#he went from angular to round | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

stargirlygirl · 15 days ago

Text

no, you can't buy my ranch

rancher!sylus x spoiled!city girl!reader

⭑.ᐟ part one: new home

summary: today is the day you move into your dad's ranch house, but there's a problem. who is this silver-haired man touring your property?

contains: swearing, angst, 1.5k words

You never thought it would come to this, but as rolling grassy hills and cattle whir past your tinted car windows, you realise it indeed has.

You’re a city girl. You love the buzz and bustle of the concrete jungle; the fact that there are so many people, no one looks at you. You blend right into this fashion-forward, $8 coffee-drinking, road rage mania. It’s your home.

When your father bought a property in the middle of nowhere a few years ago, you didn’t think much of it. Not until a couple of months ago, when he asked you to pack up and move in there for the next year, so he won’t be taxed on rent collection. You were in utter disbelief and refused straight off the bat. You couldn’t give up your barista-made 57-degree oat milk lattes, let alone your apartment, or your job. And what of your gym membership? Your weekly outings with friends?

But here you are, growing frustrated at your GPS as you try to navigate the few roads of this tiny town.

You’ll be working remotely for as long as you stay here, and daddy-poo bought you an espresso machine in preparation for your move. In your mind, this next year couldn’t go any faster. You can’t wait to be out of here. Sure, the countryside looks nice. But it’s not going to be very nice when you find snakes in your backyard and can’t pop down to the supermarket after work because it closes at 5pm.

And don’t get me started on the small town gossip. Within days, everyone here will be fluent enough in your life story to write a biography about you. What high school you went to, every crush you’ve ever had, how many times you’ve peed in the pool, all of it! They’re going to know, and there’s nothing you can do to stop them from talking about it. You said so to your father when he saw you off.

“This is a bad idea,” you pouted. And he just sighed and waved as you pulled out of the parking lot and hit ‘start route’ to your new hellhole home.

For the third time in the last hour, your GPS has missed a turn and is now redirecting you back to the main road. The busy ice cream parlour workers must be tired of seeing your rust bucket of a car; they’re probably gossiping about this fucking loser who keeps circling. Determined not to go past your turn again, you drive extra slow, take the right lane, and round the corner when clear.

Driving to the end of empty grasslands, you find a small ranch house. Blue-tiled roof, white exterior, chimney, and is that a rocking chair on the porch? The sun is setting, tangerine hues casting the quaint house in a cosy glow. It’s enchanting, even more so as you pull off the dirt road and park on a nearby worn patch where you assume the prior tenants parked.

But there’s just one problem.

On the opposite side of the dirt trail is a black pickup truck. Stepping out of your beat-up tin car, the hinges groaning as you gently shut the door. Staring at the intruding vehicle, you notice the red interior of the truck and various tools stacked up on the tray. Huffing, you head to the passenger’s side and turn your handbag inside-out looking for the house keys. Upon grasping them, you lock your car and stride up your new ‘home’.

Drawing closer, you hear muffled voices from the side of the house. A deep, resonating chuckle accompanies feet crackling on the tall shrubs. You change course, following the sounds of the approaching strangers instead. It only takes a few seconds before silky silver locks glinting in the fading light come into view, followed by narrow crimson eyes. They settle on you instantly, zeroing in and assessing you like a predator does to its prey.

He’s gorgeous. Ahem. Fine. He looks fine.

Angular features, rippling muscles beneath his button-up, broad shoulders and the sluttiest little waist (that black vest understood the assignment). You’re practically ogling him with how your lips are parted, a bit of spit forming at the corner of your mouth while your eyes rake up and down his every line and curve.

Sylus’s dark boots squish every insect and hint of vegetation in their path until he stops a few feet away from you. His shadow looms over you, making you feel small and weak. His eyes have you glued in place, rendering you speechless and flushed as you wish you could run to your car and book it back to the city. So what if it’s another six-hour drive? Who cares? You certainly don’t if it means escaping the hunk of man in front of you.

Feebly, you murmur, “Who’re you?” The way it comes out, you sound like an abandoned kitten drenched by an unrelenting storm. He smirks; it sends chills rolling up your spine.

“I could say the same about you, kitten,” he confidently drawls.

Your eyes widen as you stutter, “W-what? What did you just call me?”

The man by his side, whom you haven’t even spared a glance at, interjects, “Miss, this is private property. If you don’t identify yourself, then you could be charged with trespassing.”

“Trespassing?!” You echo, a hint of panic in your tone.

Crossing your arms beneath your chest, you scold him, “If anyone’s trespassing, it’s you two.” Your gaze flickers to the silver-haired man, his sharp eyes still fixated on you; they observe every breath you take, the darkness beneath your eyes, and how you shift uncomfortably on your feet like you’ve been driving for hours.

You continue, irritated, “My father owns this property. Who’re you to come here and accuse me of—”

“Oh,” Sylus interrupts, his voice rich like dark velvet.

“So, you’re Miss L/n, then?” He continues with a raised brow and a mocking grin on his perfect face. Oh, how you wanna punch it off! You nod, a little knot in your brow, which he finds amusing.

The silver-haired man introduces himself, “I was hoping to make your acquaintance sooner or later. I am Sylus, and I’d like to purchase your ranch.”

Your jaw slackens as you stare at him, sputtering, “Y-you what?”

“Mr Qin is a successful ranch owner and businessman. You have quite a nice block of land, Miss L/n. I was showing him around the property in preparation for a sale, once your father gives the word, of course,” the other man explains. You notice that he’s in a suit and holding several papers. Must be the real estate agent, you think.

You scoff, “Who… who do you think you are, you prick?” Pointing at Sylus, you scowl, “You have no right to be inspecting my land and you—” Your fury switches to the real estate agent, “are out of your fucking mind! Showing potential clients around here? Are you so desperate for commission? Get the fuck out of here or I’m calling the police.”

Delving into your back jean pocket, you retrieve your phone and open the dial pad.

Sylus’s charming chuckle unnerves you, “There’s no need to do that, sweetie. The tour is finished anyway.” Glancing up from your screen, you step back reflexively as he steps forward.

He holds out a red card between his long fingers, smirking, “My business card for when you’re ready to negotiate price.” You snatch it from him, glaring at him the entire time. And you don’t stop until you can make out his tall figure (bakery in full view btw) amongst the sunset backdrop, climbing into his truck and driving away in a flurry of dust and mystery.

Locking your phone, you slide it into your pocket and flip over Sylus’s business card. Address, email, phone number, all detailed in silver embossed lettering on a smooth background. But not as smooth as his voice. What?

Shaking those thoughts out of your head, you trudge back to your car and flip open the boot. It’s a long night, pulling out the few boxes you could fit, carrying them up the porch steps and eventually dumping them in the warm living room. Luckily, everything’s mostly furnished. It’s just your homely touch that needs to be added.

You unpack the ‘essentials’ box: toiletries, fry pan and toaster, and phone charger. Shortly afterwards, you collapse into bed, a certain silver-tongued fox on your mind. His shrewd gaze haunts your dreams, as do the defined contours of his body, evident in the afternoon light.

Oh, what it would be like to feel such muscles beneath your palm, to have his eyes on you for eternity. Such dreams are forbidden, yet you cannot stop the wandering mind from doing just that in the early hours of the morn.

masterlist

#lol in australia idk if you don't pay any tax #i think you pay reduced tax if you live in your rental property for six months or a year every several years #and i'm not going to find out sorry #ask a law student #★’s works #love and deepspace #sylus love and deepspace #sylus x reader #lads sylus #sylus angst #lnds sylus #qin che x reader

195 notes · View notes

mediumgayitalian · 3 months ago

Text

Kayla will never tell her older brother in a million billion years. Plus one extra.

But she knows more about Lee Fletcher than he does.

It is not something she did on purpose. Nor is it information she necessarily wants, she most certainly did not ask for it. Nor is it information she will offer.

She will not tell him that she knows the crumple of Lee’s face when he tells a lie. She will not tell him she knows the stark pain in his shoulders at the end of the day. She will not tell him she knows the grooved scars on the palms of his hands from bitten-sharp nails. She will not tell him she knows the sounds of his quiet, pillow-muffled sobs as well as or better than she knows the sound of her father’s voice.

Instead she will watch him. And she will meet Lee’s tired eyes. And she will nod to him, and he will nod back, and they will both look at Will, exhaling.

———

The first time she sees him she is hallucinating.

Genuinely. Medically diagnosed and everything.

“Kayla,” Will whispers, and there is a strain in his voice, as there always is when one of them is sick. “Kayla, dolly, the cloth needs to stay on your head.”

“Cold,” she sobs, “please, Will, I’m so cold.” Dolly. Dolly. He calls her dolly when she’s crying, when the tips of her fingers are bleeding and her knees are scraped raw and she screams if he gets too close to her. “‘M so —”

Her teeth clack hard together so hard her mouth glues shut. And the ice in her finger and toenails fires up her veins and pricks through all of her capillaries, turning her solid, and it burns, and it aches, and she bawls enough that acid burns up her throat and dribbles down her chin, down her shirt, in her bed. And over the heart pounding in her ears she hears her older brother exhale a soft little broken moan and choke it back just as fast and his always-warm hands brush over her cheeks, and she groans and squirms away from it and cries harder, and he whispers “Hold on, dolly, the fever’s almost broken, I can feel it,” and she opens her eyes and he is there, hair longer, hair neater, lab coat starched and collar covered in old Star Wars stickers, bulky glasses barely clinging to his face, tears soaking his long, angular face.

And Kayla squints, and the freezing ice recedes ever so slightly, sparking just under her skin, and she tilts her head, and she stares at him, at his freckle-free face, and whispers, “…Will?”

And he squeezes his eyes tighter and begs, “One more time, kiddo, I’m so sorry. One more time. I can’t help you if I can’t touch you. Pull back the light, baby, I can’t see, you have to control it just a little more. Just enough so it doesn’t burn. Please.”

And she squints again and Will-not-Will wavers, and the infirmary lights blink off his tears, off the lens of his glasses, and the. she squints again and the lights are dimmer, and the lab coat is gone, and his hair is frizzier.

“What,” she croaks, and Will pats her hair, and his hands are rough like she’s used to, and his round face is wet, and his scrubs are barf-stained, again, and he is smiling, tears dripping into his mouth, bright blue eyes clear, and he laughs and touches his forehead to hers.

“One-oh-one,” he whispers, shoulders shaking. “You’re safe, dolly. Your brain is out of the oven. Gods. Holy shit. Holy shit, Holy God, Holy Hera.” And he starts to pray.

She exhales hard, exhales, and forgets about it.

———

The next time her brain is not cooking hard enough her proteins are denaturing.

The next time she is sleep deprived, which does not help her determine reality.

She is lucid enough to notice the change, though.

She should not be awake. This much she knows. Will had sent her to bed hours ago, a half-hour after Austin and a full hour after the kids — as is her right; she is a full 13 years old — and she went, not without grumbling. And she meant to sleep. She usually does. But the moon was bright, and unusually warm. And the fairy lights twinkled with twice as much laughter than usual. And the audiobook her daddy sent her was just so enticing, just so flowery and beautiful, and as she listened to the gravel-low voice of the woman narrating and stared out the window she could see it playing out, plain as day, over the silver-washed hill of Thalia’s tree and the gentle giggling of the Atlantic waves.

She’s not supposed to be up late enough to watch Will creep in.

But she is, and that’s that. She hears the creak of the rickety screen door, slow like he’s trying to keep it quiet, and holds her breath, careful to make all her muscles react to keep her from being seen. The cabin is big but not that big and she sees him quickly, out of the corner of her half-closed eyes, tiptoe careful across the wooden floorboards, hopping over the noisiest ones, resting at the side of each of their beds and waiting, watching at the ends of them, shoulders dropping, eyes blackened and eyebags heavy. After a moment at each he reaches out his burned hands, resting gently on her siblings’ foreheads, and closes his eyes, exhaling, letting the fiery warmth from his palms spread slowly through their veins, wrapping strands of sunlight neatly around them like spider silk. As it recedes he sighs, in exhaustion or relief, and holds his hand, for a second, breathing in, breathing out, and moving on.

He comes to her last.

She has relaxed her breathing by then. She is thirteen years old and remembers every day of it; knows how to twitch her muscles and murmur in gentle sleepiness, knows how to breathe til her heart goes slow and flicker her eyelids so her face shows its dreaming. Daddy checks on her too, when she’s home, and she likes to stay up for him, likes to wait, likes to savour the feel of his string-callused fingertips and soft cool palms.

“I know you’re not sleeping, you little twerp.“

He flickers again — she sees it this time — and the heat of his hands fade a bit. His face gets a little longer, chin a little pointier, and the wild curls around his head mellow into something wavier, something gentler and more tamed. The glasses balancing on his wide nose are unbelievably thick, thicker than Julia’s whose prescription is a joke, and make his blue eyes look buggy, beetle-shaped. He’s got half as many freckles but that could be the moonlight. His smile is the same.

“I know what REM feels like, you know.”

She says nothing and keeps breathing. He sighs. He strokes a thumb against her forehead and it is familiar, and she knows, immediately then, that it is her brother who strokes her, who guards the foot of her bed.

“I’m gonna go get ready for bed. If you’re not asleep by then I’m gonna smother you, ya pain in the ass.”

He pulls away and she watches, follows the thwack of his falling-apart Converse, the rise of his gentle humming. He pulls tiny bathroom’s door shut and the humming swells along with the fireflies, echoing soft and melodic in the kind-of-big cabin, and she means to stay awake, really. She wants to watch him transform again, wants to watch his shoulders grow back and his spine stretch straighter. Wants to see the familiar roundness of his cheeks.

But his voice is so beautiful, and the scrape of his toothbrush is as rhythmic as ever, and the moon is so high in the sky. Her audiobook fades to silence as she slips away, warmed, into the cradle of her bed.

———

The third time she sees him there is no excuse.

It is the dead middle of summer and he is exhausted. The camp swells with the sum of them all, with the drum of running footsteps and crashing swords and crowing laughter. Her brother lives in the infirmary, practically; no matter how many times he is dragged out he keeps sneaking back, keeps slipping out of his friends’ sight and falling right back into his scrubs, hair pulled back.

“You are not supposed to be here,” Kayla says crossly. “Your shifts are done for the week.”

He smiles guiltily and the change is immediate. The slant of his shoulders is identical, the curve of his grin is unchanged, but the glossiness of his eyes fades away, and the strange ghost of her brother takes full shape. He is different, in the clear sunlight. A familiar stranger. He grins at her widely and turns on his heel, strolling to the mortal medicine cabinet.

“And who died and made you head honcho, Sunshine?” She blinks in surprise, glancing down at her hands. That is a new one. Sunshine.“It’s the busy season. I’m only keeping up with demand.”

“You’re gonna wear yourself right out,” she hears herself say. “Right out, and then what?”

“And then the sun will keep shining,” her brother says. “Besides, you’ll be taking over in no time. You’re already better than me, squirt.”

It’s an odd thing to say — she isn’t. By virtue of her parentage she can heal, and she can sing the hymns. But her strength is in her bow and her violin; her strings, not the stretch of bandages or shine of the suture. Will knows it. This brother, though, the one who stands in his place, is not speaking to her.

“I am?”

“‘Course. You know anyone else who can drag an errant soul right back into a body?”

Yes. She’s seen Will do it on more than one occasion, on more than one justification. She’s seen how it makes Chiron’s lips tighten and the atmosphere go dark. There is healing, and then there is blasphemy and challenge. Will walks the line like no one has since Zeus struck the challenger clean off the Earth.

This brother is not talking to her.

“Am I really going to take over, Lee?”

She says it carefully, because she isn’t sure. There are no pictures and Will tells no stories. But she hears whispers, sometimes, from the scattered few who knew them both, who watch Will corral the lot of them to breakfast or take the reigns of the chariot or calm hysterics with a touch, who whisper: “Sometimes I look at him and it’s like seeing a ghost.”

Her brother smiles a wide thing at her. It is as soft as she remembers. “Course, baby. No doubt in my mind.”

———

The fourth time she sees Lee Fletcher, she makes him come.

