year later it still shocks them every time. That first mission you went on with the bad batch was a rough one and as they geared up, they kept glancing over at their little medic with worry but, you just hummed quietly to yourself as you braided your hair and strapped two blasters to your sides like it was just another day.

When the Marauder landed on the planet all hell broke loose, and droids were coming from every side. Somewhere in the chaos Tech commed you that he broke his leg and needed you to come and set it mid battle. You were up on the ridge with Crosshair, and you looked over the field searching for Tech. You found him lying behind a pile of scrap and then turned toward Crosshair, “Cover me.”

Crosshair watched your entire demeanor shift from the cute shy woman with ribbons on her boots to a confident young woman. You hopped over the ridge drawing both blasters and running full speed to Tech. Crosshair cleared your path as you ran and all the boys watched as you blasted your way through battle droids, even picking up a dismembered droid arm and using it as a weapon. After what seemed like only a few seconds you slid in front of Tech kicking down a battle droid on your way and blasting its head right before it could shoot you and Tech.

Tech looked at you wide eyed and curious, “Fascinating...”

“Let’s get that leg set.” You grinned pulling out your med bag. After that day they never questioned you on your skills.

...

Currently you and the batch were getting ready to be deployed to Felucia and you were excited to travel to the jungle planet. There were so many amazing plants and flowers that were native there and you wanted to collect samples for your flower wall you had curated on the ship, the thought alone made you smile with joy.

As you sat in your bunk packing your first aid kit, humming a tune to yourself you didn’t notice Crosshair watching you from his bunk, “You seem... Offley happy to be back out in the field.”

“Maybe a little... There are these specific flowers that grow on Felucia and they are this beautiful shade of blue that glows in the moonlight! Oh, I want one so bad...” you sigh to yourself.

Crosshair just rolls his eyes, trying not to smile at you, “You’re starting to sound like Tech.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” You say sticking your tongue out at him with blushing cheeks, making him crack a rare smile.

Your relationship with the batch over the past year has been so wholesome, you really feel like these clones are your family. It’s the little things, like listening to Tech as he spews facts about random things or helping Hunter with the paperwork to send in or fake arm wrestling with Wrecker when he’s bored. They became your boys, and you became their girl, but what you want more than anything is for Crosshair to look at you like a woman.

The crush didn’t start right away, you thought that he genuinely didn’t like you at first, but his brothers assured you that that’s just how he is and slowly, you started to figure out what made Crosshair tick. You could tell when he was angry or when he was trying to tough it out and hide his feelings, slowly you began to see him in a whole new light. Then your heart started to flutter when he would talk to you, you would blush when he would make small comments about your appearance, and you looked forward to his playful banter and rare smiles. You were smitten, but you weren’t going to act on your feelings because he doesn’t see you as anything other than a young naive woman with flowers in her hair.

You hop up out of your bunk just as the marauder breaks atmosphere on Felucia. Tech drops the ship on an outer ridge hiding in the foliage of the jungle forest. Crosshair watches as you bounce on the balls of your feet, your braids swinging in that adorable little way that they do. You've slowly wormed your way past his defenses and into his heart, though he’ll never say it out loud. You are an impressive woman so full of love and hope and sparkle, usually those things make him want to bury himself alive but as you seem to be the walking embodiment, he’s come to fall for its charms.

“Tech and Wrecker, you lead the front, Crosshair you and the doc take the western ridge, and Doc... Do not engage unless I or Crosshair give the okay. There is a lot going on here and we don’t want you to get hurt.”

You nod slinging your kit over your shoulder, “Got it Sarge.”

You all leave the ship and head out into the jungle, your eyes go wide as you turn to Crosshair with a big smile, “Wow! Are you seeing this Cross? It’s amazing!”

“Sure doc.” He says while rolling his eyes.

The two of you walk through the jungle up to the western ridge and Crosshair can’t help but chuckle at the way you whip your head back and forth with a smile at all the plants and flowers. You gently stroke you hand over a seemingly harmless flower and it twirls its petals making you smile brightly. Quietly he sets up his scope and waits for Hunter to give the signal while you continue to admire your surroundings.

After a short while you feel the ground start to thump and you look at Crosshair to see if he felt it too. He nods at you and puts his finger to his lips for the two of you to be quiet, then the source of the thumping comes into view, and you freeze. The largest Rancor you’ve ever seen is walking towards you with two younglings and you turn to Crosshair panicked and whisper, “What are we gonna do?”

