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liillyliilly · 3 months

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Detective Business

kenji sato x reader words; 7009 synopsis; enemies to friends to lovers- she's a private investigator and he's just ultraman (but she doesn't know that). she also has to deal with that annoying pro baseball player who just won't leave her alone.

Trying to find the identity of Ultraman is no easy job for the Tokyo Investigative Department, but for her? It’s more than finding Ultraman, it's about also finally arresting Kenji Sato for his reckless driving on the highway.

Unfortunately, she’s also a reckless driver. Which is why Kenji Sato was folding his arms and frowning while she pulled out a pad of ticket paper from under her motorcycle’s seat. The rain was dripping on her helmet and Mr. Sato’s white shirt was getting soaked through.

“I just think I shouldn’t be getting a ticket, Officer.”

“I’m not an officer, I’m a private investigator under contract with the department. Don’t lump me with them.” She bites the pen cap off and starts writing a ticket for him clocking in at around 170 kilometers per hour.

“You don’t even have a radar detector, so the only way you know I was speeding is because you were too.” Kenji kicks off from the wall of the divider on the highway. He inspects her motorbike slowly, dragging fingers over the dashboard and the mirrors. The key in her ignition is black, with a small baseball keychain, he notes this and keeps it in mind.

She grins, “As I said, I’m not a policeman.” She lowers her voice a little, “My bike isn’t factory tuned like theirs are.”

He groans, upset at her for giving him the ticket. But also because she intrigued him more than most people did. MINA spoke into his helmet, reminding him about the Kaiju raging in Sendai. He shushes MINA’s comments.

She scoffs, assuming that the shush was for her. She shoves the ticket into his chest, accidentally soaking up some water that was drenching his t-shirt.

“If you want to fight the ticket, go to Courthouse 5 in Tokyo at 9 am on Wednesday. A representative from the department will have all my notes from this. And Mr. Sato, please drive safely, it’s raining. Hydroplaning is no joke.”

“I’ll drive safely if you drive safely, Officer.” He laced the title with some grittiness, the kind of tone that grinds her gears.

“I’m not an officer. I’m-”

“A private investigator, yes I know, you’ve told me three times before. Since you’re the only one who can actually clock me going above the speed limit.” He rolls his eyes, “Same time next week Officer?”

She sighs, putting the visor of her helmet down. When she gets onto her bike, kicking up the stand and revving her engine, Kenji teases her and blows an overdramatic kiss in her direction where she can clearly see it in her mirrors. She brings her hand up to throw him a middle finger, he earnestly returns the gesture.

The road is empty now, and she’s far enough away to not recognize Kenji using his willpower to morph into Ultraman, needing to get to Sendai soon according to MINA’s instructions.

MINA speaks into his audio system, “You really should listen to her. She’s smart. Safe driving is critical in the rain Ken.”

“MINA, I love you, but please shut up.”

She never liked arrogant people. Maybe because she was arrogant herself? But the real reason for arrogance is that it masks the reality behind the person, it’s a cover for something more futile and undeniably human. Arrogance acts like a shield holding back a person from revealing too much. For her, arrogance defended against her ideals. The world could be changed to be better. Peace is well within a grasp. That ideal, that dream of what the world could be is hidden and buried deep within her. To cover for it, arrogance does a great job biting into people she meets.

It’s a good thing her best friend was always there for her. Ito Yuuta, rookie of the year and a new addition to the Yomiuri Giants baseball team. He was one of the first round draft picks, immediately getting sweeped into the team. So there she sat with Yuuta, while he threw pitches in the baseball cage, her talking about his teammate with disdain.

Yuuta clocked in some high speeds, and was extremely sweaty. His shoulder was killing him, but practicing as often as possible was a new priority if he wanted to be utilized and get off the bench for this season.

“I don’t understand how you can play on a team with a guy like that.” She chews a piece of licorice, a guilty pleasure snack that she was addicted to. Yuuta steals a piece and sits next to her.

She’d met Kenji before, in circumstances where she wasn’t giving him a fine for speeding down highways. When her friend got scouted, she met the members of his team at a mixer. Kenji Sato just didn’t seem to play nicely with his teammates. When Yuuta had initially introduced himself, Kenji had given him a signed baseball card, saying something about how selling it would be worth something.

After hearing that story, which Yuuta laughed at and gladly embraced as a characteristic of Kenji’s behavioral traits, she just furrowed her eyebrows and puckered her face. It rubbed her the wrong way for someone to act like that. But she couldn’t control the roster of the Giants’ team.

“He’s a great player. You’re just too tied up in your whole ‘I’m a harbinger of justice and righteousness’ to see that there are people out there with the exact same personality as you.” Yuuta drinks some water and throws a sweaty towel on her, which she tosses back to him in disgust, “Come to a game, watch him play, maybe then you’ll join a fanclub other than mine.”

She clicks her tongue to her teeth, bouncing her knee in consideration. Yuuta let the whole Kenji Sato thing go, and instead just invited her to come watch him play in the most upcoming game.

He had her try to throw a ball, how to raise her leg just enough, bringing her arm and hand back just enough. While he was adjusting the length of her arm and the angling just so, none other than Kenji Sato walked into the baseball gym. He slinks over to the pitching cage and watches for a moment, the rookie member of his team sliding his hands over Kenji’s pretty private investigator. He just had to make a comment, right?

“You should move her hips a little to the left while you’re at it, Ito.” She jumps a little at his voice, dropping the ball. It rolled over to Kenji’s foot through the wire fencing around the cage, he reached down and picked it up from under the cage. Throwing the ball up a little, analyzing it. Ito accepts the help, and uses his hands to twist her hips just a smidge.

She couldn’t help it that she was ticklish. A brief laugh escapes her, and she chokes when she sees Kenji stare right at her. Except it wasn’t at her face, rather where Ito’s hands began to slide up to her waist to tickle her a little more. Kenji presses his lips into a line, tossing the ball over the cage.

Ito yells out a quick thanks and Kenji waves his hand while walking to the locker room.

She throws the ball that Kenji had returned to her. It clocked in at around 128 KPH. Yuuta lets out an approving hum in reaction to the speed of her fastball. She does a little spin and flexes her arms to show off her natural talent. It’s a good thing the locker room had TVs that showed camera footage from all the baseball cages. Kenji laughed at her silliness while he was watching on the screen, tightening his shoes.

A few days later, at the Tokyo Police Station, she’s getting briefed on the newest details of the Ultraman case. It’s all things she’s heard before, and they were no where closer to uncovering the true identity of Japan’s biggest hero. Biggest hero, her ass, more like the biggest vigilante who runs around fighting Kaiju and also destroying the structural integrity of Japan’s cities.

All the secretaries and computer techs loved Ultraman, all the mugs in the kitchen area were Ultraman themed to prove it.

She spins around in her chair, listening to the Head of the Detective Department drone on in his monotone voice.

“Which is why I’ve decided to reach out to the KDF in helping us.”

Now, that was something she did not like. The KDF were brutalistic, inhumane, and quasi-militaristic. It was like their organization ran on the idea of killing out the entire Kaiju race with no concern for the theories and realities that Kaiju could actually help the world. If only people actually did their research and showed patience with the dedicated scientists who worked tirelessly to find out more about Kaiju.

She would prefer Ultraman to the KDF anyday. Ultraman at least gave the Kaiju respect, and he always seemed to guide them in certain directions once he got them to the ocean. Almost as if he was releasing the beasts to their homeland.

“No way. The KDF are horrendous. They treat Kaiju like pests that need to be destroyed. Any sort of information they have on Ultraman’s identity is sure to be unethically obtained.” She raised her concerns, looking to her fellow coworkers for support in backing her statement. They just lowered their heads when faced with her stare.

“Miss. You’re just a private investigator, all you need to do for us is follow instructions and see where our leads take us. And, you’re one to talk about ethically obtaining evidence, we all know your little tricks.”

She bites her tongue, leaning back into her chair. She had three more months of working for the police and then she could go back to discovering cheating husbands and trailing drug cartels for the other government departments. At least when she was doing that she wasn’t at risk for getting crushed underfoot by a superhero or getting lasered by KDF robots and fighter pilots.

Her boss puts a hand on her shoulder, picking away a piece of lint before going back to the head of the table.

“You’ll meet with a KDF representative, take detailed notes, follow the trails you find, and then report back to me. Do you understand?”

She mumbles.

“What was that?”

“Yes, sir. I understand.”

That night, she had to put on dressy clothes for the dinner with her KDF intelligence personnel. On the phone with Yuuta, she’d gotten appraised when she slid on a tight black number, “Damn! I thought you only had jeans and black shirts in your closet. Maybe I’ll have to ask you on a real date and not just the baseball banquet in two months.”

She held her head in her hands, while her elbows rested on her desk, phone sat up against her water bottle. Yuuta put the back of his hand against his forehead, giving a playfully deep sigh as he got a view of her cleavage. She rolled her eyes at Yuuta’s behavior, but still felt slightly proud at her ability to clean up nicely.

“Bye Yuuta, I’ll text you later.”

He waves to the camera, holding up a peace sign before finally ending the call.

The restaurant is dimly lit, live jazz music ebbs and flows throughout the building. Tables have white and black cloth laid out, and there’s an overabundance of marble decor. The KDF employee couldn’t have been younger than forty, but the salt and pepper hair did add an appeal she didn’t expect.

He pulled out her chair for her, and had the waiter take her order first. She sipped some water, not wanting to feel buzzed at all from alcohol. He was nice enough, just making some small talk before they got into the real meat of why they were there.

“We have intel that the ‘Hero’ is likely a sporting figure. We’re leaning towards baseball, due to the popularity of the sport. Also, based on audio recordings, he spent time abroad, using a mixture of slang and an American accent to color his lived experiences.” He downs his beer when he finishes the bulk of his information.

She jots the main points down on her notepad. In between sips of water, and bites of her pasta dish, she finds herself quickly making trails and thinking of all the roads she could go down to find Ultraman. When all the information is expressed, she leans back in her chair, waiting for the waiter to come back so she could pay for her meal.

When twenty minutes elapse, she says she’ll go looking for their server so they can leave. He nods, finishing off his fish and chips.

Turning the corner, she bumps into a solid wall. Except, the solid wall lets out a short ouch. It’s Kenji. Despite trying to clearly cover something up, his suit only goes so high on his neck. There’s black and blue bruises canvassing his face and neck, she glances and sees that there’s marks on his hands as well.

“What happened to you?” She reaches out instinctively to touch his cheek where there’s a dark purple bloom from the peak of his cheekbone to right above his jawline. He whines when she makes contact, but eases up when her warm hands soothe the flow of blood beneath his skin.

“You should see the other guy.” He remarks. In response she just scoffs a little, dropping her hand even though he wishes she would’ve just kept it there.

Soon, the salt and pepper KDF member finds her, “Hey, you need to come back.” He waves his card in the air for a moment, letting her know she needed to pay. He motions for her to hurry and come, and Kenji feels appalled. She nods, but Kenji furrows his eyebrows.

“What kind of man makes his date pay?” His voice is scratchy, and only she can hear him.

She puts a hand on his chest, “It's not a date, it’s business.”

Kenji nods, letting his hand graze hers as it slides down his chest. What once was, no longer is.

When the much older man puts a hand on the small of her back, his jaw clenches reflexively. He twitches in pain when he realizes he pulls the muscles where he’d taken a massive hit from the most recent Kaiju attack. At least he’d managed to make the fight only last around thirty minutes. The quickest fight of the year.

His legs were crossed, bouncing his foot that rested on his knee. He used his chopsticks and prodded at his noodles. His private table was hidden in a nook, with a bamboo room divider separating him and the world. Appetite crushed and meal soggy, Kenji pursed his lips slightly. Contemplation could only last for so long.

Pushing his plate away from him, he leaves a stack of bills on the counter. Stalking away to steal one last glance of her. He saw her hair, the curve of her spine, and heard the click of her shoes as the entrance to the restaurant came to a close.

What kind of business did she have, and more importantly who was he to think about what she was doing? The whole internal monologue was getting tired quick, especially when his thoughts had become plagued with her. Everytime he dished his attitude out for her, she served it right back and with her own additions and special spices.

He’d need some sort of counseling. And soon. But did he really?