She waits very carefully. He comes when Will’s tired, she hypothizes. When his own strength won’t stand. So she waits, for the second wave of camp flu, for his lead on the climbing wall, for the rare nights when Gracie gets cranky and homesick and stomps around the cabin, throwing things and yelling. She waits for the look in his eyes, for the glassiness to smooth into something soft and reverent, something timeless.

It does not come when she expects.

The fourth time they are sitting together. Or, Will is sitting, legs tucked under him on the side bench, and Kayla stands, breathing careful, arms pulling elastic taut.

Her third missed shot, he is behind her.

“Relax you jaw,” he suggests. “Your tension is throwing you off. Let yourself hit the edge — it’s a new challenge, kid. No need for a bullseye.”

“I always get a bullseye,” she argues.

Lee smiles. His eyes are different, she realizes. They’re — constant. Blue. Like hydrangeas.

Will’s change with the sky.

“Bullseyes are a process.” He puts a steady hand on her elbow, tilting it slightly. “You gotta aim for the bigger picture before you focus on the details. The bullseye will come. Start with hitting the target.”

She huffs, scowling, but he’s right, and on her fourth shot the arrow lodges, just on the edge of the compacted wood.

Lee cheers. That, she sees clear as day, is identical, from the strain of his arms to the crow of his whooping laughter. He even does the same clumsy, dorky dance that sends him sprawling.

Kayla smiles past the lump in her throat.

———

The fifth, sixth, and seventh times pass without her counting, as does everyone one beyond. They happen in stretches and in the blink of an eye — the shapes of his mouth when he yawns, the drawl of his fed-up sarcasm. The weight of his elbow on the top of her head, grinning as she shoves him off, the shake of his deep, bone-rooted sigh when he thinks she’s asleep and his entire body strains, curled up under his favourite quilt. The weight of his ‘v’ in I love you.

She almost stops looking.

“What did he look like?” she blurts, one evening when he takes them to the beach. The rest of them are up ahead, Austin chasing the younger ones up the muddy sand.

Will freezes, just barely, then walks on with a forced lightness, swinging his loose arms between them.

“Who?” he asks, voice light.

Kayla gnaws the inside of her cheek.

“Your older brother.”

“I had four, at one point.”

He says it quiet like he does at the campfire, when it’s only the older kids left but she’s managed to stick around, holding her breath so they won’t notice and send her away. When Will lies back on a log and matches his breathing to the flames, eyes unseeing, and Annabeth watches him carefully and whispers, “Play us something, Will.” And he picks up the guitar he keeps dusty under his bed and sings something soft like there’s no hardness left inside him. No bowstring.

“When he laughed, you could hear it across camp,” he says quietly.

Kayla had not specified which brother but he knows anyway, had been waiting for her ask, and she strains to hear, now, leans in over the turn of the waves and shifts of the sands and strives for every note, every chord of his voice. “He invented a full name for me so he could holler it when I got in trouble. William Andrew.”

“I didn’t know he made that up.”

A ghost of a smile turns Will’s lips. “Yeah, it stuck real good. Even Chiron forgets I wasn’t born with it, actually. He yells it, too.”

He tilts his heart to the sky and stares at the clouds, exhaling, hands still by his sides.

“I was his favourite,” he says finally. “He wasn’t supposed to have anybody, but he loved me. He watched me real careful. He was —” he swallows — “I loved my brother, you know. To the sun and beyond it.”

He stops, turning to the waves. She lets him and watches his back, watches the shape of his scapulae under his camp shirt.

“I wish I still had him.”

The air shifts beside him, then. She sees Lee next to him, this time, not in place of him, with a broad hand on his shaking shoulder, a tanned forehead pressed to his temple. He turns to her, when Will breathes normally again, and winks, blinking back away as the clouds move from the sun.

“I think he’d be real proud of you.”

“Yeah?”

Kayla hesitates. “I mean — yeah. You’re like him, you know? You stand like he does.”

Will is smiling, softly, eyes red.

“I’ll have to show you a picture of him, sometime.”

“Yeah.” Kayla smiles, exhaling deeply. “Yeah, I’d like to see him.”

350 notes · View notes

outerspacebisexual · 1 year ago

Text

Memories of Days Gone By - Spencer Reid

Summary: Spencer has never understood having a cluttered desk at work. Then you start at the BAU, and he's forced to share a desk with the least desk-tidy person in the whole FBI. Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader Word count: 3.1k Warnings: none, except talk of reader getting shot a/n: woah, outerspacebisexual actually writing instead of just reblogging post about writing? crazy Masterlist

Spencer always thought that having personal mementos in the workplace was weird.

Maybe it came from his mother, whose desk was always so cluttered she could barely place anything down without something else falling off. He could—as with everything else—vividly remember sitting in her office chair, spinning in around and around in circles, watching his framed toothy six-year-old-self flying past him again and again and again.

She never swapped out that photo, even when he got older and his round, chubby face became angular with his teen years. Not when he graduated high school, or college, or college again. In fact, he knew for certain that photo still sat on his mother’s bedside table. So you’re always here with me, she’d said on one of her good days. And even though most of the time she had no idea who the tiny child with thick frames was, she still traced a finger down the side of the glass before bed.

When Spencer first joined the BAU, he’d made a point to ensure his desk was cleared every hour. Empty coffee cups, old files, shredding, sticky notes; after one hour, it all went. That way he could ensure that everything got done.

And that same habit continued for years, until you showed up.

Hi, you’d said on your first day, sticking out your hand and smiling wide. Looks like we’re desk buddies.

He wasn’t sure how to feel about that. The desk had belonged to Emily before you got there, and the idea of looking up and seeing you was just another reminder that he’d lost her.

He was nice to you, of course. You hadn’t done anything wrong. You’d simply taken a job opening from the ballistics unit to the BAU. It wasn’t your fault that his dead friend’s desk was now yours.

At first, he noticed how you had a habit of leaving empty coffee cups on your desk, choosing to get another one rather than reuse the one already on your desk. It wasn’t a problem. There were plenty of mugs in the kitchen. But when your chair hit your desk, they chimed together, and the noise set him on edge.

He left it alone for the first month.

But then came the files.

Files piled up on your desk---not in neat piles marked ‘Complete’ and ‘Incomplete’ like his—just spread out across the surface in every direction and orientation. And as the week went on, more and more were added until there was no discernible way to tell which had been done and which hadn’t. This led to you having to leaf through folder after folder until you found the one you were looking every day.

Spencer had been tempted to say something one week when he’d watched you out of the corner of his eye search for a file for fifteen minutes. You’d found it right as he opened his mouth, spinning in your chair and heading straight for Garcia’s office. Spencer had sat and stared at the mountain of manila folders then entire time you were gone, thinking to himself, How could you put up with this?

How could you deal with having to fight with your desk at every second of the day just to find something? The idea of it made him want to throw up. Not that his apartment was any better, he knew that. But there was a difference between work and home. Home was allowed to be messy and cluttered, full of the rest of your life outside of work. Work was work. It depended on being able to obtain information quickly and efficiently—not after ten minutes of rooting around.

Hey, Reid? you’d asked one afternoon. Have you seen that Milwaukee case file?

Which one?

The consult one? With the three missing girls?

He tried his best not to roll his eyes. I think you put it down on the edge of your desk.

You spun and rifled through the stack, grinning when you held it up. You’re a genius, you know that?

Pursing his lips, he said, Believe it or not, I do.

Spencer might’ve been bad at reading social clues, but he wasn’t an idiot. He knew that you were just trying to be nice and start a conversation, but he reached over and lifted the phone to his ear, pretending not to notice the way your face fell. You quietly turned back to your computer and opened the file.

A week later, you tried again. Reid, do you want coffee?

No, he answered quickly, despite blinking back the sting of a 3:00am emergency case. ‘Urgent’ was all the text from Hotch had said, and now he was sitting behind his desk once again, for the fifty-second hour this week. Hotch was never wrong. There had never been a case that Hotch had chosen where the team hadn’t been needed, not in all the years Spencer had worked for the BAU. But he couldn’t deny that there were times that he wished he wasn’t at work.

You sure? I know we got more sugar, if that’s what you’re worried about.

I’m fine, he snapped, harsher than he’d intended. Thankfully, you left it alone.

Then, you were all in Atlanta, consulting on a case of three male bodies and another man missing. By the morning, his head had cleared, and he noticed the space you’d put between the two of you when you both arrived at the ME’s office.

Doctor Glenn, thanks for meeting with us, you started.

Doctor Glenn had smile brightly at you, standing from behind his desk to shake your hand. Spencer waved. Of course. And please, Scott is fine.

You sent him a soft smile. Where are we with the latest autopsy?

Well, from what I can tell, the murder weapon was some sort of short-bladed knife. What kind, I can’t say for certain. The advanced decomposition on all three makes it tricky.

Something like a kitchen knife? Or pocketknife?

Scott nodded. It’s possible. Like I said, I can’t be sure at this stage.

Can I see the photos? Spencer asked.

Absolutely, Scott replied. I was going to give you the file anyway. He opened the closest folder to him, but frowned. Oh, this isn’t right. Sorry, it’s here somewhere.

Noting his reddening cheeks the longer he searched, you said, Your desk looks a lot like mine.

If Scott noticed you attempt to put him at ease, he didn’t make it known. Brows pinched tightly together, he queried, The BAU doesn’t have strict guidelines on that kind of thing?

You shrugged. Maybe, it does. Though, I’m sure I’d have been written up by now if it did. You leaned forward in your chair to glance at the photo frames on the side. Spencer could see them clearly from where he sat. Two dozen frames littered the side of his desk, all displaying four boys---from baby photos to teenagers. Are they your boys?

Scott, visibly grateful to have a distraction while he continued rustling through drawers, didn’t look up. Yes, the four of them. James, Patrick, John, and Liam.

Spencer watched in silence the conversation the two of you had.

How old?

James is almost 21, Patrick, 19, and John and Liam are both 16.

Twins?

Indeed.

Must have been a handful when they were younger, I’m sure.

He smiled gently. You don’t know the half of it. John’s decided to head to college in California and Liam’s heading to New York.

It must be nice to have them close, at least for the time being, you replied.

It is. I don’t quite know what I’ll do once they’re gone, if I’m honest. And I worry. Like every parent does, I suppose.

Well, if they’re half as kind as all these photos make them out to be, then I’m sure they’ll be just fine.

That’s kind of you to say. I’m not blind, either. I know it’s a lot.

You laughed. It’s not, I promise. It’s nice to have something to remind you of the good. Especially with jobs like yours and mine. Reminds you of what you’re working for. Who you’re working for. There’s so much darkness out there, if we don’t remind ourselves, we can get lost in it.

Scott produced a file from the bottom drawer, and Spencer just stared at you, even as you took the file and flipped through it.

A month later, Spencer found himself hunched over his desk, computer brightness on low as he tried his best to block out the noise emanating from every corner of the bull pen. With the migraine he was sporting, he was sure he could hear all the way to reception, which did nothing to help his pounding head. He clicked random buttons on his computer as his eyes watched each minute tick by.

Four hours. That was all he had left. Then he could leave and collapse down onto his couch and sleep for two days until it was gone. With each passing minute, his brain fog got worse, until he was reading the same sentence for the fifth time in a row without comprehending what it was saying. Who even sends an email at 1:04pm on a Friday?

Aaron Hotchner, according to the contact name at the top. He needed to reply. Hotch would be expecting an answer.

Spencer hadn’t even realised you’d been speaking until you waved a hand in the air over the partition between your desks.

What? he asked, when you just stared blankly at him.

I asked if you were OK?

He sat up straighter, doing his best to ignore the pain that stabbed through him. I’m fine.

You cocked an eyebrow. Are you sure? You don’t look great.

I said I’m fine.

You were silent for a long moment, and you refused to break eye contact with him. That was until you leaned over and reefed open a drawer.

What are you doing?

You continued to dig through it. I have some pain meds in here. Nothing fancy, but you look like you could use some ibuprofen.

I don’t need it.

And I don’t need to sit here and watch you suffer for the rest of the day, Reid. Seriously. It’s painfully obvious.

Spencer didn’t have it in him to reply. Any other day, and he might’ve snapped at you. But today, he would take your kindness. As he came around to your side, he peeked inside your drawer, noting it was the same as the top of your desk. Cluttered and messy.

He stared at the mountain of files, eyes roaming over your desk. Your nameplate. Your empty coffee cups. Your photos. He paused as he took them in—for the first time since you’d been here.

Many different photos were tacked onto the partition. Most were of a cat and a dog and a few people who he assumed were family and friends from outside of work.

Only one was framed—a photo of the team. He could remember the day. You’d only been at the BAU for a month and upon returning from a hard case, Garcia had surprised you with a cake and balloons in the conference room. You’d cried, he remembered. Which he’d thought was weird, but hadn’t taken much note of at the time. Anderson had snapped a photo at Garcia’s insistence.

Suddenly, a sleeve of ibuprofen was thrust into his chest. Here.

Thank you, he mumbled.

You don’t need to thank me, Reid. Just take it, and maybe seen Hotch about leaving early. That can be your thanks. You gave him a tight-lipped smile, which he returned before heading to the breakroom.

Six months after you started at the BAU, you got shot.

Not life-threatening, but a bullet to the shoulder meant you were laid up on leave for two weeks.

The bullpen had never been so quiet, Spencer thought. Though maybe it was his guilt that made him think that. It had racked him every day of the two weeks since they’d gotten back from Wichita. The bullet had been meant for him, and if he’d actually been paying attention to his surroundings, then he wouldn’t have missed the UnSub lining up the shot, and you wouldn’t have pushed him out of the way, taking the hit for him.

Your screams still echoed in his mind. The first, his name: Spencer! Get down! And the second, your yelp of pain. Spencer had fired off two shots in quick succession, taking out the UnSub with barely more than a thought before he was turning to you lying flat on your back and gripping your shoulder.

He’d accompanied you to the hospital, where they said long-term damage was unlikely, but you would have a long road to recovery until you had full use of your arm again.

Hotch had immediately put you on leave, threatening that he’d make you take even longer if he saw you in the office at all before the two weeks was up. You had kept your word to him that you’d take the full two weeks.

Spencer hadn’t been sure what to do about your desk for the first few days. Hotch had instructed him to take over your files, which was easier said than done.

Heaving your last folder into his ‘Complete’ tray, he breathed a sigh of relief. Glancing at the clock, he realised he’d been zoned out writing reports for four hours. The rest of the team had all gone—aside from Hotch, but when wasn’t he in his office.

Starting over the partition, Spencer eyed the mess that still cluttered your desk. He hadn’t wanted to touch anything except the files, which he’d gingerly sorted into what was done and what wasn’t, careful not to disturb anything else on the desk.

Now, staring at all you’d left behind when they’d suddenly been forced to jet off, he wondered if tidying it was the least he could do. Maybe you would thank him for it. Or maybe you’d tear his head off for touching your stuff.

He decided to take that risk.

Collecting the loose papers and random Post-its, he placed them neatly into piles to the right of your computer. Most where mindless reminders for yourself—Get the dry cleaning! and Pay the water bill by tonight!

Spencer wasn’t always grateful for his eidetic memory, but not having to remember small day-to-day tasks was a huge bonus for him. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to cope without it.

He straightened the tacked photographs and wiped down the team photo. He made sure your computer was properly plugged in. He ensured your tablet was fully charged for your return. He was almost satisfied, when he noticed one green Post-it note had fallen behind your monitor screen. Weaving his hands between the cords, he pulled it out.

Thanks for the ibuprofen. I really appreciate it.

Below his barely legible script, sat a small face he’d doodled. Truthfully, he hadn’t thought anything of it since he stuck it to your monitor.

But you still had it, even two months later.

He stuck it back where he’d put it the first time.

You’re back, Spencer said as he entered the bullpen the next morning.

I am, you replied, grinning wide. Do I have you to thank for this?

Placing his bag down on his seat, he said, I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Oh, come on. There’s only one other office neat freak in this whole place, and I know for a fact it wasn’t Hotch. When he said nothing, you rolled your eyes. Fine. Guess I’ll have to pass my thanks on to the boss man.

Spencer smiled as he unloaded his bag.

Cat got your tongue or something, Reid? He kept his lips sealed perfectly shut. Ok, then. Keep your secrets. I don’t need to know them. I don’t want to know them anyway.

I’m getting a coffee, he said suddenly, cutting off your teasing drawl. Do you want one?