The young rancor's turn their gaze directly toward the two of you and start to hit the ground excitedly making you jump. You look at Crosshair in a panic and he whispers in your ear, “Were gonna jump.”

Before you can answer, Crosshair grabs your waist and the two of you go tumbling down the ridge hard and fast. You can hear the thumping footsteps of the rancor's on your tail as you skid to a stop, Crosshair still holding you tightly. The two of you jump up and take off in a run, ignoring the aching throughout your body, and you hear Hunter on the coms.

What's going on?

We've got an incoming!

There’s no separatists from that location.

Not separatists!

By the time Hunter could ask what is going on he sees you and Crosshair sprinting across the field with a mama rancor and two babies hot on your tail. Wrecker turns around and laughs happily, “Oh yeah! Let's go!”

Just as you are about to come up with the others you feel a hard swipe and you get thrown across the field. The mama and baby rancor's continue their charge towards the rest of the batch as you lie there stunned for a moment. You feel the large gash in your side pooling blood as you slowly sit up with a groan, and you reach into your med kit to give yourself a stim for the time being. Then you pull yourself up and run over to the others your blasters drawn. You can see Wrecker laughing as he takes on the mama rancor meanwhile Hunter, Crosshair and Tech are leading the babies away back into the jungle. Of course, it is then that a squad of battle droids pops out from the eastern ridge charging toward your location.

You sigh and turn to Wrecker as you shoot the first droids, “We’ve got company!”

...

You all lean up against the ship battered but still holding on. Hunter has his arm in a sling and Wrecker is rubbing bacta gel on his knuckles from the fist fight he got into with the mama rancor. The mission was a success, eventually, you had to improvise and ended up using the mama rancor to your advantage redirecting her anger towards the battle droids which ended up working in your favor. You were covered in mud and aching, the gash on your side had started bleeding again but you had no energy to stand let alone deal with your injury. Crosshair walks over to you and notices the way you are grabbing your side, “You alright doc?”

“Yeah. Yeah. I think I just need to lie down...” you mumble as you start to fall forward woozily.

Crosshair quickly grabs you before you hit the ground and calls for his brother, “Woah! Okay Tech!”

You mumble something and Crosshair brings his ear close to you, his ears going red as he hears what you're saying in your haze, “Cross don’t let me go... stay with me please...”

Your eyes roll back in your head, and your vision starts to fade to black, the last thing you can hear is the sound of Crosshair yelling for you to stay with him...

...

Slowly you open your eyes to the dull light of the marauder, and the cold of space. You trail your arm down to your side and feel the fresh tight bandages and as you turn your head to the side you jump in surprise making you wince, “Crosshair?”

He sat on the floor across from your bunk, twirling his toothpick and watching you with a slight worry in his eyes, “Your awake.”

“What happened?” you ask as you try to sit up but stop when you feel the ache in your side.

He sighs, “the rancor hit you pretty good, you lost a lot of blood...”

You look down at yourself and immediately start blushing hard as you realize that you’re in your bra, instantly you pull the blanket up yourself trying to hide the last shred of dignity you have in front of the sexy sniper but he gives you a mischievous smirk and he slides toward you, “We had to get rid of your shirt to properly apply the bandages. Don’t worry, I was gentle.”

You throw the blanket over your head, your face burning, “kriffin hell...”

“Don’t worry I’m a professional,” he chuckles as he pulls the blanket down to your nose, “you good?”

You sit up slowly, keeping the blanket wrapped around you still blushing, “Yeah... I’m good. Thanks for staying with me.”

He nods and throws you a shirt to which you slip on carefully while blushing like crazy. You see your med bag placed neatly at the end of your bunk with something on top that makes you freeze. “Is that...?”

A large blue flower, the same one you were telling Cross about earlier that day laid on top of your bag. You looked over at him and he shrugged, his ears red as he avoided your gaze. You gently picked up the flower with the biggest smile on your face, “When did you... have time to grab this?”

“I made it work. I remember you saying that you... wanted the flower so...”

With a rush of emotion, you lean forward and kiss his cheek, “Thank you Crosshair!”

You both freeze after realizing what you just did, your cheeks a flame the same as his. He looks up at you with a look you can’t place and grabs your chin. You can feel his breath on your lips as he spits his toothpick behind you and without warning he kisses you slowly and passionately. You drop the flower and grab his face kissing back hard, making him smile into the kiss.

He pulls away with heavy lids, “If your gonna kiss me doc, do it properly.”

“So, I can do it again?” you ask breathless.

He just chuckles and nods kissing you again and again and again...