She was committed to following the outline of details that the KDF personnel had given her. But she just kept running into Kenji Sato and didn’t get anywhere far with her approach.

At first she had tried to study all the baseball teams that had the quickest reaction times to a Kaiju attack. Each time she attended another game, with her hoodie pulled over her head and hands in her pockets, she just saw people running all around trying to escape the stadiums. Not optimal when a person is trying to go towards the danger instead.

A man had narrowly clipped her shoulder, she kept pressing forwards to get to the field. The Kaiju was on the outskirts of the stadium. If Ultraman really was a baseball player he would’ve appeared in the field from where the players had been. Her line of reasoning was that going down to the field and having her camera ready was the optimal discovery technique.

“What are you doing? You need to get away from the Kaiju, not run toward it?” Kenji, still in his Giants uniform, grabbed her by the arm pulling her further away from the baseball diamond. The Kaiju began to stomp away from the stadium. She groaned, ripping her arm away from Kenji.

“Leave me be.” She tried to go toward the center of the field again.

“You have a death wish and I will not be granting it.” He thwarts her plans and gives her the keys to his motorbike when they get to the parking lot, the Kaiju’s roar rumbles lowly from a distance in the eastward direction. “Get on the bike. I swear to the gods, get on the bike.”

She turns the key, and starts the engine. Kenji goes back to the stadium, leaving her to try and track down all the players from the game today who had already left the stadium, maybe following one of them would lead to the Ultraman reveal. An hour later, the Kaiju was back in the water leaving Japan behind. Ultraman’s face and video footage rang through the screens in the streets. She tossed her camera in the air, annoyance clear on her face.

That was the third time that month that Kenji had done something like that, found her trying to go towards the danger instead of avoiding it, and each time he pushed her away and told her to leave.

It was starting to annoy her more and more intensely that she still couldn’t catch a baseball player turning into Ultraman. Why did there have to be so many baseball games, and why were there so many players on every team?

Yuuta had invited her to a practice match between the Giants and a team from Singapore that had flown in for the friendly. She obliged him, thinking that she could narrow down her list of baseball players better if a foreign team was playing as well. It was around mid-game, and she didn’t expect another Kaiju attack so soon after the last one. Alarms blared and the ground rumbled.

This Kaiju was dark green, scaly, and looked a lot like a water monitor, with fangs like a rattlesnake. The size of it was smaller than most, and it slithered around instead of standing. It lunged at one of the lights in the stadium, and she was shaking against her intentions to remain resolved.

She supposed now was as good a time as ever to see an Ultraman transformation. Except maybe, getting too close to the creature was a bad idea. Yuuta had screamed at her for getting to the field, but he couldn’t stand in and do anything when the tail of the Kaiju knocked her off her feet and she landed on her arm roughly.

Kicking off with her feet, she kept trying to backtrack, elbows bloody and pain shooting through her shoulder. Now she was worried for her life, especially when the Kaiju slinked around the dirt and grass, getting a little too close to the catcher’s area, where she sat. Dirt coated her clothes, and she felt iced into her position.

She closed her eyes for a second, preparing for the worst.

Ultraman always saves the day in the end. The snake-like monster was curling itself around the arm of Ultraman, he shook his arm but the lizard stayed firmly in place. He flung his arm, and to her shock, the snake flew away, Kaiju genetics and formation letting it slither in the air. The Kaiju made its way to the coastline, and the harm was successfully resolved.

The audio muffling voice was just human enough to remind her to come back to her senses. The voice and of course, a huge presence kneeling in front of her would bring anyone back.

His hand was the size of her whole body, maybe even bigger.

“Do you need medical attention?” Ultraman stuck out a finger and she pulled herself off the ground by leveraging her weight and the arm that she hadn’t landed on.

“No, probably just some regular first aid.” She lifts her head up to try and make eye contact, that could be another clue.

When there’s no movement from either of them for a moment, he stutters something out yet none of the words make any sense. Fainting when she sees the Kaiju come back might have been her stupidest biological instinct.

Yuuta sits by her bedside table, snoring. Rubbing her head, she turns on the TV to see what happened after she lost total consciousness.

Ultraman had picked her up and set her somewhere safe while fighting the beast, headlines declaring another day safe because of his intervention. As much as she wants, she can’t roll her eyes.

Maybe there’s more to a superhero than meets the eye.

“Well folks we have it here, the championship game. We have the Giants pitching first and the Pumas at bat. Pitching for the Giants is an upstarter by the name of Ito Yuuta, or as the new fans like to say, the Michelangelo of pitching. And I can’t say I disagree with them, I mean his form is so natural and smooth.” The other announcer elbows his companion in the stomach, “And for the Pumas we have American Clint Wilks ready to bat.”

She sits in her seat, the same one Yuuta had reserved for her so many times before. She has her camera filming her friend, his first pitch he wanted filmed in slow motion, and then the rest he wanted normal speed. Something about wanting tons of content for the promotional manager to work with at various angles. Her phone camera wasn’t the best, but she made it work. And Yuuta had always been satisfied with the videos she sent to him.

When the batter manages to skim the edge of Yuuta’s first pitch she groans a little. The ball was recovered quickly, but Yuuta wasn’t shaken up at all. His next two pitches were seamless, going straight to the catcher in the blink of an eye. She cheers.

Disconnecting from the game for a moment, she scrolls on her phone, she may have enjoyed baseball, but it was Yuuta she only really came for. Yuuta and Kenji that is. Her other camera, her private investigation camera laid safely in her backpack. Should another Kaiju attack happen today she might need an early retirement, especially considering how the last run in had altered her.

It had been a while since she had caught Kenji Sato late at night, ignoring the speed limits with an overwhelming sense of confidence and ability. Maybe the lesson had finally set in, the fifth ticket may have been overkill.

When she hears the announcers say that Ken Sato is out of commission for this championship game due to injury, her ears burn. Now this was a quick mystery that needed to be solved. She had seen him in the pit, yelling with his teammates and jeering at the opposing team. But he hadn’t been quite all there, like his brain was in another body and a robot had filled in for him. When the announcement had been made that Kenji wasn’t going to play, he excused himself and left his team. She noticed that he had been rubbing his arm with a grimace.

The locker room would hold all the answers to her questions she supposes. Yuuta wasn’t going to pitch again for the rest of the game, already knocking out so many strikes in one game. She remembered how Yuuta had told her to get to the additional secret door to the locker room.

Getting into the locker room was easy, seeing Kenji Sato in his current state of undress was the hard part.

She couldn’t say much but let out a small squeak to disclose her presence in the room. Kenji finished pulling up his grey sweatpants, and coughed into his elbow to diffuse any sort of discomfort.

“Uh, sorry. My bad.” She tapped her forearm, keeping her arms locked into a folded position.

“It’s, um, it’s all good. Ito’s still at the diamond, I’m the only one here right now…” He trailed off.

Seeing the full expanse of his injuries across his torso and chest, she feels her heart sink. He’d come up closer to her, shutting his locker and almost circling her to study her. Initially, upon her walking in, she had seen him scrutinize the various marks across his body. His entire length of his arm was purple, almost like it had been wrapped in a rope that had been tightened too many times.

“Is your current partner an abuser?” She bluntly asks.

Kenji’s eyes open wide, “No, I’m not dating anyone right now.”

It was her turn for her eyes to go wide, in addition to extreme heat tingeing her skin and sweat starting to build up. Her assumption was that of a hired sort of company making those marks then. Surveying her reaction, Kenji knows what her best guess may have come down to.

“I also don’t make a habit of hiring escorts. Or any sort of paid companionship.” He swallows thickly. All his attempts to mitigate the tension in the room had absolutely failed. He tries another angle, “I’m glad that you care enough to ask though.”

She laughs at that.

“I guess I do care at least a little. It’d be a shame if you died by hooker, especially since I’ve spent so many hours giving you tickets in an attempt to save your life.”

They settled into their dynamic. Friends, but not quite friendly. Kenji wouldn’t call them enemies either, not when he held her too close to his heart. But her barely concealed occasional animosity did harbor some sort of anger or hate toward him that he’d just have to brush that aside while he categorized their relationship.

Their dynamic was hued by an innate sense of connection, but layers of social conditioning and abrasiveness between the two had deemed their magnetism a fluke.

Maybe that’s why he asks her to come to the baseball banquet with him despite being half naked in the middle of the locker room.

“I’ve already told Yuuta I’d go with him.” She shifts her weight between her feet, trying to remain balanced in spite of the extreme uneasiness that ran through her.

“I got him a replacement date.”

Her eyebrow raised at his slight supplication, he continued, “Ito told me he’d tell you soon. Guess I beat him to the remark.”

The awkward chuckle he lets escape makes him wish that he was anywhere but here. He’d take a monstrous Kaiju wanting to bite his head off then be faced with a rejection like this. Would it even be considered a rejection? He just asked if she wanted to be his date to the championship banquet. He chews the inside of his mouth, it would definitely be a direct rejection if she said no.

The crowd roars and tells the both of them that the banquet will in fact be for the Giants winning and not a solemn affair telling everyone to prepare for the next season.

“Okay. I had already cleared my weekend for the banquet anyway.” She wrings her hands out, twisting and playing with each of her fingers.

“Sounds great. It should be fun, you know, since we just won.”

She turns to leave the locker room, before turning on her heel.

He finishes putting his relaxed Giants jersey on, slightly stunned to see her still in the locker room.

“I’ll need your number, so you can tell me what to wear.” She pauses, unsure of what else he’d need to inform her of.

“And so I can let you know when I’ll pick you up, and where to pick you up.” He starts listing off items, using his fingers to keep track.

“Yeah, all that stuff.”

He gets her number, sending a short ‘hi it’s ken’ text. She feels the pull to exit again. But has to let one last thing off her chest.

“I’m not calling you Ken. You’ll always be Kenji to me.” He pushes down a smile, but she continues her word salad that climbs out of her mouth without much censorship. “Too many tickets written out in your full first name for me to call you anything else.”

“We’ll go with that then, Officer.”

She sticks her tongue out at him before finally trekking out of the baseball changing room.

To- Officer Cutie 💎🌟 : i’m sending you a dress, this is your size right?

ATTACHMENT: 1 Image

To- KENJI SATO 🚨🏍️: How did you know my size? Also you know I can buy my own clothes for a banquet right?

To- Officer Cutie 💎🌟: lemme do my own thing

To- KENJI SATO 🚨🏍️: fine then mr. bossy pants

To be fair, the dress really was gorgeous. Silver with red detailing, although the slit wasn’t quite an expected feature of the dress, coming up to above her mid thigh. The straps of the dress had an almost pearl beading which contrasted nicely with the deep blood shade of the red throughout the dress.

“You know, if my date saw you she’d wonder why I was going with her and not you.” Yuuta teases, because he does genuinely feel excitement for who he was going with, a reporter by the name of Ami Wakita. She does a spin for Yuuta in her phone camera.

“I don’t know all the way though, the colors remind me of something I can’t quite put a finger on.”

She can see Yuuta grabbing his phone and searching on Google due to the angle of his forehead that she was now enduring. When Yuuta laughs, she knows she might be in for some sort of practical joke from Kenji.

Yuuta sends her a photo of Ultraman.

“Damn him to hell. We’re going with an Ultraman theme.” She drags her hand down her face in irritation.

The black Mercedes-Benz he drove to pick her up in was definitely an appreciated touch. He was wearing a silver suit with a red button up underneath. At least they matched really well.

The banquet looked expensive. It smelt expensive. It sounded expensive. With draping fabrics hanging off of tall columns in the cream and gold shades of the Giants logo and uniforms. The bouquets of dense floral scents carried throughout the event center, and the fresh scent of pastries and cooked steaks also added to the aromas floating around the air. Clinking glasses, clicks of heels, laughs that sounded like they were dripping in a blend of nepotism and celebrity status.

Kenji and her are at a table with some of the older members of the Giants team. Kenji isn’t amused with the questions they pester the pair of them with. She wittily responds to each glaring comment that had intended to poke deeper and deeper.

The speeches awarding the team and celebrating the momentous win aren’t bad, just bland. Each time a server comes around with glasses of wine, or champagne, or shots, she grabs one and starts sipping. Kenji sticks to just water and some glasses of juice. He mentions that he’s the one driving so he’d rather not get black out drunk. She chuckles sarcastically.