You blinked. What?

I said, I’m getting a coffee. Would you also like one?

Uh, yeah. That would be great, you managed after a moment. Thanks.

He nodded, and he pretended he didn’t feel your eyes watching him the whole time as he made his way to the break room.

“Reid?” Morgan called, and Spencer looked up from the file he was currently nose-deep in. “Are you coming?”

“What’s happening?” he asked, furrowing his brows.

Morgan groaned. “Don’t tell me you forgot about dinner at Rossi’s tonight.”

“Oh, that’s tonight?”

“Yes, pretty boy. How could you forget?”

“I didn’t forget,” he mumbled, gathering his belongings as Morgan made his way over to him.

“From the looks of it, you absolutely did.”

“I didn’t. I just…have a lot on my mind.”

Morgan stopped at the side of Spencer’s desk, his signature smirk adorning his face. Spencer didn’t even look at him as he hastily jammed files into his bag.

“This is new,” Morgan commented, and he glanced over to see him staring at a framed photo he’d picked up.

When he flipped it around, Spencer could see it. The photo of him in his apartment, sitting on the couch, grinning ear to ear, and you sat right beside him, holding your left hand up to display the shiny ring adorning your finger. You’re looking directly at the camera. Spencer is only looking at you.

Spencer took the photo from him. “I liked it, so I got it printed.”

He didn’t have to tell him that he got every photo printed now. He’d never been a fan of technology, and the idea that all his best memories were being held ransom on a device that could be destroyed any minute made his head spin. So, he got every photo printed. Most were safely tucked away in albums on his bookshelf at his apartment.

But this one was special.

Morgan’s voice was gentle as he said, “It’s nice.”

Spencer smiled and brushed a finger over the glass. “Reminds me of the good,” he said.

Then he placed it back down on his desk, the frame right at home amongst all the others.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds one shot #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x self insert

524 notes · View notes

kyokeiii · 5 days ago

Text

you’re a stranger (and i’m still july). hawks / gn!reader. villain!reader. angst.

keigo lets the wind buoy his wings so he can coast low without putting too much effort into flight. when he skims low over a rooftop, he decides to alight down, running his hands through his tousled hair as his momentum carries him to the edge so he can peer down at the street below. he has the late-night shift today, and the street is cast in a mix of amber-tinted streetlamp light and milky moonbeams from the waxing gibbous hanging low on the horizon. clouds scuddle across the sky, threatening more rain to dampen the already-glistening asphalt.

a flash of movement catches his eye, and his head snaps north just in time to see a shadow slip behind a building. instantly, his wings flare as his guard goes up—it must be, what, three a.m.? whoever’s moving that fast can't be some drunk returning home.

suspicions alighted, keigo spreads his wings again and hops off the roof, letting his feathers carry him over the street before he weaves into the alley where he saw the person disappear. his sharp eyes scan the shadows, and he catches another flash of movement. when he squints and soars closer, he sees that it's definitely a person he’s chasing—and they’re running from his shadow.

“you there! stop!” he orders, and feels a twist of fierce satisfaction as the stranger defies him, speeding up. there’s definitely something up—because even the dumbest villain knows that no one can outrun hawks.

he angles his wings and swoops downward in a sharp, angular dive, feet slamming onto hard ground to block the villain’s path. no sooner are they turning to flee then is he grabbing their arm, twisting it behind their back and pressing them to the ground with one knee.

“this doesn't have to end badly.” his voice is pleasant. “just explain to me what’s going on and why you’re running from the law, and—”

he falters, words cut off, and the ever-talkative no. 2 hero finds himself stunned into silence. because with their face twisted up at him, one cheek pressed against the ground and face contorted in a snarl, he knows this person.

disbelief hammers itself into every bone in his body as he spits out your name.

because it’s you. it’s you. but how can it be? he’s flooded with bittersweet memories of your laugh, the tiny smile you’d flash him as you passed by him in the halls, the way your arms would instinctively creep up to tug him into your chest when he’d climb into your bed at night, shaken awake from nightmares of his father.

you. the first friendly face he had seen after his parents sold him off to the hpsc, the only other child occupant of the echoing, lonely cavern of a facility keigo was trained in. the only person who still called him by his real name. his first and only friend. his first and only love.

now he stares down at you, your body pinned beneath his, and the ground seems to shift beneath him as all his late-night fantasies come flooding back to him, of you both in this exact position, his knees bracketing your hips, gazing down at your pretty face.

but this is wrong. it’s all wrong. you’re staring up at him in mute shock, the hatred and panic of a trapped animal flickering in your familiar eyes. it’s nighttime. keigo is a hero, and you are running from the law.

“how do you know my name?” you snap. you don’t recognize him. of course you don’t. it’s dark, and he’s grown older, the baby-soft roundness of the silhouette that you knew sharpening into wiry angles, the hair longer and the eyes hidden behind a yellow-tinted visor.

“it’s me,” he says, his voice as raw as he’s ever heard it; he didn’t know he could produce such a sound, like the noise of scraping metal on bricks. and then he utters the name he swore to abandon thirteen years ago, the name that only you still called him, the name that died when you did—because aren’t you supposed to be dead? “it’s me—keigo.”

they told him you had died a week after you disappeared. keigo didn’t know where you went. you were both thirteen years old, both of you with distorted families, both tortured by your own individual terrors at night, both prodigies with quirks that caught the focus of the figureheads of the hero commission. at first, wracked with unimaginable grief, keigo had made up a story where you’d been kidnapped and were being held hostage by villains, waiting for him to come save you. he hadn’t realized how dear this last scrap of hope was to his heart until the hpsc executives shattered it.

maybe a part of him, that last shadowed fragment of him that remained still a child, had clung to that story anyways, even after the hpsc decided that two days of mourning was too much and forced him back into training, trying to drive the memory of you from his mind. because now you’re alive, and he can see it all: the bold escape from the evil monsters who had held you captive for a decade, your uneven footfalls tracing the path back to him. of course you would run from him when you saw him; you must have thought it was one of your captors, come to spirit you away again.

he’s here now. his heart nearly cracks from the overwhelming rush of joy. keigo is here, and he’ll keep you safe.

your gaze stays blank for a long moment. keigo feels a jolt of fear, terrified that you still won’t know him, that maybe the trauma of your imprisonment—for now he’s fully devoted himself to the truth of this tale he wildly invented, desperate to cling onto something that makes sense in his unshakeable vision of you as a hero in training—has erased all memory of him from your mind. but then your vision clears, and you breathe his name.

“keigo. oh my god. it really is you.”

keigo’s ready to fling his arms around you, feeling like he could fly straight up through the stratosphere and cartwheel between the stars, so great is his joy. but then that same fear, that mistrust—a faint but steady echo of the hatred he’d seen paint a snarl over your features. and that makes him frown, makes him draw back, but he doesn’t dare release his hold on you, when seconds earlier he could have believed that you’d never hurt a fly.

you look different from before. your hair is longer, wilder. the texture of it has changed from what he remembers; it’s no longer as neat. you’re thinner, too; nowhere near emaciated, but you’ve taken a new shape from the one he committed to memory. there’s dirt smudged over your cheeks, as well as thin scratches—did he do that, from where he slammed you to the ground?

he searches your body for signs to validate his idea that you must have been taken away from him, because you would never choose to leave him, would you?

would you?

you’re wearing loose-fitting black pants and a black t-shirt. rather than being stained or dirtied, showing any of the obvious signs of wear or tear that would befit the labors of what keigo mentally insists someone subjected to what you went through to get free, they’re almost impeccably clean, sleek. they suit you, the new, unfamiliar curves of your figure.

then the moon creeps out from behind a filmy cloud, and the light catches on a silver glint tucked against your thigh. a knife.

keigo reels back, shaking his head. in his confusion, he lets go of you, and you scramble to your feet, pressing your back against the brick wall of the alley with your hand poised over where he now knows the flash of the blade was strapped against your leg. and this, more than anything—the look in your eyes that is not fear but suspicion, as if convinced that keigo, of all people, cannot be trusted not to hurt you—this is what convinces him that something is wrong. that you are not what he thought you were.

he speaks your name in a gentle, cajoling tone. “what’s going on? why are you…?” he finds himself shifting back, his wings instinctively fluttering half-open in response to your hostile body language. when he gets his voice back, his tone has changed. it’s not soft anymore. “why were you running away?”

he watches closely as your eyes dart from side to side, seeking an escape route. “it’s complicated,” you say.

“complicated,” he echoes flatly, and watches you flinch at his change in cadence.

“a lot has changed.” and just like that, keigo’s last vision of the person he used to love crumbles to ash.

“is that it?” he takes a step closer, and you tense. “that’s all you have to say?”

“what do you want me to say?”

“oh, i don’t know. an explanation for why you were running from the law, maybe?”

“i wasn’t—” you cut yourself off, gritting your teeth. “it’s not like that.”

“then what is it like?” keigo has a faint inkling that he is not handling this professionally. there’s too much venom in his voice, and too much tension in his muscles, as if he’s poised to attack, even though he should be calmly questioning you and taking you into police custody in the worst case scenario. instead, his hackles are up like you’re already convicted. but he can’t help how angry he feels, the churning rage poisoning his senses. your unease is perfectly justified, but it just pisses him off more. for the first time in a very, very long while, he can’t keep up his impeccable control over his emotions.

“like i said, things have changed,” you respond carefully.

keigo takes another step closer. “so you’re a villain now?”

he’s gratified to see you cringe at the word. “don’t call me that word, hero.”

“you say it like it’s a bad thing,” he scoffs.

“it is a bad thing. if you can’t see how corrupt hero society is, then you’re an idiot. things have to change. our goal is—”

“you’re a villain,” he repeats bitterly. “this whole time, i thought you were dead, and you—you turned your back on me. on us.”

oh. that’s why he’s so angry. he can feel the sting creeping up through this throat, infecting every word. he sounds like a little kid again, and he feels like one, too. what have you done to him?

“i’m sorry,” you say softly, holding up your hands. “i wanted to take you with me, but i just—”

“what?” keigo tries to muster his anger back, but it’s sapped out of him as quickly as it came, and he just sounds dejected. “you just what? you didn’t want me around?”

“that’s not it. that’s not it at all.”

“then what?” keigo shouts, his voice breaking through the silence like a gunshot. he clutches his head in his hands, staring at you wide-eyed, all those years of grief and longing resurfacing at once. “you left me behind. you left me.”

“no, kei’.” the old nickname startles him, and his golden eyes snap up to yours. “i wanted to take you. i wanted it so badly. do you know how many times i almost ran away before that, but came back because i couldn’t be without you? every day, i wanted to tell you, i wanted to beg you to come with me. it could have been just us, you and me against the world. you were the only thing precious to me worth taking.”

it nearly brings him to his knees, those words from your mouth. he staggers, then catches himself, his eyes burning. when was the last time he cried? he can’t remember. he never shed a tear as a child, never even had the urge to, through all the abuse he faced, through all the harsh words and punishments of the commission that saw him as nothing more than a dog to be trained, an animal to be kicked when he misbehaved. but now, just a few sentences from you floor him completely.

“you were just so good.” you continue relentlessly, not looking at him, your eyes mirroring every emotion crashing through him like a relentless torrent, even with the rest of your face expressionless. “you were so full of hope. you knew you could change the world, and you wanted to. you trained so hard every day. being a hero was all you’d ever wanted, even when the commission treated you like shit. they’d grind you right into the floor and you just kept getting back up again. just an endless optimist. how could i ever ask you to leave? to turn your back on that?”

tears bubble on his lashes. it’s true, as much as he hates it. as much as he loathes to think that the commission used him, that they would have leeched the marrow from his bones had they thought that it was necessary. he was never worth anything to them beyond his faint spark of potential, and he nurtured that spark for years and years because the second it flickered and died he knew they would have no more need for him. the only person who he ever mattered to was you. and you failed him, but in a way, he failed you, too.

“you could have come back to me.” his voice emerges as an awful croak. “you could have told me before you left. you could have found a way to let me know that you weren’t dead.”

you bow your head. “i know,” you say. “i know. i’m so sorry, kei’.” when you raise your eyes back to his, he sees that you’re crying, too, and for a second time, the earth shifts under his feet.

“will it make you feel better,” you ask, and you step closer to him, “if i tell you how much i missed you? that every day felt pointless without you? that you were the only person i thought of, and that i never…i never dated anyone, or let myself fall in love, because i was already yours?”

keigo’s heart leaps. he hates how that useless organ betrays him, because if he was in his right mind, he would bring you to the hpsc right away. they would wrangle a confession out of you, and the authorities would punish you, somehow, the specifics don’t matter. but instead, he wants to say yes, it makes me feel better, it does, it does.

maybe he isn’t entirely a slave to his heart, because he manages not to speak those words aloud. he closes the distance between you and cups your face in his hands. “no,” he says. “but it’s a start.”

and then he kisses you.

it’s not storybook-perfect: no fireworks, no lightning. it’s urgent, a little awkward; his teeth briefly click against yours before he tilts his head and your lips slot together. and then it becomes achingly sweet, so honeyed his teeth ache, because you’re in his arms again, where you belong, and after a lifetime of imagining it, it’s happening.

is it too much of a cliché? the hero and the villain. japan’s golden boy, a man too fast for his own good, and a shadow whom nobody knows, your real name buried beneath the rubble of the life you had abandoned. destroyed and forgotten by all but him.

it can’t last forever. as much as keigo would like to devote the rest of his life to you, to kiss you in this perfect bubble of solitude until the day he dies, there is a divide between you two: invisible, but impassable. he might be yours, but you can never really belong to each other. not the way he always dreamed of. there will be no wedding, no shared apartment, no romantic dates at his favorite restaurant, no walks hand-in-hand around his neighborhood.

but for right now, he has this. he has you. isn’t it enough?

it isn’t. laughing voices echo from beyond the alley, a couple of teenagers on a late-night escapade, and you break the kiss after what could have been hours or days or milliseconds or decades for all keigo knows, the salt of your tears still tangy on his lips. you draw your thumb across his cheek and murmur, “i have to go.”

“no.” keigo’s voice is too loud, and he catches your wrist in his hand. you both dart glances down the alley simultaneously, toward where the laughter is growing louder. “no,” he repeats in a harsh whisper. “you can’t—you can’t leave me again. please—”

the sound of shattering glass, followed by uproarious chuckles. one of the teens has broken a bottle.

“i won’t leave you,” you tell him solemnly, kissing his nose, his forehead, his cheeks. “i swear. we can meet up somewhere soon, we’ll figure it out. but i have to go now.”

“promise?” he says, like a child, but without any conviction behind it, because he knows by now you don’t keep your promises.

“i promise,” you say all the same, and you ghost one last kiss against the corner of his mouth before you slip into the shadows and disappear—to the untrained eye, at least. keigo’s sharp gaze tracks you far beyond the limits of a normal human’s night vision, until at last the traces of your shadow vanish, and he is left well and truly alone again, even as the drunk high schoolers stumble past.

tags: @catsoupki

#kyokei #sweet talk #mha #takami keigo #bnha hawks #mha hawks #hawks x reader #hawks x y/n #mha x reader #bnha #my hero academia #hawks x you #keigo takami #keigo x reader #mha takami keigo #bnha keigo #hawks mha

63 notes · View notes

gliphyartfan · 4 months ago

Note

Curiosity has struck

What would the chain do with part Rito reader?

Like, they got pretty wings

Ooooh, pretty visions in the brain~

I guess since they are part Rito…they are kinda but not similar to the Rito from Windwaker?

(I uh…went on a tangent with this one 😅 a bit long)

No full beak, but maybe a slight curve to the upper lip, hinting at a beak like shape.

Their teeth are sharper than normal, not predator-sharp, but enough to break tougher food easily. (Definitely have a taste for poultry~)

Sharper cheekbones and a slightly more angular face, giving them a sleek look.

Their eyes would probably be large and incredibly sharp, built for spotting details from a distance.

Instead of round pupils, they might have slit like pupils that contract in bright light, allowing them to see far distances more easily.

Buuut unlike Hylians, their night vision is worse. Rito are built for soaring in broad daylight, meaning dim lighting would make it much harder for them to see.

Oooh, Instead of full body feathers like a Rito, they’d have patches of feathers along their arms, shoulders, and possibly down their spine.

Feathers on their forearms would be the most noticeable , maybe extending down the sides of their hands. They could also form a small crest along their hairline or behind their ears, like a subtle crown!

ands and feet are definitely still human like, but nails are tougher closer to talons in durability.

If they have full wings, (like on the back) they’d need hollow bones (to some extent) to stay light enough to fly. This would mean they aren’t as durable in combat. (Long range fighter anyone?)

Feather maintenance would be constant. Molting seasons woud drive them crazy, and they’d need to preen often to keep everything in order. (So Reader maaay be a tiny bit vain.)

They’d be lighter than a Hylian, making them harder to knock over but also easier to carry.

Since they don’t have all the lovely feathers like a full

Blooded Rito, well their feathers aren’t great at keeping in heat, so they HATE the snow and will freeze without proper gear. (Cold day cuddles anyone?)

Rito love music, so they’d probably have a natural rhythm or be drawn to instruments, they also might instinctively perch on high places instead of sitting normally.

Preening feels good. If someone messes with their feathers the right way, they might get sleepy. (Hint hint)

Honestly, with the chain, once they all get close enough with Reader expect constant preening help. They’ll sneak in touches, fixing feathers, gently running their fingers through them as if that’s their right now. (Keep a bunch of their feathers too.)

(Time is weary but amused, Warriors is exasperated, and Legend is just waiting for Reader to take off so he can see how much chaos it’ll cause.)

I’m in the belief that Twilight has AMAZING body heat so on cold days (when Wild isn’t close enough to lend them his cold proof accessories.) he’ll just lift Reader in his arms and enjoy how Reader just buries their face into the crook of his neck.

Sky would be practically vibrating at the idea of flying with Reader. (His loftwing gets a new bestie!)

Wind is jealous but it’s all in good fun. He straight up WILL beg Reader to take him flying whenever possible.

Four (Vio) is certainly fascinated, immediately trying to figure out how their wings work. Do they have a different bone structure? How strong are they? How many feathers do they lose in molting season?

Like Wind, Hyrule would 100% ask if they could carry him while flying. (Honestly if Reader doesn’t get stronger and have more stamina takes to this impromptu flights, I’ll eat my sketchbook)

Now when they get a bit…uh…clingy…

Well they get..worried..ya know?

Reader can actually fly away. They can actually escape them.

They…do NOT want that to happen.

Twilight and Sky are the worst about this, Twi has an internalized fear of Reader bidding him bye and him never seeing her again (I wonder where he got THAT fear 😒)

Sky understands flight better than anyone, so he always knows when Reader is about to take flight. Every time there is an argument between them and he spots Reader tensing before they shot up into the air…it’s not as nerve wrecking as when Reader lets themselves fall off cliffs and let themselves drop for a while before they open their wings. (Sky may not have feelings for Sun anymore by that point but the emotional trauma he felt when she fell and was whisked away still lingers)

Warriors is the most paranoid. He acts casual about it, but deep down? He’s convinced that they’re going to get shot out of the sky. (Reader doesn’t know he thinks that. Otherwise they’d rather offended.)

I think it’s a fear that he can’t protect them up there, so if they got hit…he’d have to see with horror as Reader falls from the sky)

Wild has accepted that one day, he is going to look up and Reader will be gone.

He keeps snacks on him so they have to come back down eventually. (Even if he knows that it’s just a flimsy way to convince himself that he can keep them from leaving. But every time they do come down just for his snacks, it eases his heart.)

Wind is so, so, so jealous.

He desperately wants to know what it feels like. To feel the air in a way only someone with wings can.

Yeah he has his Hyoi pears to control a seagull but it’s not the same as his own body feeling the air up high. For all his control of the Windwaker.

Time and Warriors have to shut down his constant requests for Reader to take him on flights.

Hyrule just thinks Reader is magic incarnate.

If they ever glide down from the sky all graceful like, he might actually pass out.

(He’s having thoughts my guys)

Yet on one hand, he understands the thrill of flying. (Even if he can’t fly like Reader can in his fairy form)

On the other, they are going to die if they keep flying around that blasted Hinox, my god Reader come back here-

Grounding Reader is kinda pastime for the yan chain.

Not that they are very successful.

Time is the most effective. He just gives them a look (same look that gets even Twi) and they sit back down. (With a grumble)

…and Hyrule, be doesn’t even need to move. He’s longed learned to weaponize his boyish charm on Reader and they’ll feel guilty before they make it ten feet.

I doubt the chain enjoy how Reader has an advantage over them. They’re fast, mobile, hard to track. Sky can’t keep up without his Loftwing.

Which means?

They are watching them.

All the time.

Reader is never flying alone.

#gliphy answers anon #linked universe #yandere linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu #linked universe x reader #lu headcanons

89 notes · View notes

jockbroski34 · 1 year ago

Text

New Blood (Chapter 1)

This is my first TF story. I hope you enjoy and I have plenty of other ideas I've come up with for future stories.

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

I would’ve been surprised if you told me how my first day at my new school turned out. My dad was transferred to a different branch at the job he worked at, so we were forced to move to a different state. I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t miss my old town, but it’s not like I was that close with most of the people I went to school with anyways. On the bright side, being transferred to a new high school gives me the chance to start fresh and make some new friends. Little did I know how right I really was.

The first day started out about as boring as you could imagine. The teachers reciting the syllabus, introducing ourselves to the class, the usual mundane activities expected for the first day. However, all of that changed during 3th period. It was algebra, and normally I could care less. But it wasn’t the class that caught my attention, hell no. Class started as usual. The class was packed full of students, with nearly every seat taken. About 3 minutes into the class, class was interrupted by an opened door and a large figure.

He must’ve been 6’3”, making me who is 5’10" look like someone who hadn’t hit his growth spurt in comparison. His brunette hair, short and spiked with the sides shaved, helped to accentuate his angular face and his alluring emerald green eyes. He wore a football shirt that fit snugly against his chest and his bulky biceps bulged out of the sleeves. His thick thighs made his jeans a tight fit. They could definitely crush a watermelon. Perhaps even my face, I thought, as I admired the handsome man.

“Sorry I was late, bro. Just got out late from my meeting with Coach”, the stud said, in a nonchalant, baritone voice. He sounded like your stereotypical jock.

“Don’t make this a regular thing, ‘bro’” our teacher grumbled. “I know you’re the team captain, but it doesn’t mean you can just barge in while I’m teaching.”

“Relax, dude. It’s just a one time thing.” he responded. Looks like he’s the big man on campus. He sure didn’t seem to care that he was late on the first day of school.

The giant scanned the room looking for a place to sit. First the right end of the room, then the middle, and then he looked towards the left, where I sat, and conveniently at the empty desk adjacent to me. For a split second, our eyes were staring right at each other, but my gaze veered the other direction out of embarrassment. The jock’s lips curved into a slight smirk as he began to walk into the rows of desks, accidentally bumping me with his massive size 15 foot.

“Sorry bro”, he said as he placed himself in the seat next to me. His nice round ass stood out to me as he made himself comfortable.

The class continued on as normal, but for some reason, I felt like I could concentrate even less than I could before. The beefcake next to me kept my mind preoccupied. He was the most attractive guy I’ve seen so far at this school, and I couldn’t help but be distracted by his perfect body. His toned body glistened, likely from the sweat of a morning jog, and I noticed a slight scent that affirmed that. I normally found the smell of sweat to be a little disgusting, but for him, it seemed to mix well with his natural aroma. The scent of a man.

“No. If a guy like him finds out that you’re gay, you’ll never hear the end of it,” I scolded myself in my head. I could already imagine myself being harassed by him and his meathead friends.

Strangely enough, just as I had been looking at him, I also felt like I was being watched as well. I must have been imagining things. I wouldn’t call myself unattractive, but I never caught the attention of other guys…let alone girls.

The teacher finished up with the material sooner than expected, so he stopped teaching for the rest of class until the bell rang. With about 10 minutes to spare before my next class, I reached into my pocket to grab my phone to kill time, but then I heard that same voice from before.

“Sup bro,” the hunk next to me greeted me. “I’ve never seen you before. You new here?”

This guy was talking to me. Wait, why was he talking to me? I was incredibly caught off guard, but I decided to play it cool and hide my embarrassment.

“Yeah, my name’s Jacob. My parents just moved into town the other week and now I’m here.”

“Damn, that sucks, but I hope you like it here. Nice to meet you Jacob. I’m Zach. You mind if I call you Jake for short?”

Most people called me by Jacob and I preferred it like that, but for him, I didn’t really mind.

“Sure, nice to meet you too,” I responded. He reached out his hand to shake mine, but my hand felt small engulfed in his meaty palms.

We spent the remaining time in class getting to know each other. The more I talked with Zach, the more I realized how we were basically complete opposites. He was as I expected, a stereotypical jock, only interested in sports and going to the gym and I was anything but that. I could tell through his attitude that he was full of confidence, maybe even bordering on arrogance, but he still seemed rather agreeable. Despite our obvious differences, we actually got along surprisingly well. I expected him to be some brute, some bully, but he was actually a pretty fun, chill guy. He actually gave me his number too. The bell rang and we both packed up our supplies into our backpacks.

“Hey man, so where’s your next class?” Zach asked.

“Room 214. Must be on the second floor,” I replied.

“Oh cool. I’m actually headed that way too. Don’t worry, I know this school like the back of my hand!”

We walked up the stairs to the second floor and down the hallway.

“Hey, so lunch is coming up and I don’t know if you have anywhere to sit yet,” Zach inquired.

I had completely forgotten about lunch. At my old school, it wasn’t uncommon for me to sit by myself. I was the kind of guy who didn’t really mesh well with any crowd and I had few close friends.

“I don’t, why?” I responded.

“I just figured that because you’re new, you might want somewhere to sit. You can come sit with us.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, the guys on the team are cool. I doubt they’d mind since you know me.” I imagined myself feeling out of place amongst the burly football jocks. Still, it was better than nothing.

“I might take you up on that offer,” I replied.

“Great, bro!” Zach smiled. His bright grin was contagious, and I felt a smile on my face as well. “I hope to see you there.” He patted me on the shoulder with his firm hands before we parted ways. Our classrooms, however, were conveniently right next to each other.

I felt like I could concentrate even less than I could during 3rd period. Thoughts of early US history blurred in my mind as the image of Zach lingered. Why was he being so nice to me of all people? Despite my curiosity, I started to think of him as a friend. For some reason, I felt myself drawn to him.

After an eternity, the bell rang for lunch, and I walked to the cafeteria. I got lost on the way there, as I was still unfamiliar with the layout of the building. As I walked past each table, I felt the impression that I was an outsider. Most tables were full of students, with few seats left open for me. It was like everyone else already knew each other, and that there was no place for me. Until I heard that voice again.

“Yo, Jake!” Zach shouted, his words breaking through the endless sea of mindless chatter. I turned my head to the right and saw him and several other members of the football team at a large table. How did I miss it? It’s a big table for big guys. “Did you get lost or something?”

“Yeah, kinda.”

“Sorry about that, bro. Come sit down!” He moved over, giving me room to squeeze in. He introduced me to the team, and it seems like he already told them about me, so they were eager to meet me. I recognized one person from my previous class.

“You’re…Bradley right?” I asked.

“Yeah, but call me Brad. No one except my brother calls me that anymore.” he answered. He wasn’t as tall as Zach, standing at a respectable and exact 6 feet tall. He was, however, a lot bulkier than Zach, who was more toned in comparison, but he wasn’t fat. His hair was shaved into a short blonde buzzcut and he had deep blue eyes. I recalled him falling asleep for a bit during last class. The bro must not have gotten enough sleep last night.

Zach, Brad, and the other guys talked about sports and working out after class, and other stuff that a stereotypical jock would talk about. I did my best to include myself in the conversation, but I felt kinda lost keeping up and I felt like a bit of a poser compared to them. I knew only basic level sports knowledge and I had never lifted a weight in my life. If only I was more like them.

Despite that, I actually got along with them better than I expected, and I was glad to know that they were more like Zach than I had anticipated. They did make fun of me for not knowing certain players or who won the game last night. However, I didn’t get the impression that it was malicious, but rather more playful, like how one would joke around with his bros. Even though I clearly looked and felt out of place, I found myself enjoying their company and I tried to absorb whatever knowledge the jocks discussed like a sponge. What felt like an entire day of hanging with the bros was only half an hour as the bell rang and the crowd of students emptied the cafeteria to depart for their next class. I said my farewells to Zach’s friends and made my way to my next class. Zach, instead of staying with his fellow teammates, pursued me and joined me, walking at my side.

“Hey, thanks for sitting with us, bro. I told you they’d like you.”

“Of course…” I replied, unsure of what to say, but I smiled. “I did feel like a fish out of water, but I did have a good time.”

“No worries, bro. I kinda figured you would feel out of place, but you did great. Give it time and I’m sure you’ll fit right in.” Zach smirked. “You just gotta get out of your comfort zone, man.”

“I guess I never thought of it like that,” I was surprised at Zach’s different perspective. “Maybe I could be as strong as the rest of you are and throw balls around someday,” I joked, as the idea of me being like one of them felt unrealistic to me.

Zach chuckled and gave me a wink. “Who knows? Life is full of surprises. Anyways, my class is this way, but I think we have the same class next period. Later, bro!”

The rest of the day went by quick, and was relatively uneventful. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, school was over, and I could finally go home. I thrusted myself into my bed, overwhelmed by my first day of school., but for once, I was actually kinda happy to be there. I met Zach, Brad, and a bunch of other guys on my very first day. Zach specifically lingered in my mind, and I recollected every inch of his body in my mind. I started to get hard picturing every exquisite detail, and I couldn’t help but bust my load to him. Eventually day turned to evening and evening turned to night, and I closed my eyes, wondering what the rest of the year had in store for me.

The next two weeks came and went and I became accustomed to the new school and my new friends. I went to class, ate with the football team at lunch, and I even started to hang out with Zach more. He offered to help me with the gym if I helped him with some of his schoolwork. I agreed obviously, as I wouldn’t mind building some muscle. It was always good to help a bro out and also I just wanted to be closer to him. As I helped him with math and science, he helped me with lifting weights and exercises. I struggled at first, but eventually I started to notice some improvements and I could tell he was proud.

Whenever we finished studying or working out, we spent the rest of the night watching sports or playing video games. Zach had to explain the rules to me, but I started to understand football on a surface level. Other than that, I got invited to a party at Brad’s place, and I had a great time partying and drinking with Zach and the football team. During those weeks, I was probably the happiest and most social I have ever been in my life.

The following week was when everything changed. One day before lunch, I was approached by someone who I have never seen before. He wasn’t very tall, standing at a modest 5’8”. He looked babyfaced with his nerdy, boyish looks and blonde hair, and his glasses helped to emphasize his meek blue eyes. I think he was a year below me.

“My name is Braden.” He said. “You’re the new kid who’s friends with Zach, right?”

“Yeah I am. My name’s Jake…I mean Jacob.” I responded. For a second, I found myself using the name Zach and the other jocks called me.

“I think you should stay away from him. He’s bad news.”

“What’s wrong with Zach?” I asked. Zach had been nothing but good to me since we met. I couldn’t imagine him having any malicious intent. He even took care of me at the party when I was black-out drunk for the first time.

“Ever since my brother started hanging out with him, he started acting… weird. He was never into football or anything, but now he’s on the team and he looks and acts like a completely different person.”

“I…What are you talking about?” I was seriously confused about what he meant.

“I’m serious! Unless you want to end up like just another jock…”

“Hey, Jake! How’s it going?” Zach cut in, seemingly oblivious to the fact that we were talking about him. “And you’re Brad’s brother, right?” Braden avoided eye contact with his brother’s friend.

I felt a sense of urgency, as I felt like I was going to be late. “I’ve gotta get to lunch. It was nice meeting you, Braden!” I said as me and Zach walked to lunch together. What the hell was his deal anyways?

“Braden’s a weird dude. Don’t worry about what he says,” Zach informed me, trying to ease the mood.

Later that week, I was hanging out at Zach’s place again after a workout, helping him with the algebra quiz that was next class. I helped him understand the concepts better and we wrapped up reviewing the study guide, so we finished and we laid down on his bed.

“Hey man, I’ve been thinking…” Zach started, but he sounded rather hesitant, unlike his usual confident self. “What would you think about joining the football team?”