While they don’t talk to each other too much, he does keep a hand on her thigh or knee for most of the night. Which in turn may have been the cause for her to keep getting drinks.

Eventually, as to be expected, the banquet shifts from an event of elegance into a slight rager. Music transitions from classical to club style hip hop and R&B. She keeps nodding off, much to Kenji’s amusement. He couldn’t imagine accidentally falling asleep when the noises around the building were booming and thunderous.

They sit at the table, the only ones left not on the dance floor. Kenji doesn’t mind, especially with how she keeps nodding off and blinking her eyes to try and stay awake regardless of how the alcohol weighs her cognizance down.

“Hey, pretty girl, you keep falling asleep.” Kenji rubs her back, his fingers touching the bare skin exposed from the back of her dress. His hands aren’t cold, they’re far from it, a warmth blossoms from them, springing forth a desire to feel the heat wherever she has exposed skin.

Mumbling, she says something about his observational skills, a ‘Captain Obvious’ is thrown in there somewhere along a line of insults. She keeps trying to rub the sleep away with the back of her hand.

“Ready to go?” She shakes her head yes and lets him guide her out to his car.

It really was the only solution. She was already asleep in his car, and he didn’t know which key was the one that opened her apartment door.

“MINA, can you please change the temperature of my room to 68 degrees? Keep the pillows cold, but make the blankets warmer.”

MINA adjusts the requested temperatures. Kenji lets her take his bed, opting to sleep in one of the guest rooms in the Ultrabase. He sets out a pair of sweatpants and a sleeveless sleep shirt. He puts a hand on her leg, moving it so she’d wake up a little.

“Pajamas are here, I’ll be down the hall if you need anything. I got water and some pain relievers on your side table.” She murmurs in response, her face in the pillows. He puts a lid on the water cup, and turns off the light as he shuts his bedroom door.

She hardly recalls that she changed into the comfiest pajamas she’s ever worn, but she did remember drinking the whole glass of water and swallowing the pain pills. Waking up was surprisingly pleasant though, a perfect mixture of cold and warm coated her senses. She freezes for a moment, remembering how last night had unfurled. With her embarrassing herself by drinking way too much and getting sleepy probably much earlier than Kenji had expected.

A good private investigator would study and analyze each item in a person’s bedroom. An even better private investigator would do all that and make fun of what she could. That’s why she’s considered the best in the business.

The room is relatively bland, but pictures of a pink Kaiju stand out to her. It looks like a dragon, but it’s so adorable she had to stop herself from using her phone to take a picture of the Kaiju. There’s a family photo, and oh, his dad is Professor Sato? The Kaiju whisperer? That’s intriguing to her but she keeps lurking around.

Once she examines his room enough, she leaves the room and goes out to discover further.

The smell of fresh fruit and possibly waffles draws her out further and further from the hallway of bedrooms and bathrooms.

Kenji talks to MINA, asking for help in making the waffles actually edible and not burnt. MINA offers to cook them for him, but he says he can do it and wants to make them himself. MINA rereads the instructions for the waffle maker. He’s wearing plaid bottoms and a black tank top. She admires his arms for a moment before shaking herself out of the slight daze.

She keeps looking around. Until she finds something particularly interesting, she checks that she’s still out of his line of sight and she touches a few of the buttons on what looks like a computer keyboard. Except the buttons vary in shape and size instead of being uniform and sequential.

Falling back a little from the bright holograms she gasps. Kenji whips his head around and drops a spoon that had batter all over it onto the floor.

The holograms display various scenes of Ultraman, and Kenji. Of Kenji turning into Ultraman, of Ultraman transitioning back into Kenji. Of Kenji with the pink Kaiju, of Ultraman with the pink Kaiju. Of Kenji and his dad studying the Kaiju. Of Ultraman playing baseball with a huge bat. Of Kenji messing around with various Ultraman maneuvers and martial arts styles.

She turns her head to Kenji, now exposed from her perching site away from his view. He glances his eyes in all directions. He hiccups and laughs forcefully. He can’t even say a simple, let me explain. It’s just all too clear.

“Whoops?” She offers.

He pushed a bowl of fruit in her direction, she was sitting across from him at the dining table.

“No one can know.”

She keeps blinking and eating another piece of fruit as she processes the whole thing. Almost like a fish, she keeps opening her mouth but then closing it without ever saying a word. She downs a glass of orange juice that he gives her.

“So, you’re Ultraman.”

He shrugs.

“All those times I saw you bruised and injured? Ultraman?” She rubs her temple, trying to make sense of it all.

“For most of the time, yes. I did fall off my bike once.”

“I’m going to have to quit my job.” She deadpans. “If they knew that I knew, but didn’t tell them, I’d be hunted and killed.”

Kenji drops his fork that has a slice of mango on it.

“Not literally, but I’d definitely be tortured for what I know.” Finishing off her fruit, she lets out a deep exhale, and makes eye contact with Kenji. He taps on the table for a moment before exchanging her thoughts for his own.

“I hate to admit this, but that would literally be my worst nightmare because I unfortunately like you a lot.”

She suspends all sense of reality for a moment, also ignoring his confession to her, “Kaiju Island is real?” He nods. “I want to go and see it. I want to see the Kaiju.”

So they go and see the Kaiju.

When Kenji introduces her to Emi, a toddler Kaiju, she stands stunned but amazed at the mystical energy of it all. She considers dropping her career as a private investigator and instead studying a course in Kaiju Sciences. She sees a wide variety of other Kaiju, Kenji making sure she stays a safe distance away from anything that could potentially be too dangerous.

The whole day is spent asking and answering questions. From Ultraman to Kaiju, from KDF to Tokyo Metropolitan Police. He’s aware of what the KDF knows about him now, and he’s grateful to know where to start burying tracks for them.

The beach is pretty in the evening. The way pink and orange dance along the glimmering ocean waves. The way the sun hits Kenji’s eyes just right and makes them look like a vibrant purple. His black earrings almost turn into inky ebony gems.

“This is actually amazing.” She exhales the words she’s been holding in during the entire exposure to this alternate universe that coexists with hers.

He speaks without thinking, something he believes he really should start working on, “You’re amazing.”

“Even with all my sharpness?”

“That’s your whole appeal.” He leans in, giving just enough space for her to back out.

She doesn’t lean away. He dives in.

He doesn’t bother with any brushes of their lips, going straight for an open mouth exchange. She’s the one who grazes her tongue in his mouth first though, leaving him wanting more, needing more, an appetite needing to be satiated with her touch.

He’s leaving a path of heavy kisses over her face to her neck, sucking on the skin as he licks under her jaw. The way her skin tastes should be studied he muses, using his hands to pin her to the sandy bank by her waist. Her hands were too busy fiddling with his earrings and hair to let him pin her by the hands.

The hums he has in his throat make her want to hear what other sounds he can make. Maybe biting his bottom lip was her best option after all because as soon as her teeth came into contact with the puffy skin he shudders and it’s like music to her ears.

He has to lift himself up and off her, out of breath and panting heavily. He pulls her up with him once he’s sitting back down.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you since the first time you cussed me out for almost swerving into you when I was speeding.”

She pauses, letting him intertwine his fingers with hers, he sets the joined hands on his thigh, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand in order to brush some sand off of her.

“That was a while ago.”

“Yeah, so now you know how long I’ve been waiting for this.”

She pushes his shoulder that was right up against hers. He recoils, and she thinks that he might be sore from fighting a Kaiju. So she goes to apologize when he stops her before she can get any words out.

“I think I deserve an apology kiss.”

“What a faker.”

She rolls her eyes but gives him another kiss.

The headlines the following weeks put the world into a tizzy.

PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR QUITS TOKYO POLICE IN A FURY

EX-TOKYO POLICE INVESTIGATOR EXPOSES KDF BRIBING GOVERNMENT OFFICIALS

KAIJU AREN’T ALL BAD: THE KDF GENOCIDE SCANDAL

KENJI SATO, WHO’S YOUR GIRL?

ITO YUUTA NAMED GIANTS VICE CAPTAIN UNDER KENJI SATO’S CAPTAINSHIP

NEW KAIJU RESEARCH AND SCIENCE RELEASED BY PROFESSOR SATO

EXCLUSIVE ULTRAMAN INTERVIEW: HE’S OBSESSED WITH KENJI SATO’S GIRLFRIEND

#ultraman rising #ultraman x reader #ultraman #kenji sato x reader #kenji sato #ken sato #ken sato x reader #private investigator #identity reveal #ito yuuta multiverse #lilly's red string of fate

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slutforsilverfoxes · 10 months

Text

Breaking Free

[A/N: I’m driving home for my externship (and Thanksgiving!) so you know what that means- too much time on the road to daydream 🙃 Pls enjoy Gibbs being an infuriating slut]

Pairing: Jethro Gibbs x female reader

__________

You repeatedly pat your boyfriend’s arm, pointing to his left at a sign that’s sure to snag you the win of your road trip competition. It’s become an annual tradition to pass the time by finding the most outrageous billboards on your way to Thanksgiving with your parents and Jethro’s father in Pennsylvania.

“That’s gotta be the best one,” you say confidently. “It even has a handcuff reference for you!”

The large sign promises that if you’re Shackled by LUST? then Jesus can FREE you.

Jethro grunts by way of acknowledgment then poses, “You scream oh my god a lot when I’m inside you- d’ya think that counts?”

“Not, like, a lot a lot,” you protest ever so eloquently, incensed by the smirk blooming on his face and his clever avoidance of admitting defeat.

Clearly your darling boyfriend takes that as a challenge.

The hand resting on your denim clad thigh begins creeping higher and you cut your eyes over to Jethro to find his focus is still dutifully on the expanse of highway ahead. “Whatcha doin’ there, Jay?”

“Driving,” he answers easily, hand moving higher yet. The corner of his lips visible to you arches upward when he meets the cool metal of the button on your jeans, but his smile falters when he fumbles to get it open. “Little help here?”

Raising one eyebrow, you counter, “You wanna prove a point, you put in the work, mister.”

He huffs out a breath, then twists his wrist and finally succeeds in popping the button open with a triumphant laugh. Jethro doesn’t even bother to try with the zipper after that; he simply shoves his hand into your pants so the zipper gets forced down its track.

You gasp when his fingers slide through your folds, and Jethro produces a quiet growl in the back of his throat when he finds you already wet for him. That sound alone has you moaning out a low, “Oh my god,” and your boyfriend outright laughs at you while his middle finger circles your clit. “That was only once- oh fuck, oh my god- okay, twice, you jerk,” you feebly defend yourself.

Jethro sinks two fingers knuckle deep into your pussy with an amused hum, and you slap your palm against the roof of the truck while crying out a third iteration of the deity-invoking phrase. “I can’t- oh fuck me- stand you sometimes,” you bite out, lifting your hips to help Jethro’s fingers slip in and out of you with ease.

“Good thing you’re sitting then,” he fires back, chancing a glance away from the road to smirk at you.

You draw your bottom lip between your teeth in a feeble attempt to muffle your cries, but Jethro brushes his palm over your clit while curling his fingers and another breathy, “Oh my god,” slips out of your traitorous mouth.

“That’s it, baby,” your boyfriend praises you, no longer bothering to mask his delight. “Free yourself from those shackles.”

A laugh punches out of you that morphs into a wanton moan when he curls his fingers again, and your cries rise higher and higher in pitch until you’re clenching around Jethro’s fingers, calling out a litany of curses with a healthy dose of his name mixed in. You drop back into the seat, boneless, with a final, “Oh my god.”

Jethro slips his slick-coated fingers out of your still throbbing cunt and points out your window to another billboard flying by, then runs his sinful tongue along his fingers, groaning at your taste. “I’m always right,” he asserts with a content hum, “and I win.”

__________

LJG tags 🖤 @ilovemark1951 @doctorwhofan24

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unmotivatedwrit3r · 11 months

Text

why do we go back?

damian wayne x reader

warnings: anxiety, kind of a panic attack?, implied past trauma/abuse

wc: 800

“I went back.”

“Why? They—”

“I don’t know. I don’t know why. I—”

“Damian, honey, breathe.”