“I…” I was honestly kinda surprised. Why would he want me, of all people, to join? I wasn’t unathletic, but even working out with him would not have prepared me to play football. “I’m flattered you would want me, but I don’t think I have what it takes. Plus, I’m not like you guys at all,” I answered.

“That’s fine, bro. Me and Coach can help condition you to become the jock I know you want to be.”

“Condition?” I was confused, unsure about what he meant by that.

“I know how much you want to be like us, bro,” For some reason, the word bro sent shivers down my spine. He had a devious look on his face. “And I can see your potential. That’s why I chose you. It helped that you’re the new kid anyways so no one will notice if you turned into another jock. I made that mistake with Brad and now that kid Braden won’t leave me alone.”

Zach paused, realizing that he said too much, but at this point, there was no going back. Despite his malicious intent, I got hard at the thought of being one of them, of being one with the team. My friends were always there for me the past few weeks and we had a strong bond despite our differences. I looked up to them, and wished I was more like them.

“That’s not the only reason I chose you…” Zach rolled over, climbing on top of me, his heavy, muscular body pinning me down, his legs straddled between mine, his sweat from the workout from earlier spreading through my nostrils. “I knew you were gay. I could just tell. But that’s okay, because so am I. You’re cute enough as you are now, but I think you would look better standing side-by-side with me, looking, thinking, and acting like me. Don’t you agree?”

I was overwhelmed by the situation, and by Zach’s sudden change in behavior. But I subconsciously nodded as my cock throbbed in my pants. Whether my mind or my dick was thinking first, I could not tell you.

“If you join the team, I’ll be yours, and you’ll be mine. How does that sound, bro?”

I tried to weigh my options. I thought about the kind of person I was. Who was I before I came here? Before I met Zach? I…I was nobody. I didn’t have any friends here. Zach took me in. My mind was fixated on the man in front of me. I realized I longed for him. I longed for the team and my bros. I longed for football. I longed for working out. And that’s when everything became clear. I longed to become a jock like him.

“That sounds awesome, bro,” I answered. Bro? I never said bro before. I guess Zach was really starting to rub off on me. I gave into temptation, but I knew that it was what I secretly desired ever since I met him.

“That’s a good bro…” Zach responded, obviously pleased with my answer. A seductive smirk lit up his face as he pressed his lips to mine. We enjoyed that moment for what felt like several lifetimes, but in reality it was actually only a few minutes of sweet passion. At this point, I felt like my cock was about to burst. At this point, I desired him. Zach noticed the raging bulge in my pants. “I know you wanna fuck, but I can’t give you what you want just yet. You will meet me in Coach’s office after class tomorrow. After we finish your transformation, then you can cum.”

“Yes, bro…” I muttered, keeping my erection under control. The rest of the evening was surprisingly normal between us, almost like the erotic scene that had just taken place was something out of a fever dream or a hallucination. We played some video games to kill time and to lighten the mood. The only reason I knew it was real was because of the firm erection that lingered in my pants. Eventually I said goodbye to Zach and went home.

“Remember to meet me after school. And just remember, you can still back out if you want…but I have a feeling you won’t,” Zach sneered, looking down at my pulsating serpent. Despite his words, however, I knew that my mind had already crossed the point of no return.

The next day was unbearable. The anticipation of what awaited me after this long day was killing me. What made it worse were the classes where I had Zach. He could tell that I was finding it hard to focus, and it felt like he was edging me with his mind. I could barely concentrate on the algebra quiz we studied for the night prior. I could only think about joining the football team and I imagined what it would be like to be a jock. I’d be big and strong, sexy, athletic. I would fit right in with all my bros. Working out together, practicing together, winning and celebrating together.

During lunch, Zach announced that I would be joining the team, and the group of football jocks cheered and welcomed me to the team. One of them said it was only a matter of time until I decided to join, and I couldn’t really deny it. I looked at each member of the team, and I wondered how I would look compared to them. For a second, I remembered Braden’s words, but I quickly shrugged them off. He made it seem like my transformation would be a bad thing, but a nerd like him could never understand. This is what I desired. This was what I was destined for. And I kept those words in my head, as the clock turned to the end of the school day.

As soon as the final bell rang, I immediately rushed over to the locker room. I saw Zach in his white and red football uniform, missing only his helmet, and, having never seen him in this outfit before, I thought he looked perfect in it. And soon, so would I.

“You’re here early, bro,” he said. “You’re even more eager than I expected. Coach isn’t here yet, but I can explain the details to you.”

He led me towards the back, where he pulled out several pieces of clothing that would become synonymous with my new identity. A jersey already stitched with my name on it, tight compression pants and a compression shirt, football cleats, shoulder pads, a jockstrap, and a sturdy helmet that would adorn my head like a king would wear his crown.

“Put it on.”

I complied. I was a little disappointed at first, as the clothing looked at least a size above what I would normally wear. “No worries, you’ll grow into them quick, trust me.”

As I put on my new uniform, I started to become curious. What was this all about? So I asked him, “What’s the point of all of this anyways?”

“I guess there’s no reason to hide it anymore,” he responded. “To be honest, I was kinda like you once. I wasn’t really athletic like I am now, but my dad was actually a professional football player. He was forced to retire early due to a bad injury, but despite that, I wanted to do what he couldn’t. But no matter how hard I tried, I could never be the player I wanted to be. That all changed when Coach learned of my struggles and we worked together to make me into the football jock I had always dreamed of. Eventually, after about a year of testing, we found a way and that’s how I became who I am now. For once, I was strong, athletic, and confident, and it never felt forced or fake. Like this was who I really was all my life. Since then, similar studies were done at different high schools and colleges across the US. You wouldn’t know about any of that, because it’s all behind closed doors. Eventually, I found you and I realized that you were probably just as lost as I was, so I kinda took advantage of that. Sorry, I guess I’m not the kind of guy you thought I was.”

I had no idea that’s how Zach truly felt. I sympathized with him despite him hiding so much from me. We came from different backgrounds, but we both wanted the same thing. To be better, and to be stronger. Even after he poured his heart out to me and told me the truth, he was still Zach to me. I cared for him and he cared for me. He opened my eyes to a new world full of different possibilities. And so, I pushed my lips into his and our tongues wrestled for dominance. We were stopped by footsteps approaching. We returned to normal as Coach walked into the room, oblivious to the fact that we were making out seconds prior outside of our rosy cheeks.

“So you’re the kid Zach’s been talking about. I’m Coach Myers.” the man said. “I’m guessing he told you everything. Do you have any questions before we get started?”

“No sir,” I answered.

“In that case, let’s go into my office.” I obliged eagerly. There’s no going back. “Have a seat, sign these forms, and put these on.” They were earbuds. I signed my name on every form, formally granting my consent to join the team, and likely whatever changes would occur to me. In front of me was an old TV with a VCR. “You will watch and listen to this video for the full duration. You will notice some changes and you might feel a little uncomfortable. All you have to do is relax and focus on the video.” I did as he said. I sat down in my new football uniform, and I put the earbuds in both ears, and then finally put my helmet onto my head. With everything prepared, Zach turned off the lights, and the TV turned on, playing a video.

With the helmet over my head, my peripheral vision was restricted. I had little choice but to look at what was directly in front of me. My eyes became fixated on the screen in front of me as they became entranced by the flowing spiral. As I fell deeper into a trance, I felt as though my mind and body were on the opposite ends of the world. The audio was hard to make out, but somehow I felt like I understood it, at least subconsciously.

After a period of time that my mind couldn’t possibly comprehend, the imagery began to change. I started to make out clips of football players, playing football, being part of a team, throwing and catching the ball, tackling my opponents, strategies and plays. I learned the proper workouts and techniques and exercises that a football player would do. What at one time felt foreign to me felt like common knowledge, like I had done this my entire life. It was muscle memory, no pun intended.

It was at this moment that my body started to change. No. Change isn’t the right word. Evolve. I noticed my average-sized arms start to bulge, my biceps and triceps inflating like they were being pumped. Next, my shoulders expanded and became more sturdy, making my shoulder pads fit a little better. Then, my chest pumped out, my pecs eager to fill the empty space in my oversized jersey along with my new six-pack. Following that, my legs thickened until they felt tight in my compression pants, and my ass inflated like a balloon into a nice, round bubble butt. Below that, my feet grew longer and more wide, filling the size 15 shoes that my formerly size 11 feet would have had trouble walking around in. My penis, still erect, grew from an average 5 inches to an impressive 8 inches, feeling more and more aroused by the increasing stimulation and the surplus of testosterone flowing through my body. Finally, I felt my blonde medium length hair thin and become more like my teammates with shaved sides and a short top. Any chubbiness in my face disappeared as my facial features sharpened, especially my jawline and my chin, giving myself a more masculine look.

While all of this was happening, my mind was swirling and every part of me was being drained or replaced. I found that I was losing interest in most of my old hobbies, but the idea of playing and watching sports, working out, partying, having sex, and hanging out with the bros felt so much more enticing and appealing than it did before. I started to realize that I didn’t really care much about school or learning anymore, and that playing sports was the only real reason why I came to school. I was never the best student, but I always did my best. However, I realized that none of that mattered as long as I kept good enough grades to stay on the team. C’s get degrees, am I right? At worst, I could always bribe one of the smarter kids to do my homework for me.

Then, my mindset began to change. Before, I was introverted, polite, and humble. But now? I was outgoing, confident, and cocky, and I started to love the idea of that. It started to become unbelievable that I was ever not like this. I was always like this. As the changes in my mind were taking effect, I felt part of me overwhelmed by all the changes and trying to resist, but that stray thought was snuffed out like a candle, as the rest of my thoughts were drained from my mind. Any part of my former self’s mind was absorbed into my balls, which were swollen to the size of grapefruit at this point. As the changes in my body and mind reached its climax, so did my aching cock. As the video concluded, the words became more clear, and I could make out one phrase repeating over and over.

“You are a jock.”

It was at this point that I could finally release all my pent-up frustration from the past 24 hours. It was the best orgasm of my life. And just like that, load after load of my burning, sticky cum flooded my jockstrap, and with it, the memories of the old me were released from my body.

“Looks like someone made a mess,” Zach teased. “No worries, bro. It happens. How do you feel?” he asked as he put his arm around my shoulder. This time it felt different though, because I truly felt like one of the bros.

Jacob was gone. Jake took his place. I’m Jake, Jake the jock. My memories felt distorted but they were starting to become clear. I grew up always with a ball in my hand. I was naturally talented in any sport I played, but I gravitated towards football. I played it at my old school and I was among the best on the team. However, my dad got a new job and we were forced to move here. Thankfully, we were fortunate to live near a school with a gifted football program. I became friends with Zach and the football team, and naturally, I signed up for the team. And Zach? He was not just my bro or my best friend. He eventually became my boyfriend and the rest of the team supported our relationship. All of this felt so real to me, and a cocky smirk appeared on my unfamiliar face.

“Bro…I feel awesome,” I responded, my new, deeper voice matching both my new physique and personality. I looked down at my new body. It was like I hit puberty for the second time. I stood up, realizing that I was now several inches taller, now standing at a solid 6’2”. I was almost as tall as Zach, and I didn’t have to look up at him now. I felt like we were finally equals in terms of body and status.

“I told you you’d look amazing, bro,” he said as he gave me a peck on the cheek. “You should clean yourself up and get ready for practice. The other guys will never let it go if you come to your first practice with cum staining your uniform. Oh, and thanks Coach. Glad you could help both of us out.”

“Always glad to help out my star player,” Coach chuckled. “As for you, I think you turned out better than any of them yet. You might even give Zach a run for his money.” I felt a sense of pride being compared to him.

I quickly left Coach’s office and cleaned myself off. I changed into clothes that Zach lent me that would fit my new body better, and ran off to practice. Before that though, I stared at myself in the mirror so I could get my first glimpse of the new me. The person in front of me was completely unrecognizable to me, but I quickly grew comfortable with the jock in the mirror and I smiled at the person I had become. I pulled out my phone and took a picture of the flexing hunk that stood before me.

Time passed and my new life became more and more normal to me. I would go to school, hang out with the football team, go to practice, work out, and then hang out with Zach. It became a natural routine to me, and I was never happier. My grades dropped a bit because I was focused on football. It’s not that I can’t care about learning. I just don’t want to. Coach says it’s alright as long as I pass my classes.

For the first time, I felt a true sense of camaraderie with a group of guys, and especially Zach. It felt like we were joined at the hip. We were a pair both on the field and off it. We’re currently undefeated this year and I think we might even reach regionals.

Most of my classmates and peers barely noticed my changes since I was already new and to them, I blended in as yet another stereotypical football jock. The only people with an immediate reaction were my parents. They were a little surprised by my sudden changes, but they were supportive of my new passion for football and they were glad to see me making friends and staying active. I did remember one person who definitely would mind my changes.

Braden.

A week or so after my transformation, he walked up to me, obviously disappointed, with a look of shame on his face, and told me that I should’ve listened to him. I brushed aside his comments. He called me a dumb jock. I told him I was happier this way, but he refused to believe me. He wouldn’t accept it. He said that he was going to expose the football team somehow, and change everyone who was affected back, including me and Brad. He stormed off, hoping to find some way to expose us.

I didn’t show it on my face, but in my mind I was furious. I genuinely didn’t want to turn back and I didn’t want the football team to be suspended or shut down. I thought about Zach, about his dreams, and about mine. I wanted nothing more than for the two of us to live out our dreams together of being the best football jocks ever. I couldn’t let Braden figure out the truth. I have to stop him. I started to brainstorm ideas on how to keep him quiet.

A devious idea entered my mind. He wouldn’t want to snitch on us if we turned him into a jock first. He was obviously a little envious of me, of Zach, even his big brother. I’m sure he would grow to appreciate the idea if he just accepted it. Besides, I’m sure he would make a sexy football jock with his looks already. The idea of turning someone into a jock, corrupting them, awakening their true desires became so appealing to me, just like Zach had did for me. He’ll understand one day.

808 notes · View notes

monebula-art · 3 months ago

Text

More Turtle refs for Fleeting! Yes, Harley is the one who made the pants originally, after Mikey almost catches pneumonia. And I was practicing some Leos since in this AU there’s actually farm animals at the Farmhouse. And since Leo decides to be a moody loner out in the barn the second he can walk, I thought it’d be fun if he had some company, even if he doesn’t really want any. Clyde is the name of the draft horse. A gentle giant. And there’s another, older brown colored mare named Bonnie who likes to bite~

I didn’t actually include any design notes on the original post cuz I was a lil burnt out, but this time I’ve got details and closeups under the cut!

Not exactly an original take, but in my FleetingAU, the boys all originated as common red ear sliders. Scale patterns! I had tried it on Leo originally in another sketch and found it so cute that I fell in love with it, so had to give them all their own patterns. The other element was their eyes! Which is one of my favorite parts about them since they have the dark bar pupils horizontally across their irises that common sliders have! Natural turtle eyes are so pretty if you look at them so I had to incorporate it. They also have different plastron patterns and shapes, it they are t all on display here as they were in the full lineup post.

Starting with everyone’s favorite Red Ranger, Raphael! I designed him with a boxier build and shape to his head, with an angled squarish beak and brow ridges. He’s the second tallest of the brothers, with a second heaviest build. I went with a scale pattern that was somewhat similar to Leo’s but the direction of it is different, and I wanted thinner spacing that made it sort of resemble blood splatters. And the pattern under the angle of his jaw almost feels like it could be sideburns which felt lol and rugged, which is Raph’s whole vibe. Seemed to suit him~ Raph also obviously has a few scars about him, with all the brawling he gets into but he’s proud of them, and they’re mostly covered by his mask anyway. His eyes are an amber-brown color, with a sharper and more focused shape to them that always makes him seem like he’s glaring.