Damian’s brothers don’t text you that often. You don’t have their numbers saved in your phone. Or you didn’t. You have Tim’s now.

come to the manor now. non-medical emergency

oh and this is tim by the way

You don’t even see the text until you’re done with your meeting, phone on do not disturb and notes document in fullscreen mode. It was sent at 1:30 in the afternoon. Bad things aren’t supposed to happen at 1:30 in the afternoon.

I’m on my way, you text back at 3:00. Is he okay? The response comes as you’re setting up your gps. no. then, i mean he’s fine but no. You pull out of your parking spot a little faster than you should have.

Once you get on the highway, you turn off the GPS. The number 21 exit towards Bristol and Wayne manor is nearly as familiar as your own. You’re thankful for the dozens of trips you’ve made because Tim calls you five minutes in.

“What happened?” You can feel your heart pounding in your chest. The anxiety that had taken root when you saw the first text is morphing quickly into fear.

“He disappeared.”

“What?”

“He’s not on manor grounds anymore. But he’s not in his suit.”

On top of the phone call screen, a push notification lets you know that Damian's code was used to disarm your alarm system. You let out a short breath and switch lanes. Your exit is the next one.

“I know where he is,” you tell Tim as you shift over into the right lane. It’s a little backed up, the way it always is this time of day, “I got him.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

You take exit 24 towards the lower east side, then switch to an even more local highway and take exit 8 towards the residential district. When you pull into your parking spot in the cul-de-sac, your house looks empty. When you walk inside, Damian’s combat boots are sitting by the door, not unlaced all the way. One of them is sitting on its side. The other is askew. You let your bag slide off your shoulder to hit the ground next to your own shoes and venture further in.

Damian’s sitting on the steps in dark casual clothes and white socks with a paint blob pattern. His knees are bent, legs pressed against his chest. Your steps aren’t steep and Damian is very tall. Hands clenched into fists rest on top of his knees. His neck is bent too, forehead pressed against his fists.

You slide back on the wooden steps when you sit down. Damian doesn’t so much as twitch. You wait for him to come to you. He does.

“I went back.” His voice is rough but not thick with tears.

“Why?” You ask. The League leaves him with deep hurts every time he goes back to Nanda Parbat. And not the physical kind. “They—”

“I don’t know!” He exclaims like the words burst out of his chest. The energy propels him up, fingers digging into the arms of his sweatshirt as he rocks on his heels. “I don’t know why. I—”

“Damian, honey,” You stand to meet him. The emotions in his green eyes are wild, untethered. “Breathe.” He shakes his head at you, fingers curling harder into his sleeves. “You can.” Damian scans your body language and you let him, relaxing the tension in your shoulders and leaving your hands open, arms angled to hold him if he wants it.

“I’m here,” you say to the hesitation in his eyes. “You’re safe.”

You let out a grunt of air as Damian slams into you. His arms wrap around you tight enough that you think he’s afraid you’ll turn into smoke if he lets go. You raise your arms more slowly, one coming up to rub at his back and the other to cup the back of his neck.His knees buckle. You slow your descent to the ground only barely, saving your knees from catching the brunt of your weight. Your butt stings instead from how hard it hit the floor but it’s worth it when Damian buries his face into the junction between your neck and your collarbone and breathes. They’re choppy loud breaths that come with shoulders shuddering under the hand you have rubbing up and down his back, but no tears hit your neck.

“I’ve got you,” you whisper to him, cheek pressed against the top of his head. “You’re safe here.” Damian’s arms only tighten further. In response, you hold him tighter too.

Why do we go back, you wonder, when we know the only thing to come of it is more pain?

#red writes 5k real story fics about things that happen; i write 800 words of a not real aftermath #i'm not usually MC material but then I have days like yesterday #was it really yesterday? it feels like just now and weeks ago at the same time #damian wayne #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne imagine #damian wayne x gender neutral reader #emerson writes sometimes

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controld3vil · 1 year

Text

keepin’ it honest

PAIRING: MIGUEL O’HARA X SPIDER!READER SYNOPSIS: you were dead in his universe. but in yours, he wasn’t... NOTES: - im sorry i think i just like oscar isaac a lot. spiderverse was fun to watch though!! but lmk any ideas/requests you guys want for a continuation. - this is inspired by too many nights - metro boomin & don toliver

You knew you were dead in his universe.

Every time he looked at you, Miguel would have a remorseful look on his face. It feels as though his heart shatters the moment he lays his eyes on you. And sometimes you could feel it. The way you sense his longing stare from afar. You can’t help but feel guilty for him. Even if you had no part in his world, that small fragment of your existence makes for it in heartbreak.

Jessica recruited you after one of the first few anomalies emerged. That night, the AI-generated by Lyla was monitoring the busy highways of Earth XXX. New York in your world was much darker, more grim. In clouds of thunder and everlasting rain, your city operated like an old junction train. It had a roughness to it. Everywhere you looked was shattered and torn apart. You could even notice the hot puffs of smoke in apartments. Every structure was distinct with its barred markings and wounds. It carries curiosity for outsiders. With its unpredictable weather and extended nights, numerous events could occur.

Dusk is where danger becomes alive. People were conscious of that. So when Lyla concluded her examination, Miguel and Jessica cautiously tried to locate their Spider counterpart.

You were skeptical of them. Your uncanny sixth sense never failed you. It’s so accurate that sometimes you hoped it was wrong. But in cases like these, you heeded your intuition. The concept of there being alternate versions of oneself, like Spiderwoman, is truly mind-blowing. In all of the same, you were all Spiderman. And there you stood in a back alley, introduced to a woman with a big afro, wearing a black and red suit. And a man with identical attire of dark blue and radiant red markings.

Through a great extent of compromise and explanation, you agreed to help them on their mission.

“When we’re done, you two have to go.” You recall saying with a look of agitation furrowed between your brows. Not that they could see your cold expression - you kept your mask on. But like all Spider men and women, they knew. Miguel and Jessica dart at each other and reluctantly nod, meeting your gaze.

“In and out.” Spider-Man 2099 answers in a mellow fashion. You could sense something was on his mind. His thoughts scattered in an array of emotions. And you do not miss his last second glance at you before Jessica moved to exhibit a miniature hologram.

The mission was finished a couple of hours later, three hours into the new morning. What you foresaw to happen quickly came and ended within minutes in your head. Because by four in the morning, the anamorphic creature had been sedated and taken in by an abundant amount of nets. Strings of bright red and white enveloped them. And as they struggled, the tighter the webs contracted.

Luminous portal morphs behind you like the sunrise. It’s bright and colorful, similar to a coloring book in a children’s library. The altitude of rays glares against your webbed mask eyes. It takes a few seconds to readjust to the brightness as you blink continuously. It’s beautiful. Spiderman 2099 yanks the mindless anomaly across the floor toward the portal. His shoulders stag from fatigue and wounds. His partner took damage as well but heeds reluctantly.

“We appreciate your help back there.” Spider-Man 2099 coughs not so subtly to catch your attention. “Without you, we would have had bigger things to deal with.”

“Sure,” You started, allowing some softness into your voice. “Helping you guys out is the least I could do.”

“You did more than help us out,” Jessica Drew swoops in, crossing her arms authoritatively. “You saved an entire universe. Your powers…”

“How long ago did you say you were bitten?” Her male counterpart interrupts, flexing his shoulder perpendicular to you. Your Spider eyes arched upwards in a confused manner.

“Why is that important?” You could feel the anticipation of what they wanted to request. Do you want to join us? Earth XXX always had its issues, the mistreatment of superheroes, alienated beings coming from outer space, and now alternative versions of Spider-people. New York XXX was your domain to rescue.

Most of your life, after you got bit, was already messy. You were weary. Your job slowly evolved to being a hassle. Every heist and bank robbery felt redundant and pointless. You felt like you were not changing the city for the better good. Although it seemed like an extraordinary possibility, you had a city to handle, a planet to protect. You were the few to endure numerous foreign and military raids. There was so much you would leave behind. You would leave Miguel behind, whom you have driven to protect since your debut as Spiderwoman.

The other Spiderwoman glances at her partner in hesitation until he reciprocates with a nod. “Anomalies have become a huge problem for the last few months. It’s been tough to track them down since there aren't not many of us yet. But we could use all the help we can get. With your abilities, you won’t only be saving a couple of planets but the entire multiverse.”

Spider-Man 2099 eyes down at you. You were in deep thought. He understands and has seen it all. Every Spider person he has met contemplates the same questions and morals. Should they risk it all and follow? What would happen to their world? Should they trust them? For some odd reason, he’s willing to be more understanding. Perhaps he feels strangely nostalgic whenever he looks at you. Because the more he stares, the more he feels a tinge of sorrow in his heart.

“I appreciate what you two are doing. But I’m afraid I can’t.” And just like that, his heart deflates pathetically like a balloon. “I’ve got a whole city to look out for. I can’t leave them behind.”

Both of them sympathized with you. They were the same before assembling the Spider Society.

“You won’t—“

“We understand. Thanks again for your help.” Just like that, he disregards you and pivots to leave. His response was brief with a hint of distraught. On the other hand, his partner shakes her head out of displeasure. Between the two, she was more in tune with her emotions with people.

Jessica offers you a painful grin. “Thank you for everything. Truly I mean it. And if you ever reconsider, always keep a sharp eye on us. We might come to visit sometime.” When the sun waked from its slumber, they were gone. The multicolor doorway was no longer there. Yet every fragment of their fight was still present.

Jessica had hoped to see you again. There was an underlying thread that told her you would join someday. You were a great fighter with capabilities that she and Miguel didn’t have. You were clever with your attacks. On top of that, you were standoffish and did terribly with jokes. For a short exchange, you became someone she dearly looked forward to. And if she didn’t know any better, Miguel’s too.

Gwen was keen to get to know you. Why? With every waking hour in the Spider Society, she notices you. The cafeteria, in the peripherals of her conversation, and every other encounter with other Spider-people. You were there. In the corner of her eye, Gwen detects her sixth sense every time. It’s bizarre but something the teenager picks on. She’s curious about you and your presence. After months of training and going on missions, she becomes quite enamored in your existence as Spiderwoman. Seeing that not many female Spider individuals were reluctant to greet her, all Gwen had was Jessica.

Even with Jessica, her mentor and role model, she wants to be friends with you.

You were just you. It was a surprise that the mass majority were frightened of you. Your background was something that caused many eyes to divert. But Gwen did not mind their avoidant stares and hoped to learn more about you. People say Earth XXX was a disastrous universe with greater casualties than any other. And by assumption, people considered you a bold and terrifying warrior that endured more than you wanted. You’re broody like Miguel and don’t make conversation often. The only time you converse is for missions. In your line of position, you were unjust and tyrannical to most. But to her, you were a strong and dedicated leader.

Gwen fears you. More so petrified if she ever finds you infuriated. There were always whispers and gossip about what you did to your victims on missions. Or forbid if one of the Spider-people violates a direct order. You would be livid to no end. Miguel acts on impulse, and so do you. People don’t know whether you would rip them apart or chuck them out of the building. Yet all the times she’s been to the Spider Society, she had never seen you angry. She thinks she’s not familiar yet to comprehend the nuances of your personality.

After some time, Gwen confirms you do have a heart. It’s crude of people to believe you were raised and born to be this way. She recalls greeting you once. She was returning from another dimension and wanted to speak with Miguel. Her time at the Spider Society was short-lived. Yet she always made it her mission to catch you.

“You’re here to report back to Miguel?” Your soft-spoken voice almost startles her. It’s not as aggressive as she imagined it to be. Her pupils widened, mirroring back at yours. Your dark purple mask was on. The illuminating design compliments your entire suit.

“Yeah! Uh, I just finished another mission,” the blonde nervously chuckles, already internally scolding at her behavior. It didn’t seem to bother you, more so you looked curious.

“How’d it go?” She was almost frightened by how different you were from all the rumors. Your tough exterior was not always apparent, but it did exist. Gwen is impressed by your calm and composed demeanor.

She unconsciously rubs her neck, taking off her hood. “It went well! The anomaly wasn’t very complicated to track. I caught them in a jiffy.”

“That’s… good to hear.” You expressed pondering what to say next. Casual conversation was never your thing. Moreover, interacting with others wasn’t your strongest pursuit. “I’m sure Miguel will be pleased.”