Next we got the angst magnet himself, Leonardo. FleetingAU takes place specifically in the 2 month period after the events of The Shredder Strikes Back. So Leo is in his first angst arc over that winter at the Farmhouse. He’s got a lot of fresh scars after the beating he took, including a pretty stark line over his right eye, a gash on his jaw close to his neck, and two claw-like marks on the lower left side of his face. His face shape is the sharpest and most angular, with a smaller beak and more narrowly sloped snout and head. I took a bit of inspiration from Rise of the TMNT’s Leo. ^w^ He’s also the shortest and most lithe of the brothers because Short-Leo supremacy. And also having recently rewatched season 1-5 of 03, he’s always the most flippy and extra with the way he moves. A smaller and more compact build just made more sense for all those acrobatics. His scale pattern is a lot closer in clusters and spaces out as it moves away from his back towards his collarbone, and down his shoulders. I like the ones across his nose the most. His eyes are a somewhat rounded almond shape, with dark blue-grey colored irises.

Up next we got the squishiest smartest boy, Donatello! My bean. This isn’t the most original take either but Donnie is the tallest! He is also the bulkiest and like physically strong turtle. My reasoning is, I like drawing him as a beefy nerd, and in one episode I saw him deadlift a metal support beam off of himself with no assistance. Bro is jacked and you will not change my mind. But since in both his voice and demeanor he just seems like a sweetheart, I made him squishy because I just wanna squish his cheeks, he’s round in the face with the flattest beak of the boys that curves sharply downward almost making him look a little owl-like from the front with a rounder and fuller chin and jaw. Since he’s also the most jacked/heavy of the boys, doing all the crazy cartwheels and flipporama Mikey and Leo can do isn’t as easy to sustain or display for Don. But just like the sturdy Bo staff he wields, Don is a firm standing and sturdy figure with a gentle and soft demeanor. Make no mistake tho, he’s hard as a rock despite how squishable he looks. His scale pattern is more in raised gloves that resemble stripes that start at his snout and line the entire back of his head and around down his shoulders as far as his elbows. He’s got rounder, somewhat sad looking eyes that kinda play into his owlishness, which is fun ass hell to run into at 4am in a pitch black lair. His irises are a forest green color.

Last but obviously not least is my chaotic genius, Michelangelo. Mikey has generally rounder features with a more square jaw, but a sharper beak that’s rounded at the snout kinda like Don’s it just doesn’t slope as steeply. Mikey is the second shortest, with a somewhat squarer build in shape but is narrower/smaller in size and muscle than his brothers obviously. On display by the free form and flippy style of fighting he uses. He’s light on his feet and won’t let anybody forget it. His facial features are gentle, with bright, wide eyes that seem to always turn upward at the ends a little as if he were always smiling. His face has a very gentle and friendly look to it that’s disarming to look at. Like this lil guy won’t hurt me, though he very well could. Won’t look any less cute doing it. His scales are the least clustered in a bubbly freckle-like pattern over his snout, cheeks, head and shoulders down to his elbows. He’s the only one who hasn’t got any scales on his jawline at all I thought it made him look a lil softer/younger in his features. His eyes are chocolate brown, Cuz he’s a sweetie. With Mikey I tend to incorporate his personality in the poses I put him in and the WAY he moves, and less in the distinctness of his appearance.

And there’s the boys! Hope y’all are enjoying my lil FleetingAU previews!

129 notes · View notes

huntersrequiem-if · 2 years ago

Text

Hunter's Requiem

demo [HERE] 44k (22/01/2025)| forum [HERE] |

dark fantasy, horror (?), romance

CW: violence, gore

You are a minor deity of the Hunt, known by your followers as The Hunter, used by the other Higher Beings as The Hound. The All-Seeing Sun had given you countless tasks over your existence.

Yet one day, while on a mission sent out by him, you were summoned and judged for treason. The punishment left you mangled; your magic ripped off.

Cast away, you went into a deep sleep to recover.

After centuries you awoke to find your name spoken in whispers in the darkest nights. The Traitor. The world has changed, yet you still have true believers who await your awakening.

Will you be successful in your revenge? Will you be able to topple the gods or will you try to live in peace?

Features:

Play as male, female, nonbinary.

Your choices will affect the fate of your followers.

Befriend, romance or even antagonize a wide cast of characters.

Have a loyal shadowy companion by your side.

Astaroth [M]

"And to think I hated you. Now I can’t imagine living a single day without you.”

Your “other half”, attached to your psyche. He is content to stay in the backseat and offer comments. Tall and lean with gray skin. His face is sharp and angular, eyes with black sclera and white iris. Long black straight hair parted only by his antlers. His hands are black, tipped with long claws. The gradient loses color the closer it gets to his elbow. When he grins at you, you see beast-like teeth glinting in the light.

The Beloved Moon [F]

"That was the worst mistake I ever made. Please, I will do anything you want for you to forgive me.”

Moon has a curious interest in you. Since the moment she saw you, she had sought any chance to talk with you.

A short woman with deep blue skin and freckles that shine like stars. Her skin is shifting between deep blue and purple. She has a round face with full lips and a button nose. Round eyes with black sclera and bright blue iris stare at you with curiosity. Her long curly hair is white with pale blue streaks. Massive white feathered wings cover her back, sometimes used to cover her body like a cloak. Her smile might be gentle but the sharp fangs showed less so.

The Eternal Night [NB]

“I have turned a blind eye to the world far too long. I will no longer allow anything to happen to you.”

The Eternal Night is a distant person. Even more towards the other gods, yet for you they show a kinder side. They are tall and slender. Their sharp face is softened by full lips and expressive eyes. They have dark grey skin paired with stark white hair, that reaches their chin. The wavy strands frame their face nicely. Their eyes-- black sclera with crimson iris—are often covered by their mask. Massive black wings sprout from their back, and then the light catches the feathers right they look more blue than dark.

Santana [F/M]

"Why is it that every time I look at you I feel that I have known you for lifetimes? Why does my soul yearn for you?"

A priest you met in your past, a rather interesting person with a stubborn brand of kindness.

Tawny skin sprinkled with freckles. Golden hair is kept in a braid, far away from their face, yet a few strands escape and frame their heart-shaped face. Expressive eyes look at you, their blue gaze shining brightly.

They stand at an average height, donning the white and golden robes of the priests of Sun. Over that, they wear a chainmail.

You thought you lost them to the sands of time.

??? [F/M]

“Do you have any idea how long I prayed to see you, to hear your voice?”

Every day, they're slipping farther, their grip on the edge of the chasm growing fragile. Can you drag them back or will you shove them off?

permission to tag @interact-if for promotion?

#interactive fiction #if: intro #if game #if wip #interactive novel #interactive game #hunter's requiem if

923 notes · View notes

alottiegoingon · 1 year ago

Text

love letters

shauna shipman x fem!reader

summary: the one where reader receives love letters from jeff

warnings: jeff mentioned for plot reasons, jealousy mentions, homoerotic friendship?, shauna is reader's best friend, no crash timeline, fluff but angsty ending, not proofread

find part II here

you thought it was weird when the first thing you saw as soon as you opened your locker was a letter. you weren't exactly the most popular girl ever but you weren't a loner. you were right in the middle.

you blinked rapidly, eyes darting back and forth to the envelope of the size of your hand and to the completely empty hallway. you were the only one in there. judging by the outside, it couldn't be a warning from school or from the book club you went to. it also didn't make sense to be someone bullying you, it was too neat.

you withdrew the paper nestled inside and carefully unfolded it. it wasnt anything professional, just words meticulously written on a notebook paper. you peer through narrowed eyes, attempting to recognize the handwriting but it wasn't like you knew everyone at school so intimately to know how they wrote.

in the small piece of paper, the words "you're always pretty but today you look as stunning and vibrant as a daisy in spring. love, jeff." are written in a sleek, rounded calligraphy, each letter carefully crafted with black pen ink. you feel your heart skip a beat as you read the name signed on the bottom, not believeing your own eyes. coincidentally or not, daisies were your favorite flowers and you couldn't stop thinking about how he knew that.

jeffrey sadecki was one of the popular boys in wiskayok high. almost every girl wanted to be with him while the boys wanted to be him. you weren't one of those girls, though. you despised how all of them would humiliate themselves and change their appearance or lie about their favorite movies or bands just to get attention from the boys. nothing too girly or the boys would laugh about it but nothing too bold or you wouldn't be delicate enough.

one detail caught your attention and brought you back to reality as you were overthinking a simple letter. the way jeff had signed his name was different from the rest of the words. more angular and noticeably larger. maybe he was in a hurry or too nervous, it didn't matter. the important thing now was to tell shauna, your best friend. you slammed the locker door and hid the letter on your pocket, rushing to the wiskayok high soccer field to let her know everything.

now, in terms of knowing someone closely, shauna was at the top of your list. shauna shipman was your best friend since you were in middle school as two twelve years old with awkward music taste, bad haircuts and an embarassing fashion sense. after school, you and shauna would spend hours locked inside your bedroom talking about your celebrity crushes, make fun of the boys after their unsuccessful try to make a move on the popular girl, and devouring an entire carton of bubblegum ice cream, that shauna would always bring to you, while watching movies. shauna wasn't a huge fan of it. it was way too sweet. but it was your favorite after all.

"i think you should pick the flavor next time." you randomly spoke while the two of you were sharing a bed and watching grease from 1978.

your leg was resting against shauna's, the back of your leg gently positioned on top of her knee. it first started as a way to annoy her when you were around fifteen but then it just became a casual thing. shauna would look all tense with a tight face until she felt your warmth.

"why? it's your favorite." shauna's entire face twists in confusion. her eyes immediately fly at you but you were focused on the small tv. inside her mind, in her own little world, nothing was more important than your sudden hate towards ice cream.

"it's too childish. i don't think any other girl on her last year would pick bubblegum ice cream as her favorite." you groan, frustrated.

"that's so stupid, it's just a flavor. and, you know, i think it matches you."

her words made you curious enough to shift your attention away from one of your favorite movies. she seemed to understand your fogginess and explained herself before you could say a word.

"i mean, it's fun and colorful and free of any judgments. it is also the favorite of a lot of kids and kids are way too honest to lie about something. so if they like it, it's because it's really good.. it's unique, i think."

"wow, shauna..." you subtly nod your head in agreement, feeling touched by her words. "you can really compliment an ice cream flavour that much? "you smile as you tease her.

"just shut up and eat your ice cream. you're so annoying."

now, in senior year, pretty much nothing had changed. you would still spend the afternoons after practice with shauna as well as the weekends. shauna was also really smart and would eventually help you with math, literature or english during finals. she was pretty good at it but it didn't surprise you at all; she was always carrying a book around or that super secret journal that you swore she would write on after you fell asleep during sleepovers.

"jeff? wow... are you sure?" shauna immediately looked away from you and made herself busy, forcing her uniform into her bag, at the second she heard his name. shauna wasn't exactly very fond of him as well but she never sounded so lifeless.

"yeah, he signed his name! i guess it could be one of his friends messing around with me but the handwriting is way too pretty for someone who did it as a joke." you sigh. "and he also mentioned a daisy in the letter. that's my favorite flower, shauna!"

shauna was avoiding your eyes at all costs but, for a split second, you saw her eyebrows knit.

"wait, so you're happy with that? i thought you didn't like him." shauna sounds unbothered but you notice how she rub her hands together to brush the sweat off or how she was incessantly adjusting her shirt.

"i don't. boys are stupid." you give her a determined nod to dispel the thought away. "it's just... it feels nice to know that someone cares about me. we've never had a conversation before but somehow he knows about my favorite flower so, i mean..." your voice trails off.

you never thought of yourself as someone who was excited to date boys. the idea of going out on a friday night with a guy never made you burst with joy. you'd rather spend the night with your best friend and have your typical sleepovers or going out for movies. even watching shauna write on her out of reach journal in silence was more interesting. despite shopping together when needed, playing around with clothes by putting them on and running a fashion show, dressing up for a boy and putting makeup on wasn't your thing, whatsoever. it wasn't fun cause shauna wouldn't be there to make you laugh or roll her eyes to hide how her eyes would affectionately get lost on your figure. "i guess he must be really interested on you, then. right?" shauna looks at you for the first time that afternoon but she looks different than usual, offering a strained smile.

[💌]

the next days slipped away from your hands in a blink of an eye. surprisingly, jeff wasn't actually that bad or at least he tried to be a normal nice guy around you.

you remembered how he was actually nervous when you two exchanged a few words and he made sure to let you know that he was responsible for the letter when he asked if you had liked it with a huge cocky smile. at first, you couldn't care less, he was trying too hard. but then the letters kept coming and you finally accepted to go on a date with him.

you went out for the movies and when you felt him pulling that classic move on you by sliding his arm on top of your shoulders, you had to fight against a giggle. shauna would love to laugh at that with you later. then, you stopped by your favorite place; a small family-run dinner that had a great milkshake of your favorite flavour.

"you don't think it's way too childish to be someone's favorite?" you hear jeff's voice fill your ears while you were focused on getting the last drop of the ice cream. you look up at him with a baffled look, not paying attention to whatever he had just said.

"the ice cream. i never dated someone who liked bubblegum."

"oh. yeah..." you feel heat rise to your cheeks and out of nowhere, you began to trip over your words. "it's not my favorite. it's stupid. i was... just trying something different!"

the days turned to weeks and the weeks became months. just like that, you were walking through the hallways of wiskayok high with jeff's arm over your shoulder. you weren't sure if you liked being seen as his property or something silly like that, but a lot of girls would die to be in your place.

you weren't sure if you actually liked him. the most excited part of your date nights was to eat for free and memorize all the idiotic things he had said to gossip about it with shauna later. besides, you could rarely pick the movie or talk about your day. the name "randy walsh" was stuck on your brain thanks to how often jeff would mention him and his funny stories that would actually make you sleepy.

but, again, maybe you just had to try harder.

the letters kept coming almost everyday. and if not everyday, then at least once a week. somehow, always pretty and perfectly rounded letters with his sloppy signed name on the bottom.

[💌]

"i can't wait to read it! people are saying that it's sad but i think it's gonna be great." you were telling shauna about the new stephen king's book that had came out that week; the green mile.

"i think sad is good. people underestimate how great tragedy can be." she casually mumbles, grabbing the carton of ice cream from your desk that you would share before walking to you.

you were about to agree with her when her words cut you at the moment her eyes met the packaging.

"what's that?" she said with a deflated tone.

"ice cream?" you chuckle at her obvious question. usually she would tease you back or give you a snort. but now she decided to ignore your lighthearted words.

"no, i mean the flavor. since when do you like vanilla?" she reads the words vanilla over and over again before looking up at you.

"oh, yeah. i changed. i'm too old for bubblegum now."

"how?"

"just eat it, alright? jeff said vanilla is too boring but i think it's better than being a kid flavor, right?" you giggle, oblivious to her clear annoyance.

shauna's hands close into fists as soon as she practically smashed the carton against the desk. the loud noise made you look at her almost instantly with widen eyes.

"are you okay?" your voice sounded so low-pitched and whispered that shauna almost couldn't hear it.

"are you? we used to laugh about stupid boys and now you are suddenly changing yourself because of jeff? he barely knows how to spell the world embarrass." you notice her voice slowly getting louder.

"this is insane. it's just ice cream, shauna! you are just jealous cause he writes pretty letters for me while you stay home to your pathetic journal." you feel your blood boil as she accuses you of changing because of a fucking boy. you would never.

shauna doesn't say a word and the silence made you realize that, deep down, she was right. her eyes are staring past your soul as she feels your words hit her and it made you regret them after a second.

"i didn't mean tha-" you tried to apologize but she was faster.

"no, you know what? you're right. i spend my friday nights with my pathetic journal but at least i don't pretend to be someone i'm not just to make a boy like me." she takes a step closer and this time her voice is low and tamed. "at least i'm not weak and don't attach myself to the first person who offers just a hint of interest on me cause i'm desperate for attention."

her sharp words sink in, eating you from the inside out. she doesn't seem sorry and you don't feel bad anymore. you feel your jaw clenching and tears were welling up on your eyes while you stand up from your bed, face to face with your best friend.

"fuck you." you struggled to speak through the lump in your throat.

the room got quiet and the sorrow was almost palpable. shauna's pupils were teary, fully dilated and unusually darker, regarded with disappointment. she didn't say a word before leaving your room and shutting the door behind her.

you couldn’t think of anything while collapsing into your bed, sobbing against the pillow, other than how badly you hated vanilla ice cream.

[💌]

barely able to sleep last night, you were distracted by shauna’s words and the fact that this was the first serious fight that you two had ever shared. shauna didn’t talk much about her feelings and would let everything merge together until she was bursting out with anger or a bunch of passive aggressive comments but she was never too harsh on you.

you knew you had to apologize and fix things with her. even though her words weren’t exactly the kindest, she was just worried about you, you thought. you wondered if she liked jeff in secret and was jealous of him even if she had never mentioned him before.

you weren’t sure if she had feelings for jeff but you weren’t sure if you did. he could be a jerk sometimes and definitely too self centered but he made you feel important. he liked you enough to know your favorite food, even though he called it childish, and your favorite movies, that he thought it were too weird for a girl, and your favorite books, that he mentioned how boring they were.

yes, he was decent and overall, compared to the others, he was a nice person. but then, as you were in the bathroom getting ready this morning, you remembered that he wasn’t the first person to ever care

you remembered when shauna showed up at your door once at 3am when you couldn’t sleep, way too worried about finals, with your favorite treats and a book of hers that reminded her of you. or when she spent an entire month learning how to draw daisies because you loved them and she wanted to give you a special handmade gift. a week later, your room was filled with drawings of different sizes of your favorite flower. there was even a small piece taped to the wall of your bathroom right next to the mirror.

then, it occurred to you that, once while watching romeo and juliet late at night, you mentioned how much you loved romantic gestures like receiving letters from the person you loved and shauna mocked you but then, two weeks later, you received one. it was a weird coincidence but it was there, right in front of your eyes.

you were feeling like complete shit when you stopped by your locker, already regretting leaving your bed this morning. you flinch as you see jeff magically appearing behind the small metal door with a huge creepy smile and a small bag in hands.

“i got something for you.” were the words he said before handing you the content from inside the paper bag. you weren’t expecting anything and definitely not after the shitty night you had. you were determined to break up with him but the idea of it vanished as you took a first glance at what your new gift was.

the new stephen king’s book, the green mile, right under your nose. your jaw was almost hitting the floor thanks to the beautiful cover.

“jeff… this is amazing! i’ve been wanting to read this since last week and i couldn’t find it anywhere. thank you!” you had to force your words out, too stunned to speak properly. looking away from the book, you saw how he looked genuinely happy with your reaction.

“it was nothing. i just like paying attention to my girl.” you ignored the smug tone and focused on the book.

jeff didn’t wait any longer for you to finish your appreciation moment and pulled in for a kiss, tightly holding onto your waist. he hugged you right after and while you were resting your head on his shoulder, he was looking at shauna right behind you two.

greeting her from a distance with a satisfied and arrogant grin was his way of saying thank you. shauna resentfully nodded and ignored the feeling of drowning in her own emotions as she watched you leave with his arm around your waist.

quickly, she placed the receipt from the bookstore in her backpack along with her notebook and favorite writing pen before disappearing into the crowded hallway.

#yellowjackets #yellowjackets x reader #shauna shipman x reader

228 notes · View notes

azuronel · 10 months ago

Text

went a little more realistic this time to practice faces and make references for my Obey Me AU. Anyway did I mention I had an Obey Me AU that I’ve been cooking? (it came free with the inconsistent writing)

Written out Notes under the cut:

Lucifer

Angular features

Eyes look like solar eclipses after his pupils used to glow as an angel (so you can see where he’s looking)

Looks like a corpse because his blood is bluish now, he appears very pale. Not helped by stress + lack of sleep

His fangs poke out (vampire drip)

Mammon

Square, broad features

Give him piercings! Are his fangs natural or implants after getting decked?

Eyes are like lapis lazuli, and gold pyrite freckles in his skin

Mullet. He looks like he’s stuck in the 70s

BD//SM collar because he’s Babygirl. Insists it’s an edgy statement piece

Leviathan

Round features, with some sharp points

Has shark teeth + third eyelids

Hair is actually straight, crinkles up from water

Ruri-Chan and Azuki-Tan earrings

Blue/purplish blood

Eyebags from lack of sleep from gaming

Headphones cause if he doesn’t have something to listen to he panics

Satan

Angular features

Looks a lot like Lucifer

Bleaches his hair

Tufts of hair like cat ears

Gages + earrings + nose ring

Little fangs poking out

Dark Academia Vibes (library girlie)

Asmodeus

Doll-like, round features

Eyes look hypnotic

Heart markings all over body. Start to “drip” in demon form

Doll-like outfits, fashionable so people desire him (Mass Marketing of the Self)

Tongue is much longer

Two sets of fangs (one w/ Aphrodisiac injectors)

Beelzebub

Strong, rectangular features

Sun motif in hair and earrings

Chunk taken out of his ear from a fight

Eyes are ultraviolet colored

The most human-looking of the bros

Tanned but part of his hues are gone after years in the Devildom

Belphegor

Rounded, elongated features

I made him way too pretty for his goblin ass

Eyes look like night sky-ultraviolet too

Vitiligo so he looks like a cow

Moon phase studs

Underside of hair is white, top is dark blue w/ streaks

Septum piercing for cow motif

#obey me shall we date #obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #they’re so fluffy #I have some old art of some of the bros from a few years ago. It’s kinda crazy to see the improvement #the au has existed since like. s2 of the original dropped because it was built out of my theories for s2 and uh #I didn’t update it much. Because who fuckin knows how old these shits are #or how time works

108 notes · View notes

imheretofuckspiders · 3 months ago

Text

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Not Particularly Relevant At All - a TMA teacher AU

Chapter 1: In Which No-one Can Read Hamlet Right

procrastinated. first ever TMA fanfiction. read here on ao3.

next chapter

Summary:

Jonathan Sims, the newest hire in the English Department at Magnus Academy, has been here for a week and a half. He is also already nearly at the end of his rope. His classes don't respect him nearly as much as the late Miss Robinson (may she rest in peace), the school headmaster is a little too interested in his affairs, and he has to cover only Shakespeare's longest play with thirty rowdy Year 8s. Martin Blackwood didn't expect to be promoted so fast, but after the sudden disappearance of the only other librarian (and apparently insufficient funds to hire a new one), he's now the Head Librarian. A misunderstanding leads them to a rivalry, all while putting up (and often commiserating with) their odd colleagues and dealing with (shock, horror) teenagers. Elias is Up To Something as usual, and his actions are Vaguely Based on True Events that happened at the high school of your humble author.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

8:50am, Tuesday

The library was always comforting. Maroon carpet dampened the footsteps of those that passed through, and the scent of paper and warm laundered armchair covers was a constant. Dappled light streamed in through the windows, forming golden mottled patterns on the shelves that stretched on and on. That was one of the major perks of working here if you asked Jon, who'd spend all his time lost in the expansive Magnus library were he a student. Alas, he didn't have time to browse today. He passed students clad in dark green wool hunched over oak tables that were surely antiques. Jon traced his fingertips over two hundred years of crudly drawn phalluses, 'B. BENNETT WAS HERE', hearts with inscribed initials and angular 's' shapes as he hunted for the collection of class readers for his Year 8s. Readers. Readers readers readers readers.... there!

A hefty-looking plastic box of identical novels sat atop the librarian's desk, with a little sticky note reading MR SIMS E5 stuck to the lid. The librarian's desk itself, he noted, was in complete disarray. All forms of notepaper were strewn about, various pen-holders scattered across the low table and a box of staples lay open next to the dusty keyboard. A somewhat childish mug with black-and-white dairy cows painted on it was half-full of tea, with a little ring of the liquid forming around its base. Jon rolled his eyes. Clearly, Mr Leitner had let things go a bit in his old age. He went to lift the box of readers, attempting to balance the thing on his knee, when-

"Hi! Can I help you?"

Jon dropped the box. A great many copies of Hamlet became very quickly acquainted with the floor as the flimsy plastic he was gripping gave way and the books tumbled out against his smaller frame. He gave a half-yowl, half-shout as he fell in a rather undignified manner on his butt.

"Oh god. Oh crap, I'm so sorry. Um, let me. Help! Yeah." A round freckled face popped out from underneath the desk. "Sorry, I startled you. Just, uh, trying to get this dog out from under my desk! Hang on-"

The face turned out to be attached to a tall, broad-chested man dressed in a furry light blue sweater. He extricated himself from underneath the desk quite nimbly and looped around the back of the counter to make his way towards a bemused Jon.

Jon blinked a few times to parse the events of the last thirty seconds. When he finally caught up, the man was kneeling next to him, gathering up slightly creased Shakespeares. The very handsome man, he might've admitted. The sun streaming in through a window backlit his honey-brown curls, forming a halo reminiscent of a saint in a cathedral fresco.

Jon shook his head. "Who are you?" he practically demanded. The man seemed slightly taken aback.

"Martin! Martin Blackwood. I- uh, I work here."

"No you don't."

There was an awkward silence that stretched on for years.

"I do, actually! Well, uh, I do now. Mr Leitner's gone." Jon had apparently failed to cover his shocked expression in time. The man scrambled to clarify, flapping his hands. "No, no, no, he's not like, dead, he's just not working here anymore. I am! I'm the librarian." He scooped up the last of the readers and tossed them back into the box. One of the panels sagged and snapped off, spilling a few books out again. "Oooh. Yikes. Uh, let me help you up, then I'll find you another box." He dragged Jon to his feet, then hurried back around the desk.

"I'm sorry, you said there was a dog here?"

"Oh no, not a real one!' He laughed nervously. "I was- I lost my correction tape, it's dog-shaped, and it was the only one I had, and I really liked the dog on it, so I sort of tore apart the desk looking for it, and only then I remembered it fell under the desk, so I was looking for it- aha!" He rambled as he ducked under the counter and triumphantly pulled out a plastic correction tape roller with a Shiba Inu face. Jon raised his eyebrows. In the short time that he'd been teaching at Magnus Academy, he'd become known for something that the students dubbed 'the Sims stare'. His particular way of expressing how unimpressed he was had a visceral effect on people, and was somewhat useful when quelling unwanted behaviour in class. It seemed to work on Martin Blackwood the suspicious 'librarian', who balked under his cold gaze.

"I'm really really sorry about everything, in fact-" he hauled a brand new identical box onto the desk and began stacking the books into it, "Let me carry them for you. You’re in E5, right?”

“I think I’ll be quite alright carrying them on my own.”

“Sorry, you just looked like you needed some help.”

The Sims stare evolved into a Sims glare, and Martin immediately realised his faux pas. “Oh, no, not that you look weak or anything, I just- I-“

Jon heaved the box off the counter. “Goodbye, Mr Blackwood.”

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

12:40pm, Tuesday

“So, let’s just pause there. Based on that scene, what can we already say about Hamlet?” Jon stopped the unenthusiastic class reading of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. He’d never enjoyed getting a class of 13 year olds to read lines they could barely pronounce, yet alone understand, but studying a play practically demanded it. There was a drawn-out silence, each dead-eyed student daring everyone else to speak.

Finally, one boy put his hand up. “The new king and his mum are kind of dicks.” The class erupted into giggles. Jon sighed, looking over the edge of his glasses. “Thank you for using such eloquent language, Mr O’Connor. I’m sure the class stands to benefit from the showcase of your vocabulary,” he snarked. Finn O’Connor blushed and fell into quiet chatter with the other two boys sitting next to him.

“But, Mr O’Connor is indeed right. One of the hallmarks of any form of tragedy is its tortured and tragic hero, which you would know about if you did the pre-reading. Hamlet’s father has just died, and his stepfather, who’s also his uncle-"

The class let out a collective “Ewwwww!”.

“Well, that was feudalism, back in the day. Anyway, his stepfather and his mother are already telling him to get over the death of his father. He hates that his mother has remarried, and on top of that, Horatio’s just told him that his father’s ghost is roaming the castle. So, it’s safe to say that his mental health already isn’t the best to begin with.”

A girl with frizzy hair put up her hand. “He’s kinda emo.”

A few snickers from the class. “What do you mean by that, Miss Smith?” Jon inquired.

“Like, he dresses in black and like, moping around all the time.”

Another girl, one with straight black hair, shot back, “His dad just died, Ariana. He's probably depressed.”

“Can you imagine emo Hamlet though? Black eyeliner and-“

“ALRIGHT! I don’t think any of that is relevant.” Jon cut her off, hoping to avoid some rather painful memories of his university days.

“Let’s continue with the reading. Who wants to be Laertes? Mr Huang? Okay. Anyone for Ophelia?”

No one responded. “I’m going to name someone in ten seconds if no one wants to be Ophelia.”

A boy raised his hand while his mates cackled and slapped him on the back.

“Alright, Mr Shah, you go ahead. Enter Laertes and Ophelia, his sister.” Anish Shah smirked at Finn, who had been reading for Hamlet, and whispered "No homo.” Finn rolled his eyes. Jeremy Huang cleared his throat.

“My necessaries are embarked. Farewell. And, sister, as the winds give benefit And convey is assistant, do not sleep, But let me hear from you.”

“Do you doubt that?”

The students burst into laughter. Anish had put on a ridiculously squeaky voice for Ophelia, and his cheeky grin showed his clear intent to continue this for the rest of the play. “Mr Shah, please do not read with that horrible muppet voice. I understand that you don’t exactly sound like an Ophelia, but Frank Oz you are not,” Jon called over the rowdy class, feebly trying to regain control. The chatter died down far too slowly, and Jeremy continued again in a robotic monotone.

“For Hamlet, and the “triffling” of his favour, Hold it a fashion and a toy in blood, A violet in the youth of p- of primy nature, Forward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting, The perfume and suppliance of a minute, No more.”

“NO MORE BUT SO?”

Anish had switched to a deep bellow. The class began to giggle again. Jon leaned on his hand, too weary to pause the reading again.

“For nature, crescent, does not grow alone In threws- in thews and bulk, but, as this temple waxes, The inward service of the mind and soul Grows wide with-all. Perhaps he loves you now, And now no soil nor cart- cautel doth bes- besmirch-

Jonathan Sims groaned quietly, fidgeting with the pens on his desk. This was going to be a long day.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

4:25pm, Tuesday

“Have you met that one English teacher yet?”

“Which one?” Tim didn’t look up as he loaded a stack of assessments into the boot of his car. Timothy Stoker shone like the sun. Not the weak British sun either, but the sun of a place well known for surfing and margaritas on the beach and sun-kissed cheeks. Maybe an Australian sun. His black hair was slicked back, and had somehow managed to stay perfect the entire school day. His dark brown eyes were like pools of chocolate, and his shirt hugged his muscular figure-

Martin internally kicked himself when he realised that he was waxing poetic about his friend-slash-ex. Again.

“Yknow, the uh, the short one. Looks angry all the time? Greying a bit? I think his name was Mr Sims, or something.”

“Ah! Jon. He's a friend of mine. He started about a week before you did.”

“Yeah.” Martin shifted uncomfortably on his feet, causing Tim to raise his eyebrows.

“What happened, Martin?” It was more interrogative than a question.

Martin sighed. "I may have made a complete fool of myself in front of him.”

Tim flashed him a look that said "I will tell everybody on Facebook that you have haemmorhoids if you do not tell me more immediately".

"I was under the desk, then he came up to get a box. And I think I spooked him when I said hi? He made this awful cat noise and fell on the floor, and the box broke, and all the books went spilling out. And then I accidentally said that there was a dog in the library, and that Leitner had died, and that Jon looked weak. He just stormed off in a huff."

Tim chuckled. "Christ, you must've had quite the morning." He slammed the boot closed and leaned against the taillight of his red hatchback. "So, what'd you think of him?"

"I'm more worried about what he thinks of me," Martin scoffed. "I probably looked like a complete idiot."

"You'll be alright, Marto. Jon's a bit stuffy, but he warms up to people. My question for you, is: would you... consider him?"

"What the hell does that mean, Tim? What's that supposed to mean?" He had a mischevious smile stretched across his face.

"He is single. And may or may not be ready to mingle. I'll have to ask him again."

"TIM! I said I wanted a boyfriend once, you don't have to present every single one of your friends as a potential partner!" Martin exclaimed, to Tim's amusement. "Besides, he probably hates me."

"And we can change that. Hence True, but not Relevant."

"Don't you rebuttal tree me."

"Baby, I do debating for a living."

"You coach debating because you think it makes you look cooler than the other humanities teachers."

"And it does. Get in the car."