Quickly the young teenager blows a raspberry. “Even if I did everything exactly as he told me, he’d still find a way to blame me.” Miguel was relentless and reticent. He’s extremely particular on missions since he constantly reminds everyone of the risks. Bargaining with the multiverse was treacherous. It concerned considerable unexplored opportunities and what-ifs. If someone did change a canon event, more anomalies would appear to wreck the universe.

You don’t laugh but hum in understanding. It was as if Gwen could discern your smile under your mask. “Uh, so what are you up to with Miguel?”

“I have reports to give back.” You casually respond, dialing the area code. When the lights ensure green, the dark passageway unlocks. It’s eerie and has no source of light coming through it. A few times Gwen has gone through the hallway, shivers traveled down her spine. By now, she’s used to the benign deficiency of light.

A few seconds passed by as you two walked down the hall. The only prominent sound came from the footsteps of your patted suits. A few beeps from computer monitors beam in the alertness of your presence. For a huge office, it lacked capacity. It’s quiet, the luminance of red rays flashing occasionally.

Miguel did not like bright lights, she’d assumed. Because anytime he would be present, little to no brightness came through the building. Even in the long dark hours, he hides in the shadows. In contrast, in the daytime, her leader rarely leaves his office. What catches her eyes is his suit. The red blood linings blaze dangerously. With his mask off, he stands in a rigid position. He’s organizing something on his computer, a report likely.

“Report 82B Lyla,” you command the AI to pull up a document. Gwen is slightly behind you, crossing her arms patiently.

“Gladly.” The auto-generated woman winks at you and waves at the teenager. A yellow screen that the blonde presumes is the data script next to you. You start typing away, already slowly melding into the backdrop. The young Spider can hear murmuring coming from Miguel as he concludes his last paragraph on the monitor. The screen suddenly fades, and Lyla appears back at his side, reorganizing everything per his request.

“Gwen,” he starts before his eyes flicker to you typing. You glance at him before reading over the information on the digital file. He stretches his arms tiredly. “What’s your status?”

“Doing great sir!” She tries to reply jokingly but then coughs out of embarrassment. “The anomaly capture was successful.”

“And the casualties?” Her boss draws up her file before skimming back at her anomaly report. Spiderman 2099 then walks back and forth as a way to focus. He reads what Jessica had remarked on her performance.

“Little to none.” Gwen reaffirms with more emphasis. “He wasn’t difficult to track either. And I caught him easily.” Miguel hums and swipes away her profile. He nudged Lyla to show the screen recording video of the anomaly his associate managed to record of Gwen. The blonde teenager notices he gives her a satisfied look.

“You did good, kid.” With a yawning sigh, Miguel dismisses her before nodding back at his schedule. “You’re good to go. You’ll get notified when your next mission is.” Excitedly, the young Spider girl bounces with a hopeful grin. Even under the mask, you could sense her relief and satisfaction. “Oh, and next time stay hidden.”

“Sure thing!” The young teenager offers him an awkward thumbs-up before backing up to face you. You return her gesture with a little wave. Immediately the file you had in front of you was transferred to your leader. “I’ll see you around.”

The sound of rushed footsteps swiftly evaporates into the void behind. As mentioned, Miguel’s office is dim and gloomy. It was one of the few rooms where no one visited. But it was a great advantage as Gwen shuffles closely by the doorway. When the entrances shut, the lively ambiance she radiated gradually decays, and tranquility immerses.

Your relationship with Miguel bothered her. Because, for the last three months, she has felt an unwanted feeling. She wasn’t sure if it was her intuition or her natural Spider senses tingling to be more wary whenever the two of you were in the room. It was typical for people to consider you and Miguel O’Hara were the same person from different universes. Maybe you were associates from one dimension and knew each other. Gwen did not know for sure. But through persistent questioning from Jessica, Hobie, and Pavitr, she became concerned that the two of you might be something more. Something more personal or private, there was an underlying truth that you came from a parallel background as Miguel. Everyone knew his story, but not many completely understood yours.

Moreover, you scarcely mention your home universe. The most conversed with was the primary details of New York XXX. With its contaminated zones and corruption, your universe was horrific enough. Not once had you been keen to chat about life on Earth XXX, you were avoidant. However, Gwen gathered some details of your personal life. For example, you did part-time at Stark Tech and graduated with a master's degree in Biochemistry. She would have to thank Jessica for that part.

But with no context, Gwen hypothesized something terrible happened to your planet similar to Miguels, if not worse. Did you have a family? You did not care to mention one. With such little information, all she could do was pester her friends. Because she truly wanted to get to know you. You, Spider-woman, the head of security and offensive danger of Neuve York.

So she attempts to attend to your conversation with Miguel O'Hara. If you two even had one, you both were born from the same pod of awkwardness.

“Mission was successful.” You spoke without thinking. It felt automatic for you at this point. It has become a routine for you to report back to him daily.

Lyla pulls up the report file in front of him. “And how did the new Peter do?” Miguel swipes from side to side and scans the content of what you have written.

Between the barricades, Gwen presumed you tightened against the discomfort felt in the room. “He did all right for his first mission,” She could almost imagine the lilac radiance from your suit against the scarcity of sunshine. “The guy’s new, what’d you expect?”

Miguel's face morphs into a scowl, evidently troubled. “I want your personal opinion,” he maintains forcefully, still not making eye contact with you. “Was he adequate for the job?”

Jessica made it a known truth that you were observant of many things. You had a knack for using your super hearing to take in intel and conversations particularly inclined to your line of work. Miguel’s comment about your prestige perception was a “particular asset” for their team. You were good at reading people because he always paired you with recruits. You knew what to say about their character and expertise.

“Like every other Peter, he’s fine,” You redirected your weight to your opposing leg out of irritation.

“Fine,”

“Great,”

“Come on guys! Lighten up the room here!” Lyla emerges on a more oversized screen, raising her arms in the air. “No offense.”

“Look, I just want you to stop giving me recruits for a while, okay?” Out of vexation, you crossed your arms. The grudge you had was beyond a minor nuisance. Not many saw it, including Gwen.

You were aware of the unspoken friction between you and Miguel. It’s become a regular occurrence that reminds you so much of him. But this Miguel was different. What he was capable of and his background was separate. Yet with everything you had given him, Miguel could never look past it. He’s stubborn, something you could never shake off. Nonetheless, you knew you should not bring it up. But your patience was growing thin by the minute.

It was the same dispute with Miguel. A suggestion would come up and be ignored by his eternal night schedule. It’s become a problem for you as you’ve continually sent messages to him in the past, stating your schedule change. Yet he never replied nor mentioned it in person. You did not have time to train recruits. You had other places to be.

“Someone else can train them.”

“I think it would be better if you took them,” the brown-haired male sneers under his breath. His snarky remark does not bypass Gwen or your ears. “You’re in charge of security for a reason.”

“Head of security means I have more things to take care of,” Your wide arachnid pupils contracted in a sarcastic arch. “You’re holding me here.”

“So what if I am?” What was he getting at? Gwen did not understand what her boss was thinking. There was a quick pause until your padded feet strode forward. Your suit’s soft footing made a minimal sound that not even Gwen could hear. What she could concur was your jagged breathing.

“What if you are..?”

“You’re the only person who knows Neuve York better than anyone else! I need you here for the time being,” Your leader whispers your name as if it was a last resort. He rarely calls you by your alias matter of fact, no one did. “Look, we have bigger things to deal with right now.”

“Funny, you never mentioned these "things" before.” It sounded like a scornful blow. Because while you were one of the more skillful Spider-people, you rarely participated in group settings. You preferred to work alone or sometimes with another person. There was never an in-between with you. Perhaps it's the reason why Miguel was persistent in your mentoring.

“I want you to stay here all right!” Miguel snaps as he frustratedly pinches the bridge of his nose. A tense silence surged through the room. The walls tremble as though they were alive. With no one around, it feels like you were walking on edge with him, where the world revolved only around you and him. Empty and dull. In his domain and lab, Spider-man 2099 sulks and does not say another word. You ponder what he says, it's difficult to put together. You were disappointed in his loyalty and trust. However, you were also unhappy. A bizarre combination.

You realize the pitiful emotion of regret. Your heart cracks at the sound of his tremble of words. It seems like he said it for his benefit. It's complicated as it is to follow orders from Miguel. Regardless, you look back at his face. A fleeting flash in his eyes tells you of his remorse. His beating pulse from afar is rapid. The room suddenly feels hot, your hands clench together.

The older Spider-Man grips his hair as a way to calm his nerves. “An anomaly breach has been spotted. Peter B confirmed it. And it should be me and Jessica’s responsibility to oversee it. So I need you here, in charge.”

It sounded like he was pleading, the teenager thinks. When has Miguel been this desperate in a situation? Everything she was hearing made Gwen reflect on everything you two discussed. The way you spoke to each other is distant and discomfiting. You particularly were stiff every time you saw him. And Miguel acted as though you were never there in the room. Like he was purposely ignoring your presence. Yet Miguel was never a person to plead for someone.

You inhaled slowly out of your nose. It is challenging to meet the gaze of your leader as you contemplate his comments. Above all else, you must prioritize what's at stake. Sudden breaches were serious threats. You consider Miguel's course of thinking. It was always he and Jessica to take over when things became chaotic. And it's you that comes last as a backup. It's the way and standard they have decided on. Your leader claims it's better to limit their troops before heading into danger. And Jessica can't help but agree. But you knew, still, you think of his personal feelings as well. Apart from every mission, you know Miguel's true intentions about you. The reason? The answer was as frank as it always has been.

But how insistent he has become and how sullen you felt afterward. With that, you stare up at the platform. “Fine.”

Gwen stops in confusion. This wasn’t the person she knew you as.

Lyla, who has been spectating in the background, observes her boss’s reaction. He seemed out of breath and tense. The very presence of you makes him uneasy. Even so, she could tell he wanted nothing more than to do what was best for Neuve York. If that means making you stay longer, you’d have no choice but to obey. And she wants the best for you. Lyla also hopes and pleads for you guys to reconcile someday.

“Are we done?”

“Yeah… We’re done.” Miguel could his racing heart slow down. He pierces his lips together, his shoulder relaxing.

You hold a grim cast, swiftly turning to march toward the double doors. The atmosphere is heavy from the strained tension. Yet you stand your ground and continue out of the room, never sparing Miguel a glance. Reluctantly, the curly-haired man’s eyes soften in a moment of vulnerability. Your immediate departure left a bitter taste in the room. With no one else in the room, Miguel is finally alone. Again, in his thoughts, in darkness. His heart thumps steadily to know you're away from peril. Even if it meant you would be resentful of him, Miguel's content.

You vanish into the darkness. Your suit has a camouflage characteristic to it. Because you stray further from the doors, you can feel your whole body basking in the absence. And finally, you snatched your mask off in one swoop. With no eyes glaring back at you, your body trembles slightly. You didn’t realize how hot and sweaty you were at that moment. Like a breath of fresh air, you gasped full breaths continuously. Miguel could never see you without your mask. It was a secret in his presence, for his sake and yours.

Out of a fearful situation, Gwen speechlessly heaves in astonishment. Unbeknownst, her hands and body shake. Her big discovery was making her head explode. How couldn’t she have known? You two hid it so well. She believed your dynamic was natural for your similar personalities. But the multiverse was more cruel than she thought.

He cared for you.

The next morning, you were gone. Back onto your universe for a checkup. Because every so often, you receive information from Stark Tech or national news of Earth XXX's well-being. According to Stark, you may be considered reckless because you have an overextended work schedule. Your universe was a different problem. Your body and soul were born in this world. It holds a special spot in your heart.

You were not a full-time superhero. You occasionally helped Iron Man or Black Widow on scouting missions. Though you would say most of your work was predominantly independent. You relished in tranquility in what your jobs provided. Here is your small apartment in New York, where you did not have busy associates bugging you.

Your city was quiet tonight. It brought you joy and ease. After Miguel’s little chat, you wanted to avoid the Spider Society. The heated conversation left a bad taste in your mouth. Now as you flee from Neuve York, you're welcomed to a more comfortable setting. The skies were majestic in your world. Its eternal darkness settles you back into your old life. The stars were out tonight but so tiny. And the honks of pedestrians frazzle your ears. A familiar tune plays outside of your dorm casually on the side of the building. In a world where terrible things happen, it's so peaceful tonight.

Neuve York was never home to you. The people are indeed welcoming and sweet. But it's nowhere near how you feel with New York XXX.

In opposition, Spider-Man 2099 commonly resides at Neuve York. After you decided to join the Spider Society, meeting Miguel became a usual thing. You learned many things about him. Such as his preference for food, whom he tolerates, and his story. Spider-man 2099 is a gruesome man with a tragic background. Disregarding your quarrels, Miguel was the one to recruit you. He was the same person who created the Spider Society and made Neuve York their main base. It was all thanks to him for your tremendous efforts.

Thus, when you walk inside your apartment, you try not to think about him. You flicked the light on and you relished in its comfort. It had been months since your last arrival. You had not felt relief in months due to your recruitment business. Apart from that, you occasionally did missions per Jessica's request. You were the head of security, many things had come up to you in the past year. All else aside, you weren't working right now. You were finally home. In a place where you could find solace. You stroll around, familiarizing yourself with the place. The decorations and furniture lead you back to old memories. Fresh and prepared to do anything. In your younger years, you would be ready for the worse.

Eventually, you changed into pajamas. They were loose but comfortable. The sheer difference from your civilian wardrobe to your Spider suit is two completely different styles. But you weren't Spider-woman right now. You were just you. You were just a lonesome neighbor, wanting to eat.

You discovered there were leftovers in the fridge and reheated it. A random movie was playing that allowed your mind to rest. The concrete table you had in the kitchen had a beautiful set of gray colors. It's marble which compliments the cupboards next to them. You feel nostalgic thinking about it. When you first moved in, nothing in your apartment was the same. You had to renovate everything to satisfy your vision. And as it turned out, your kitchen was one of your accomplished projects.

You look back on the fond memories you had as a young adult. Now years later, your mind and thinking have matured. Many things have changed since you became Spiderwoman. Your life now was on a constant radar. And as you sit down on your couch with a bowl of rice and teriyaki steak, you sigh. Your life was not going to get easier. It would not get more difficult from here. The movie playing on your television catches your attention. A single line from the main character reminds you of what your uncle had once told you.

With great power comes great responsibility.

The morning ran by rather quickly. You didn’t realize how much time had passed until your eyes slowly registered the fluffy covers on top of you. The natural illumination coming from your window displays next to you. You can see the small particles of dust in the air. The world is a blur for you for a moment. Until you awakened in your bed, the scent of vanilla and blueberries distinctly attracted your nose. Your legs slowly lifted themselves to the floor. You note that you don't remember showering or cleaning after yourself last night. You'd assumed you were carried straight to bed.

The sun was so bright and delightful outside. For once New York was not raining today on its cool morning. And rubbing your eyes, you casually walk toward the scent. “Morning,” You yawn clumsily, leaning towards the nearby counter. Unfortunately, you slipped and failed to catch the edge of the table.

Luckily a fast hand reaches out and holds onto your forearm. “Morning, mi amor.”

You blink up and give your savior an adorable smile. “Morning.” In return, he laughs at your drowsiness. Your hair, most likely was a mess. And your face was probably droopy from sleepiness. Not to mention the sweat and dirt you endured from the previous mission.

You were guilty. Even after returning home, you did not take the time to shower yet. “Sorry, I was exhausted yesterday.”

“No need, amor,” your fiancé gives you a sympathetic look, squeezing your bicep, “I didn’t know you would come home so soon. I should’ve set up dinner for you.”

“It's all right.” You wave a hand in reassurance before sitting on one of the stools. “I had some leftovers.”

Your partner flips a pancake and grins. “Yes, I could tell.” There was an underlying teasing tone you sensed. “But don’t worry, that’s why I made you breakfast.” At the word, he places the last pancake on a white plate. Grabbing fresh blueberries from the sink behind, he sprinkles the rest onto the pancakes. Adorningly, you giggle at his gestures of courtesy. In casual clothes, he wears your cute little apron. It has little pink hearts on it. His stature looms over you easily as he leans in with a charming look.

With the maple syrup in hand, you eagerly look at the pancake and then back to him. “Thank you, Miguel.”

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alaynestone · 1 month

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FIC RECS for @spnficrecfest - august 10-12 aus and crossovers

i'm attempting to limit myself to just one small sample of the fics that could be recced in every category so that my list is more easily digestible. it's a given that many good fics will be left out but if we keep this up they will have their turn later.

always-a-girl dean winchester

carmen and the devil by glorious_spoon (gen) John raises his daughters in the life.

you feel your heart taking root in your body by paxlux (sam/dean) Then, he can see again, she’s stepped away, taking her little hands with her.

everlovin' baby series by paxlux (sam/dean) This is like premeditated murder. This is like a crime of passion. This is like a suicide pact.

denial series by badbastion (sam/dean) This is another stupid game to her, Dee teasing her little brother. It’s a prank, it’s a game of chicken, just… upped uncomfortably to include sex.

you're the only one that's mine by riyku (sam/dean) Dean gets injured on a hunt and Sam has to patch her up. Things get a little out of hand.

bloodletting by adastreia (sam/dean) Sam's jonesing for blood. Deanna's on her period.

madonna by hellhoundsprey (sam/dean) Things used to be easier. This is on Sam.

my heart's staying put by grim_lupine (sam/dean) It's like Deanna’s been asleep for four years, traversing the highways of her life on autopilot, every joy and every pain muted and numbed. In the months since she got Sam back she's been coming to life slowly, with the pins-and-needles tingling of a deadened limb awakening.

take off my flesh and sit in my bones by oxoniensis (sam/dean) Tiny breasts, like sandcastles washed over by the tide, tan soft and warm like sand; body still bones and promise.

long as i remember (the rain been coming down) by phoenixflight (sam/dean) Deanna’s cycle had always been obvious to Sam.

buccaneer by deadlybride (dean/crowley, dean/omc, sam/dean) With a new Knight of Hell at his side, Crowley should be attending to business. Instead, he's focused on one thing.

the shout of heavy guilt by astoryandasong (dean/castiel) Sometimes you have to live the story.

as we go along and making it up by aesc (dean/castiel) The world didn't end, and sometimes that freaks her out.

like it's the end of the world by xxamlaxx (sam/dean, john/dean, dean/others) Fifty sentences that span pre-series up to the end of season 3.

everybody else's girl by mona1347 (sam/dean) Back when they were kids, Dee would hold and rock him, pseudo-motherhood awkward and too big on the little girl she was.

daddy's little girl series by amiwritesthings (john/dean, sam/dean, sam/dean/john) John and Deanna, through the years.

a simple motion by chinablue (john/dean, dean/others) But watching her - watching her is different. Watching isn't touching, and there's no law against that.

i'll be your mirror by chinablue (john/dean) The girl in his bed isn’t quite his wife, but in the glowy relative darkness she has room to morph.

the found song by necrotype (dean/rhonda, dean/others) It takes a long time to feel content (a disjointed story in five parts).

#spnficrecfest #wincest #john x dean #girl!dean #supernatural #fic recs #*#bringing the wendigo dean icon energy to this.. i follow my aesthetic where it leads me #again i would like to stress this is just a sample. there are so many other fics i could've recced (and still might!)

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qwertywriting · 2 months

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I honestly have no idea what happened here and I might have gotten a bit carried away...

this was based on my brainrot about biker!boothill

not edited or proofread

-☆☆☆-

Biker!Boothill who decided to get into motorcycles because of the thrill, going at high speeds, weaving in and out of traffic it was a rush of adrenaline with no- minimal risks. Dangerous? Dangerous for who? Definitely not him. Reckless?? It's all calculated, baby.

Some have tried and pick a fight, for whatever petty reason, but they soon learn it’s futile, a flash of teeth and a gun gets the point across pretty quick.

Biker!Boothill who downloaded lots of fashion magazines, because he it's cooler aesthetically, and he can make a good first impression.

Biker!Boothill who drives around randomly just to see where his heart takes him, getting lost is the point- which is how he ended up spotting a familiar head of silver hair, down the street.

Boothill doesn’t really think through his next actions but a low rumble and high pitched whistle catches you and Stelle off guard. Both of you, like everyone else around you, turn to the direction of the sound only to see a black motorcycle with streaks of red rolling up towards you and Stelle. The tall figure steps off the bike, and lifts up the visor to peer at the both of you before pulling off the red helmet and giving his head a small shake. His intimidating expression morphs to excitement. “Fudge me sideways — Stelle, it really was you! I’d recognise that head of hair anywhere.” Boothill only realised Stelle wasn’t alone when he arrived on the sidewalk, as you stood slightly behind Stelle. Giving you a small wave, flashing you a grin, showing off his augmented teeth. “Whoops, I almost didn’t see ya there darlin’” “Oh my god.” Stelle groans, “why did you have to yell loud enough to alert the entire street?” Boothill clicks his tongue, running a hand through his hair. “I was just excited to see ya. So are ‘yer gonna introduce your friend to me or nah?”

Biker!Boothill who was bugging Stelle for your phone number only to be surprised when he gets added into a group chat consisting of him, Stelle and you, along with an invite to go to a cafe hosting a collaboration with your favorite characters.

Biker!Boothill who is constantly jumping at opportunities to invite you out for rides, Stelle is quick to shut down that idea at first, recalling several incidents of weaving through cars at high speeds and too many close calls.

Boothill, just grins at you, assuring you nothing bad would happen but you get the feeling that as long as he’s in the driver’s seat it would always end up like a rollercoaster.

The one time you accept his invitation, it ends up involving the wails of sirens following behind, as you speed down the highway, and Boothill seemingly unfazed as he accelerates to even higher speeds that leave you feeling dizzy.

It probably takes you a long while before you accept another invitation to go for another ride.

Bonus:

Stelle mentions braiding Boothill's hair while stopped at traffic lights for fun and surprisingly Boothill just lets you do it, but he also takes an extra second to make sure you’re clinging onto him before he speeds off again.

#izawrites #honkai star rail #boothill hsr #boothill #boothill x reader

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twipsai · 2 months

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its finally done! happy wsatw everyone <333

word count: 1,817

At 10:39 PM on Saturday, every single person anywhere on either coasts of the continent, and people looking to cross either border of the United Federation, felt a harsh gust of wind.

Commotion ensued, but Sonic, of course, didn’t stick around to see it. When he arrived back at Emerald Coast, he cut back into the city and zoomed past cars cruising along Speed Highway. He ran in front of a few of them, daring them to hit him before swooping away at the last second. Before the fifth exit whizzed by, Sonic bounced over the guardrail and took off through the bare-bones forested area, hopping up and jumping from rooftop to rooftop before he hit the ground running. He passed through lots more cramped neighborhoods on the outskirts of Central City until he made it to the Night Babylon district, where he ran up the side of some random building, speeding up to the top—

And tripped.

And fell.

He just laid there for a moment, before flipping himself over as rapid, shallow breaths racked his body.

Running didn't get tiring. Not normal running, anyway— when he had food in his stomach, water in his blood, and eight hours of sleep.

In the moment, though, with his limbs sore and shaking, he thought this must be like how it felt if the average person ran just a hundred miles. Or maybe even only ninety.

The world kept spinning. It always did, and it wouldn't wait for him to get over whatever funk he was in. He hit his fist dully on the concrete ground.

He should go back to Mystic Ruins. To make sure Tails was okay, of course. Not to sleep or eat or anything, really. Then he would go back to running— patrolling. He was patrolling to make sure no one was causing trouble while everyone else rested. Of course. He pushed himself up.

Sonic didn't cry that day. Not once. Because if the only person who saw him cry was dead now, then no one had any proof.

And now, running back to his little brother's workshop, he could chalk the tears in his eyes up to the wind beating at his face.

The trip was just a bit slower than it probably would have been normally. It was like his body was protesting against moving his legs, one after the other. He almost collapsed on the porch once he reached it when a wave of exhaustion hit him upon seeing the home, but pushed through the door and shoved himself up the stairs. A chill shuttered through his body, forcing him to realize just how cold he was now that he was inside, and he made a quick pitstop in his room to yank his comforter off the bed and bundle himself in it.