Martin doubted anything could change Jon Sims' impression of him after their disastrous first meeting. His drawn, stern face had nearly turned crimson with distaste after Martin's final comment. He'd probably not even want to look Martin in the face after the humiliating experience of being taken down by a stack of books, of all things. He was just so small, and irritable, and Martin fought off the urge to imagine him as an angry hamster. An angry hamster with cheekbones that could slice through paper, and a voice like smooth salted butter. And Martin absolutely held no interest in the way he'd sternly rebuked him with his steely eyes.

"-and that's why Sasha had to watch Mamma Mia. Martin?"

Martin fell back to Earth. He was in the shotgun seat (as Tim affectionately dubbed it) of a 2012 Toyota Yaris. The worst of The Chainsmokers' discography played softly from the scratchy radio.

"Uh, yeah. Cool story, Tim."

Tim laughed his little pity-laugh. The laugh he laughed when a friend made a bad joke, or when he detected a particularly large concentration of Gay Pining.

"Just send the guy a box of chocolates with a little note. He'll forgive you. By the way, he likes Old Gold."

"Old Gold? Christ." Martin always had a soft spot for tooth-rottingly sweet, decadent chocolate, the type with fruit or gummy bits in. White chocolate, or those creme eggs that you could get around Easter. Those were delicious.

"Rum and raisin too. Sorry, Marto, but you seem to have fallen for someone's grandpa."

"Again- I am not into him! We talked once, and I dropped thirty copies of Hamlet on him!"

"Methinks the lady doth protest too much."

"That's not even how the quote goes."

Tim puffed up in false indignation as they pulled up next to Martin's apartment building. "Martin Blackwood, how dare you show such insolence!" he cried in a terrible impression of Jon. "Dismount my humble steed at once!" Martin stifled a giggle as he opened the car door and stepped out, careful not to bump his head on the frame.

"Thanks, by the way. For dropping me off."

"No problemo, Marto. Call me if you need anything!"

Tim popped on his sunglasses and turned the radio up. Closer blared from the speakers, and Martin smiled as he tried to drive off in a somewhat cinematic manner and was forced to make a U-turn because he'd driven the wrong way up the street.

#rosencrantz and guildenstern are not particularly relevant at all #tma high school au #r&g au #tma #the magnus archives #tma fanfic #jmart #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #tim stoker #the misha archives

19 notes · View notes

perotovar · 2 years ago

Text

into the beat of the night (ch 2) "fear of the dark"

gif by me

pairing: frankie morales/nb!oc (they/them) rating: T (for now) chapter warnings: discussions of sexuality/gender (frankie doesn't understand some things and may use language that would be harmful, but it's not intentional), goth stereotypes abound, swearing, more cute shit word count: 2.7k dividers by @saradika beta: @scenaaario (ily adrienne ♥)

for notifications, follow @oakslibrary and turn on alerts ♥

series summary: frankie morales thought he had himself figured out by now. he liked both men and women, had dated both in the past. but when someone that challenges what he thinks that means comes into his life, in an unlikely place, he truly learns who he is, and more importantly, who he loves.

series masterlist

Frankie wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he texted River, but it wasn’t this.

ok what about this one?

He looked at the photo River sent him and was having a hard time calming down his heart. River was going back to the club where they met, The Night Owl, and “needed help” picking an outfit. Frankie thought they looked good in every outfit they’d shown him so far and wasn’t sure what the problem was.

U know i liked that 2nd one

you text like such an old man lol

hey

it’s ok, it’s cute 😘

That was another thing he’d have to get used to. River made their intentions quite clear and was very obvious with how they felt about Frankie. The problem was, Frankie was nervous. He’d flirted before. Had random hookups before. That wasn’t new to him, but River was.

He didn’t want to be disrespectful, but he still didn’t quite know if River was a man or a woman. In every selfie they’d sent him, they always had the same androgynous look. River had both sharp and soft features; soft, round cheeks with hard, angular eyes. They weren’t very tall, the top of their head grazing Frankie’s shoulder, and had a medium build. He had no idea how to approach the topic without them turning away.

Frankie knew he liked women. He knew he liked men. So it would make sense that he would like River, right? River was kind of like… both? The two of them had been texting for a week and he really liked their sense of humor. They were really nice to him; maybe even a little too nice. He didn’t know what to do with nice a lot of the time.

“Daddy?”

Frankie looked up from his phone at the sleepy four-year old in his bedroom doorway. Marisol was holding her stuffed bunny in one tiny arm and rubbing her eye with her other little fist.

“What’s up, conejita? What’re you doing awake, huh?” He smiled as he crawled out of bed, phone left behind. He made his way over to her and picked her up, resting her on his hip. “You have a bad dream?”

Marisol nodded and hid her face in Frankie’s neck, her little fist holding on tight to the worn neckline of his sleep shirt. Frankie frowned and held her close, rubbing her little back as he walked her back to her bedroom. As he went to lay her down in her bed she fussed a little, refusing to let go.

“Can I sleep with you? Please?” Marisol’s big brown eyes, mirror images of Frankie’s own, looked up at him pleadingly and he couldn’t turn her down. Not ever.

He straightened back up and nodded, kissing her soft cheek. “Alright. But just tonight, okay? You gotta sleep in your own bed tomorrow. Promise?” He held out his pinky. When her tiny one curled around his own, his heart melted.

He walked back to his own bedroom and set her down on the edge of the bed. She crawled her way up to his pillows and made herself comfy, cuddling her little bunny close. Frankie tucked her in and gave her a kiss on the top of her head. She whined and lifted her bunny up to him. “Flor, too!” Marisol’s little voice demanded.

“Right. Flor, too. Sorry, conejita,” he chuckled and gave a small kiss to Flor’s fuzzy head.

Marisol seemed satisfied with that and cuddled into Frankie’s blankets and shut her eyes. He made his way to his own side of the bed and crawled under the blankets as well, picking up his phone. Two messages from River.

so the second one?

damn, pass out on me already, old man? 😉

He quickly started typing a response, afraid to leave them hanging.

No sorry im here. Yeah the 2nd one

He looked back at all the photos they’d sent him that evening and sighed. He started typing again.

U want company tomorrow ?

As the three dots showed up at the bottom of his screen, his heart started pounding harder.

i didn’t think you’d want to come back. thought we all scared you last time 😉 i’d love company, esp if it’s yours

Frankie smiled at his phone and rested it on his chest, looking up at the ceiling. Yeah, he had it bad.

“Hermano, I need your help.”

Frankie was sitting across from Santiago at a local coffee shop the next morning. The low hum of other customers talking and the nearby kitchen filled his ears. It grounded him a little. His palms were sweaty and he started sniffing, an old, terrible habit he’d picked up whenever he was nervous. No matter how long he had been clean, the craving to put something up his nose was never far.

“Well, I can see that. What’s on your mind? Is Marisol okay?” Santi asked, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Yeah, she’s great. It’s not that. I, uh, started… talking to someone. Well, I don’t really know–”

“That’s great, man! What’s her name? Or his?”

Frankie’s mouth felt dry, so he looked away from Santi’s eyes and took a drink of his own coffee. He swallowed thickly around the coffee and the lump in his throat.

“W-Well, um. River, but–”

“Ooh, unique.”

“Yeah,” Frankie sighed, nodding. “I’m not sure if that’s their real name, though? I mean, the bartender went by Viper, so it honestly wouldn’t surprise me–”

“Whoa, whoa, slow down,” Santi chuckled. “Why don’t you start from the beginning, huh?”

Frankie nodded, chewing on his bottom lip. That was probably a good place to start. So, he told Santiago everything. Ending up at a goth club, Viper and the drink he gave him (which he really liked), and meeting River. Texting with River and how much he liked them.

Santiago stayed quiet the whole time, listening closely to what Frankie had to say. “Sounds like it doesn’t matter if you know or not, hermano.”

“But,” Frankie started. “I’d like to. T-To, y’know… Respect them. I’m not sure how to ask without offending them.”

Santiago hummed and took another drink. “This is still new, right?”

“Very.”

“Right. I don’t think River would be upset at you asking. You said you stuck out at that club, right? They’re probably expecting it at this point,” Santi chuckled.

Frankie nodded again, looking out into the middle distance. Santi was right. River had been nothing but kind to him so far. They even started to create little inside jokes already.

“When are you seeing them next?” Santi asked.

“Tonight. We’re going back to The Night Owl,” Frankie muttered, picking at a hangnail on his index finger.

Santi smirked, sitting up in his seat more. “Together this time? Or are you meeting there?”

“Meeting there. I don’t know where they live.”

Santiago hummed, thinking. “I think you should go and have fun tonight. You said they danced last time? Maybe you could join them this time. Just take the night as it comes, and if anything progresses, well, let it… progress,” he shrugged, as if it was the easiest thing in the world.

And maybe it should be. Frankie was allowed to enjoy himself from time to time. He’s been clean since Marisol was born, and had been on the straight and mostly narrow ever since. He could loosen up tonight. He nodded to himself and finally made eye contact with Santi again.

“I will. Thanks, Pope.”

“Of course, hermano. Lemme know how it goes, yeah?”

Frankie was sitting at the bar again, having another Snakebite. He tapped his fingers against the bar nervously as he waited for River to arrive.

“They’ll be here, stripes,” Viper’s gruff voice muttered from behind him. Frankie turned to look at him and raised a brow.

“How do you know I’m–”

“Frankie!” River’s voice came from behind him, their hands waving excitedly, which caused all the jewelry they wore to jingle loudly. God, they looked incredible. He gulped, but smiled, standing to greet them properly.

“Hey, Riv,” Frankie said, shoving his hands into his pockets, unsure what to do with them. He hadn’t noticed it last time, or maybe they weren’t wearing it then, but River was wearing a cologne this time around; bergamot, clove, and sandalwood. It went right to his head and made his heart skip a beat. “You look great.”

“You picked it out, remember?” River winked, their eyes flicking to Frankie’s lips for a quick second. Their eyes traveled down further and they smirked, looking at the t-shirt Frankie wore underneath his leather jacket. “Iron Maiden, huh?” They teased.

“What, I don’t look like I listen to Iron Maiden?” Frankie smiled, a little of his confidence coming back now that River was here. All of the comfort and teasing was still there from their texts.

River hummed thoughtfully, one ring-clad finger running over the side of Eddie’s face on Frankie’s torso. “I didn’t say that. Just thought it was an interesting choice,” they grinned, looking back up at him.

Frankie blinked down at them, following their finger that had yet to leave. “Interesting?” he squeaked, swallowing around another lump in his throat.

River chuckled and took their hand away, shaking their head in amusement. “Don’t worry about it. C’mon, you promised me a dance, remember?”

Right. He did. After his meeting with Santiago that morning, he texted River and said he’d never seen dances quite like the ones at The Night Owl. River excitedly offered to show him how to do one or two moves. Frankie didn’t have the heart to tell them he had two left feet.

River grabbed his hand and dragged him to the dance floor, grinning up at him, and started dancing once they made their way to the middle.

The walls of the club bounced with the music. This time it was a little closer to electronic so it was easier to find a beat to Frankie’s untrained ears. He still didn’t fully know what all the different genres were despite River trying to give him a breakdown of the main ones over text. He thinks this one was Dark… Wave? Something like that.

Frankie had danced with both men and women before, but didn’t quite know where to put his hands with River. Thankfully, he didn’t have to think about it too hard, because they grabbed his wrists and rested his hands on their shoulders. They moved their hips to the music, grabbing onto Frankie's waist and guiding him with them.

Frankie’s cheeks warmed as he smiled down at them. He completely lost himself in the moment, just like Santi said he should. Lights danced around with them, shining off of River’s dark hair and illuminating them in a way that made Frankie’s heart stop. They made eye contact and River winked at him, tapping his butt lightly. He blushed, thankful that the lights hid it for the most part. Before he knew it, a few songs had passed and River was dragging him off the dancefloor and back towards the bar, giggling their head off.

“I didn’t know you had such good moves!” They teased, poking his side playfully.

“Oh, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” Frankie winked, his eyes flicking to River’s lips. River got closer, wrapping their arms around Frankie’s waist and grinned.

“That a promise?”

Frankie’s heart skipped two full beats before he exhaled loudly, his hands resting on River’s biceps. He looked around at all the other clubgoers and sighed before grabbing River’s hand and taking them outside into the fresh air.

River furrowed their brows with concern, but followed him. They looked at the back of Frankie’s head, eyes following the shapes and valleys of his messy curls. They wanted to run their fingers through it.

Fresh, cool air hit their warm cheeks as Frankie walked them over to his truck. He maneuvered River so that they were leaning against the side, his arms caging around them. River could see that a million thoughts were passing behind those big brown eyes of his. They reached for the bottom of Frankie’s Iron Maiden t-shirt and rubbed it comfortingly. They were patient.

“I’d love nothing more than to promise you that,” Frankie started, his eyes not meeting their green ones. He kept his eyes glued to the torn shirt and multiple silver necklaces River wore. “But, I just… I have a question for you, and I’m not sure how to ask it.”

River’s lips quirked up into a small smile. They had a feeling this was coming. “No, I’m not secretly a cop,” they deadpanned.

Frankie looked up at that and snorted at the serious look on River’s face. “No, not that,” he chuckled, poking at the tattoo on River’s collarbone.

“You can just ask. It can’t be that bad.”

Frankie bit his bottom lip and nodded, eyes locked on River’s nose rings. “I, uh… I’ve dated men and women in the past. I… like them equally, and I guess I was just wondering… where you, uh… fell, on that spectrum,” he mumbled, eyes downcast again. His shoulders felt a hundred pounds lighter, but he was still afraid he would offend them.

River smiled wide and cupped Frankie’s cheek, forcing him to look at them. “That’s all?”

Frankie blinked and nodded jerkily.

“Well, do you want the long version or the short version?”

Frankie looked at River’s lips, feeling a little more confident knowing River wasn’t angry with him. “Whichever one gets me closer to kissing you,” he muttered hopefully, dropping his hand down to their hip and rubbing the bone there with his thumb.

River’s breath hitched and they smiled. “Short version, then,” they grinned, rubbing at his patchy facial hair, their thumb finding a perfect spot to rest. “I’m both. And neither. I was raised one way and never felt like I belonged in either basket.”

Frankie nodded in understanding. He understood feeling like he didn’t belong. “Is… is there a word for that?” he asked, hoping that was okay.

“Yeah. Non-binary. I don’t always use it, and that’s kind of where the longer version comes in, but I think you promised me a kiss,” River smiled, rubbing their thumb along Frankie’s bottom lip.

Frankie didn’t need to be told twice, surging forward to slot their lips together. He kept one hand on River’s hip and cupped the back of their head with his free hand, sighing into their mouth.

River moved their head a little to the right so they could fit together more easily. They gently prodded their tongue against Frankie’s bottom lip, asking permission. Goosebumps traveled down the back of their neck to the tips of their toes, as they wound their arms around Frankie’s neck.

Frankie happily granted them entry, his head spinning at the feeling of River’s lips on his own. It was so much better than he thought it would be.

When they eventually came up for air, Frankie touched his forehead to River’s. They just breathed each other in for a few moments, but River started snickering quietly. He leaned back, their waists still pressed together, and looked down at them, smiling softly. “What?”

River pointed to their own mouth, then to his, and laughed harder. He raised a brow and looked over at his rearview mirror to see what it could be. He didn’t let go of River’s hip.

Once his own reflection came into view, his cheeks warmed at what he saw. His eyes traveled over to River’s giggling form in the mirror, their hand covering their mouth as their shoulders shook. River’s dark lipstick had transferred over onto Frankie’s own lips and it looked… very out of place, to say the least.

Frankie started laughing softly, his eyes moving back to River’s. “I think it suits me, don’t you?” He winked.

River barked a laugh and lightly slapped his chest. “Absolutely not. I like you all lumberjack, fisherman chic.”

“Fisher– what?” Frankie chuckled.

“You look like you just got back from a fishing trip with peepaw, Francisco. Please don’t tell me you have a photo of you holding up a fish on your Tinder profile,” River said, suddenly very serious.

Frankie blinked a few times before it was his turn to start laughing hard. Then he got quiet, and asked, “What’s Tinder?”

“Good answer.”

a/n: please enjoy these edits i made of frankie in his iron maiden t-shirt~

#frankie morales #triple frontier #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales fluff #frankie morales fic #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier fic #triple frontier fluff #pedro pascal characters #oaksfics

156 notes · View notes