Tails’ room was just down the hall, but he already knew the kit wasn’t in there. For one, the door was open, and Tails hates it when his door’s open. And for two, his self-imposed bed time when he thought Sonic wasn’t around was around three in the morning (but, more recently, it had started stretching to four). So, he begrudgingly hauled himself back down the stairs and through the Tornado’s hangar, giving her a pat on the wing for good luck, and arriving at Tails’ workshop door. A strange sweet smell emanated from the room.

He gently pushed open the door, the sweet and somewhat nostalgic smell becoming stronger. The moment he stepped through the door, Tails’ ear flicked, and he spun his chair around, yipping in surprise. “Sonic! You’re back!” His face then morphed into a bright smile as he waved him over and spun back to continue his work.

The plan was to just check in for a bit, maybe send his brother to bed, but now… Well, maybe he’d rest for a bit. Just a bit. He leaned over Tails’ shoulder. “For a bit, yeah. What’s that smell?”

“Oh, uh, blowtorch s’mores.”

“Huh?”

Tails held up a stick with a jumbo marshmallow at the end and a blowtorch. It was only then that Sonic noticed the graham crackers and chocolate bars where mechanic tools should’ve been on the workbench. “Blowtorch s’mores,” he repeated.

“Uh, yeah, I heard you, heh. What’s the occasion?” Sonic hopped up and sat on the workbench, blanket draping over the corner and barely touching the ground.

“Science.”

“Okayyyyy… Can I have one?”

“Sure! Here—” he picked up a second blowtorch that was haphazardly thrown under the table— “just click that button and it'll turn on, and release it to turn it off.”

Sonic yoinked a marshmallow from the package and stuck it on the end of one of the roasting sticks Tails had rested on the side of his workbench. “Ssso, whatcha—” He got cut off by his own throat spurring into a coughing fit. Turns out 24 hours without a drop of water in his system did some real shitty things. Tails immediately shoved a water bottle into his free hand that was about to pick up the blowtorch; he downed the bottle in all of 3 seconds and mumbled a quick ‘thanks’, wiping his mouth. “Whatcha been working on?” he finished.

“Well, before I got distracted by this,” Tails set his perfectly toasted marshmallow aside and turned to the graham crackers splayed out, lightly melting the chocolate laid out on top. “I was fixing up the Cyclone! She got really damaged yesterday…”

“Oof. How bad?”

“Not too bad, I think I did a pretty good job back there,” Tails said with a smug grin. Sonic mentally cheered him on. “But I have to fix up and replace a lot of her casing that got too dented to be safe. And some quick repairs to her engine, ‘cuz Eggman kinda busted it up with his bullets…”

“Wait, what? When did Eggman shoot at you?” He put the blowtorch to the marshmallow, letting the flame consume it until it lit up the entire room, burning so bright the fire’s image was seared into his eyelids.

He knew he didn’t have enough power to save him and fly the both of them back to the ARK. Had he succeeded in grabbing hold of Shadow, they both would’ve died that day. He reached out anyway.

“Maria, this is what you wanted, right? This is my promise I made to you…”

As his hand was waved away, his fingers accidentally curled around the golden bracelet. It snapped off.

The last glimmer of white faded from his fur, and he fell.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and clutched the bracelet close to his chest.

Sonic blew out the flame once it had charred the outside of the marshmallow.

“Yeah, after he tried to blow you up.”

“And did you show him what for…?”

“Hehe, maybeee…”

“Hell yeah!” He set down the blowtorch and ruffled the kit’s bangs as he constructed his s’more. “That’s how I know I raised you right!”

“Pffft— Sonic, stoppp!”

“Okay, okay,” he let up and took out his own crackers and chocolate, smushing the ingredients together and taking a big bite. Gaia, he hadn’t realized how hungry he was… “But,” he said through a mouthful of sugar gunk, “I’m still proud of you, little bro.”

“R– Right! Thank you!”

Sonic practically scarfed down his s’more and went in for another one. “But the Cyclone’s gonna be okay, right?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah! She’ll be okay, but I might take it easy on her for a little while… Those chaos drives got me thinking maybe I put a little too much focus on offense? I mean, it’s mostly for fighting, but if I took out the extra propulsions for rockets and slimmed down the auto-aimer, I could make some more room to add a holo-shield, plus I’d have even more room if I used just one chaos drive to power my ammo rather than what I have in there now!”

Tails rambled on, his explanations becoming more and more weird and sciency with terms spliced in that Sonic had no hope of understanding. A fond smile made its way on his face as he burnt his second marshmallow, looking at the kit.

“—But I think I can make it work! If I rework the leg hydraulics to be lighter, then the rocket boost can—”

“You know I love you, right, little bro?”

Tails stopped, half his s’more in his hand. “...Huh?”

“I said—”

“I heard you. Of course I know, hehe… I love you too, big bro!” Tails bonked his head against Sonic’s arm.

“Heh, just checking.” It was no use to dwell too much. His entire body ached with grief, but if he let it drown everything around him out, he’d never hear the wind when it called to him with the promise of adventure.

It hurt so much, but he had to keep going. For his own sake, of course, but…

But also because Shadow, in his brief time on Earth, didn’t get that kind of freedom. So he’d live for him, if that’s what it took to get him out of this weird funk.

“Hey, how about we hit up the Station Square Diner in the morning? My treat!”

Tails’ eyes lit up. Maybe not at the prospect of the food, but more likely at the suggestion to hang out. “Yeah, that sounds awesome!” Tails finished his first s’more, while Sonic finished eating his second.

“Then it’s settled! C’mon, let’s head to bed now so we can beat the morning rush tomorrow,” Sonic said, standing up and stretching with his comforter’s edge balled up in his fists.

“Aw, but I wanted to work on the Cyclone—”

“Nope! Sorry, but you’re under contractual obligation now, Mister Prower!”

“That’s not how contracts work— eek!”

Sonic grabbed him and bundled the two of them in the comforter, carrying the kit awkwardly on his hip as he struggled. “That’s why you gotta read the fine print, heh.”

“Stoooop! Let me gooo!”

“Nope! It’s sleepy time for geniuses and speedsters!” Sonic dragged both his aching body and the kit’s struggling one up the stairs to the house part of the lab and flopped down on the couch.

“Sonic?”

“Tails?”

“Are we sleeping on the couch tonight?”

“If you don’t mind, then yeah.”

“Hehe, I don’t mind. It reminds me of when we’d sleep outside.”

“Oh?”

Tails shifted so he wasn’t awkwardly pressed against the back of the couch. “Yeah, that’s why I was making s’mores, too. ‘Cuz, u– um. I kinda missed you just a little bit today…”

A small laugh managed to slip out of him. “Aw, bud… maybe I should give phones another try so we can talk while I’m on the go.”

Tails yawned. “That’d be nice…”

Sonic adjusted to make sure his neck wouldn’t hurt like hell in the morning. “G’night, little bro.”

“Good night, big bro.”

#i usually dont put fics in posts themselves but idk im trying a new formatting! eh idk #sonic #sonic the hedgehog #miles tails prower #tails the fox #sonic adventure 2 #sonic fic #sonic fanfiction #sonic fanfic #unbreakable bond #wsatw #wholesome sonic and tails wednesday #wstw

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tiktaalic · 8 months

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why do you dislike Taylor and her music so much? I don’t mean this in any rude way, I just genuinely want to know. I’m not the biggest fan of her (her music isn’t my thing) but I don’t see anything inherently bad about her or reasons why people should dislike her in such a public way

Part of the reason is I dislike everything in a public way. The other parts. I mean it’s mostly she’s given up the pretense of Making Art (and pop can be art!) for. Using albums as a way to sell eight different variants of vinyl at 30 bucks apiece so you can collect all the pieces of a $15 clock and she can launder herself to the richest most famous person in the world. I fully admit the reasons I dislike her are parasocial - i think her only commitment to principles is to being liked which manifested as a political spineless ness (she’s a celebrity, whatever) but has. Imo. Morphed into an artistic spineless ness as well. And I’ll fully admit if there was an uptick in quality or even vision I would forgive. Many things. But she’s making oversynthed songs with disconnected visuals and she’s NOT belting it and they are not songs I would blast in my car on the highway or voluntarily put on a juke. A microcosm of this. Is. When reputation lost. She immediately started a new album. Not because she was like possessed by creative spirits but because she lost an award and she wanted to win an award. And CRUCIALLY. I was in her top 2% of listeners last year.

#anonymous #ask #t swift

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hollowtakami · 11 months

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WHEN THE WORLD NEEDS YOU

Keigo Takami x GN reader

CONTENT; warning for implications of s/h, suicidal ideation, references to insomnia/depression, hurt comfort, angst, established relationship, pet names (duckie, birdie, baby bird, baby), references to struggles with eating + taking care of yourself amidst depressive episodes

WORD COUNT; 1899

AUTHOR NOTE; it’s currently 5am and my insomnia has kept me up with my thoughts, so i wrote this to try and vent out some feelings. It’s a little heavy in some parts, so please read with caution - if you feel like you can’t read this, please do not feel obligated to do so. You’re loved, you deserve to be here. Please take care of yourself. <3

The morning light seeped under closed curtains, flooding onto the floor of your room. Heavy eyes stared to the ceiling as your heart pounded in your chest. Insomnia had you in the palm of its hand and it was squeezing the life out of you - you were tired, you just wanted rest.

When life felt like a chore, any leftover energy wasted on doing the dishes, you found yourself needing to hug Keigo’s jacket when you tried to fall asleep. It was a survival instinct at this point, you and that jacket against the flurry of thoughts in your head. On nights when Keigo was called in for night patrols, the void that his existence stitched up burst open again. It wasn’t his fault, you put it down to you being broken.

Your eyes were almost as heavy as your heart. That beating clock was weighing you down into the mattress, the heap of blankets on top of you that reminded you of Keigo’s wings, the fur lining of his jacket against your cheek; little things like that brought you peace, but not in this moment. Right now, everything was too much. You groaned, a tired hand lifting to rub your eyes, as if that would aid you in your fruitless attempt at falling asleep.

Not that there was any point in falling asleep. It was well into the early morning now, you’d be awake until afternoon the next day. That’s when you’d be lying in bed, and, like always, your eyes would give up on you. You’d wake up around midnight and the cycle would repeat all over again.

Keigo worked most weekdays, having the day off occasionally, if the agency was feeling generous. He was in high demand most of the time, there’d been a sudden spike in villain activity.

He’d work to keep you safe, he always promised you that before he kissed your knuckles gently, hurrying off to aid citizens in need.

You would always stand on the balcony and watch him fly off, see how his shape got smaller the further away he got. Jealousy burned deep in the pit of your stomach; you felt selfish for it, but you couldn’t help it.

You needed Keigo, but everyone else needed him more because people didn’t know how to behave themselves. You were angry at the world for stealing him, you pinned it down as that and have ignored it since.

But now you were laying alone in your bed, his jacket giving off a homely scent that made your heart hurt. The blankets weren’t enough to replace the weight and warmth of those crimson feathers anymore - you became desperate, your heart was banging against your chest cavity, screaming and begging for release.

The relief never came. It never would until he came back.

Thoughts of that twisted kind of relief found its way into the crossroads of your mind, jumping straight into the highway of neurons and catching you by surprise.

Elsewhere, Keigo was just finishing up with a petty thief who’d robbed a convenience store. This spike of criminal activity was very much morphed into a moral panic by the media. The most dangerous thing Keigo had had to deal with recently was a hostage situation, but for some reason, even those were rare. It seems the LOV had scared most low-level thugs into hiding, or in the very least, had seriously knocked their confidence and they were doing everything they could to seem tough; even if that was stealing melon bread from their local store.

Keigo stretched, yawning as his wings spread. He stood patiently waiting for the police to come and collect the restrained villains at his feet. They were petty thieves, sure, but Keigo had had enough action for one night.

Checking his phone in the meantime, his free, ungloved hand tapped away at his screen to check for any messages from you. He did this a lot, any time he had free time on the job, mostly. He put it down to muscle memory.

He frowned a little when he noticed you hadn’t texted him - at all, in fact.

Humming to himself, he pocketed his phone when he noticed a flash of red and blue, a siren’s screams coming into earshot.

With a laugh, he knelt down to the villains, plucking a feather from his left wing and poking it into the tight ropes of one of the angry thugs.

“I’ll let them take care of you from here!” Keigo saluted towards the police cars approaching, before wasting no time to lift off, cutting through the air with godlike speed. Leisurely flying through the early morning air, Keigo yawned. Granted, the air was sure to wake him up, breeze stroking back his messy golden bangs, tired eyes hidden behind his visor. His wings flapped as he reached for his back pocket, taking out his phone again and calling your number.

“Come on, birdie, pick up,” He clicked his tongue, hoping you’d be awake, even if your lack of messages told him you were probably asleep.

Straight to voicemail. The robotic phone voice played out into the morning breeze and Keigo felt concern start to bubble at the bottom of his stomach. He weighed his options - you definitely hadn’t blocked him, you never turned off your phone either. He eased his mind a little by concluding that you were just asleep. Still, if he was gonna get any sleep himself, he needed to check up on you.

As to not surprise you with his visit, he made sure to text you that he was coming over.

Your phone buzzed. It snapped you out of your thoughts, making you jump. You noticed a missed call from Keigo, a message too. You mumbled to yourself how pathetic you were for drowning so deep in your thoughts that you couldn’t hear your own phone ringing.

You didn’t have the energy to text him back, to tell him that everything was fine and that he didn’t need to come over. The tear stains on your cheek, your racing heart, clammy skin; they told you otherwise.

That one thought pulsated around your head, it was laughing at you, taunting you. You wanted to hold your head, shake it out in a screaming fit.

You would, if there wasn’t a worried, wide-eyed Keigo at your bedroom window.

You slithered off your bed, sniffling and rubbing your eyes as you unlocked and lifted the sill of your window. Keigo wobbled inside, folding his wings and soon regaining his balance. You could feel his eyes darting around your room but you couldn’t look at him, your head down. You were ashamed of yourself, but then again, your depression always did that to you.

Keigo didn’t feel the need to ask as to why you were covering your arms.

His eyes met the spare jacket he gifted you, wrapped messily around one of your pillows next to a pile of blankets scrunched up like discarded paper, forgotten thoughts, notes.

“Duckie,” Keigo’s voice shook as he pulled your head into his chest, his arms folding around your frame as your own stayed stuck to your sides. “Duckie, talk to me.”

Your frame shook with unexpected sobs. You wanted to repress, but you couldn’t. Keigo made you vulnerable. Whether or not that was a good thing, you didn’t know. His hand to your head, softly stroking back the hair stuck to your face with the glue of your tears, his other hand gently pressed into your back, applying a pressure that made you feel safe, secure, amidst the storm of your feelings.

You tried not to make too much noise, nor did you want to soil Keigo’s hero costume with tears you didn’t want to shed in the first place. You felt so pathetic, like you didn’t need to feel this way, like depression only picked on you to mock you - you had no reason to be sad, it told you, you were just a fraud, nobody wanted you here, it pointed and laughed at you every moment you opened your eyes unto the world.

A world you didn’t wish to be born into, a world that cursed you the moment you left the warmth of your mother’s womb. A world that Keigo was in, too.

“I just,” You choked on your emotions. They got stuck in your throat and they stayed there, adamant to steal your breath. “I just don’t wanna do this anymore”

Your words came rushing out into the fabric of Keigo’s shirt, muffled as they poured from your heart. You couldn’t speak anymore, your ribs, shoulders, your entire body relentlessly heaving up and down from your cries.

Keigo held you patiently, hugging you tightly and grounding you. He slowly wrapped his wings around you, letting you get lost in the softness, the warmth.

A small kiss was planted onto your head like a small seed of hope, Keigo whispering into your hair. “Hey, easy, birdie,” His hand stroked your hair again - it was definitely muscle memory. “Just breathe with me, slowly, in and out,”

Gently applying more pressure to your back, Keigo held you closer to him as if he wanted to become one with you, to be able to fight off all your pain for you and set you free. Amidst the exaggerated epidemic of villain activity, the one villain he could never defeat was your sadness, and it killed him.

He felt relieved as he felt you breathing in time with him, your shaking subsiding to small shivers, sobs tuning down to sniffling.

“There you go, baby,” Keigo slowly lifted your chin with a hooked finger, looking into the bloodshot-white of your eyes. “I'm here now, i’m gonna take care of you,”.

If there was one thing you were grateful for, it was Keigo’s patience. He understood that your depression found its way into your bone marrow and made functioning, living, so difficult. He knew that there were days where you hardly ate anything or drank any water, days where you swore to yourself you’d do that one chore, but never did - it was okay, he’d always tell you.

“I’m so proud of you, baby bird, so proud of you,” Keigo muttered into your hair, “I’m so glad you’re still here,”

You smiled as best you could.

“I love you, Keigo.” You mumbled, pressing an ear to his chest, the sound of his heartbeat was a lifeline to you.

Keigo breathed through his nose, kissing your forehead and squeezing you gently as he smiled. “I love you too, duckie, so much.”

After calming you down, Keigo would bandage you up, guiding you through it. He’d drink a glass of water and grab a snack with you, because he knew it made it easier for you. He’d hold you in his arms, swaying on his feet and making you giggle because he loved to hear your laugh and see that smile of yours. He loved you, he wanted to keep you safe. He’d keep fighting that villain in your head with you, Keigo was going to be there for you no matter what.

After making sure you were comfortable in bed, he mumbled a small goodnight to you, spooning you and planting gentle kisses on your back and shoulders, humming and lulling you to sleep.

And you would sleep, for the first time in weeks, peacefully.

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witchofthesouls · 4 months

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Hello, I don't usually ask questions on social networks, but I wanted to know what you think of a story where our human friend suffers an accident aboard the lost light in the Brainstrom laboratory and now the bots are able to see his thoughts. Bonus points if it's weird stuff (most of our minds are very weird), (sorry if something is poorly translated, I'm writing this with the translator) ^^)

One, I absolutely adore this concept.

Two, did you know there are people that think in pictures rather than use an internal voice?

And to top it off, people go around referencing pop culture, iconic scenes, memes, and their favorite media as well as the weird, intrusive thoughts and extreme, nonsensical daydreams...

I like to think there would be a media war between the Cybertronians that never went to Earth and only know beloved cartoons and shows and memes from the weird reenactment from the resident human's mind but with the Lost Light crew getting morphed into it versus the Cybertronians that actually had direct experience and personally downloaded those shows and movies.

As the "I Ship It" song goes, canon ground versus crack ship space.

Does anyone else remember those Naruto animation videos where the Akatsuki are drawn drunk or doing hilarious dances? The human looked up the Decepticon Justice Division, cross referenced on what they do, and immediately thought of a full sequence of the D.J.D. doing the Gang Torture Dance from Jojo's Bizarre Adventure.

The human thinks of sequences, including but not limited to:

Ultra Magnus as Steve Harvey from Family Feud with Rodimus with the "Nekkid Grandma!" bit

Rodimus doing "Goofy Goober Rock" because Roddy would love to be suspended in the air and dressed in wizard swag with a killer rip on a peanut-themed guitar. Drift has the legs to fulfill Patrick's fishnet-and-heels dance.

Megatron and Ratchet in The Office because he would stare deep into the camera at whatever new trouble has plagued the ship

Getaway and Rodimus doing the "Tony and Ezekiel" bit

So many fire-related memes: Elmo and the "This is fine." Dog.

The overlap of Rodimus in Gurren Lagen and Bang Brave Bang Bravern

The continuously weirder and weirder thoughts on how Cybertronian strip club would look like based on Futurama, Cyberpunk, and Night runner's Magnum Bullets. "Snu-snu" bit included. It's both highly ridiculous, strangely erotic, and absolutely terrifying at the same time to the Lost Light crew.

Whenever a mech does something stupid, the human immediately reimagines the mech in Wheel of Fortune fails, or a shoving potatoes in the exhaust

Nightbeat in a noir setting or as Sherlock Holmes

Rung is "Mister Cellophane" from Chicago

Assigned character theme songs

The last bullet causes so much drama because mechs want to have really cool or badass themes, but no! The human assigns them sex or porn songs like "Life is a Highway" and "Shut Up and Drive" and "Two Trucks," or something silly like "Barbie Girl" or the opening theme to Mega XLR or the sad song on the world's smallest violin to the poor bastard that gets stuck with the engex bill at the end of the night.

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jessica-problems · 2 months

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I think a sequel to Revolutionary Girl Utena would have to be about Utena and Anthy on a road trip, and/or an illegal street racing gang. Definitely something centering around cars. The wider world outside Ohtori Academy would have to run on the same mythic dream-logic as the academy itself. It wouldn't be a real, physical country with an economy and stuff. Imagine an endless tangle of highway interchanges and tunnels and on-and-off-ramps with various roadside tourist traps and stuff.

It'd obviously carry the final car metaphor forward from the first one. Possibly construct some kind of larger symbology around different kinds of cars and trucks and motorcycles and stuff. But then it would have to invent its own selection of other metaphors related to adulthood. Car races could fill the role that duels did in part one. The illegality obviously ties into, like, queer existence being illegal, but with the freedom of outlaws on the open road parelleling the freedom of adulthood. But also the competitive nature could tie into, like, the ratrace of capitalism or something. Maybe the dream logic is that depending on the needs of the metaphor, the races are either illegal, or big sponsored nascar-type events, or both. Maybe on top of gender, RGU 2 would be about capitalism or something. The one problem is, spikes and leather and machine shops and custom hot rods are about as polar opposite an aesthetic as you can get from the flowers and sparkles and high medieval romance of the first series. I feel like a sequel would need to carry some of the previous aesthetic forward. But, like, imagine Anthy as a sweaty greasy mechanic getting an old car working. somehow it makes perfect sense, right? And Utena could be the hotshot driver. Maybe Ohtori is still causing problems somehow. Maybe Akio is inexplicably still alive, or maybe there's a guy who looks suspiciously identical to him that's causing all the new problems. Possibly it's now morphed in Ohtori Industries where they have to work to cover rent or something.

#aj oc #revolutionary girl utena #rgu #do you see my vision?

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horanghater · 10 months

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What Goes Up...

Summary: Chan is interested in a new kink and you do your job: support him.

▸ Pairing: Chan/Dino x F!reader

▸ Rating / Genre / AU:18+ / pwp, smut / established relationship If you are a minor AND/OR if your account has no age in the bio, you will be blocked upon interacting (liking/reblogging) with this post.

▸ Warnings: exhibitionism

▸ Word Count: 1,956

▸ A/N: Had fun doing this for K-Vanity’s Wanderlust Festival! Prompts used: log ride, established relationship, protagonist is a suspect. Fat thank you to @shuadotcom for beta and juicy kithes for @wonwussy, @wooahaeproductions, and @onlymingyus for the endless encouragement while I worked on this. @bitchlessdino and @idyllic-ghost come get ya’ll juice!

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

“I think I wanna try exhibitionism?” Chan knows you love him, knows he can trust you with anything.

“Ooh!” you gasp, lips quirking upward with intrigue as you study him on the other end of the couch. “Ok babe, let’s try it sometime.”

For all of his trust, Chan looks surprisingly relieved. “Really?”

“Of course! Just gotta figure out the ‘where’ and the ‘when’.” It’s the beginning of a bad idea.

The ‘where’ is the Amped Up Autumn event at the theme park a few highway exits away. An event that you are “absolutely banned” from, as delivered by ride attendant and fellow high school alumni Boo Seungkwan.

You’re not worried, though, and Chan isn’t either – he has no idea about your storied history of getting into trouble in some way or another at this event for the last several years. He also has no idea why you’ve got both a baseball cap and sunglasses on when it’s overcast, but “fashion” is an acceptable enough answer given that you’re not being suspicious otherwise.

Well, not suspicious at first. The two of you wait to enter the park and pick up maps (he can’t know you’re very familiar with it) without incident. It’s when you get to the petting zoo that he starts questioning things.

You start small, pressing against Chan’s side as he feeds a pony. He welcomes your warmth as always, beaming at you before turning back to the activity. When you both reach the smaller barnyard animals, you make it a point to bend at the waist to pet a sheep, ass kissing his crotch. Chan subtly moves back and though you don’t turn around to watch, you’re sure that he’s sure it was just an accident.

Amped Up Autumn is also home to peacocks, spoiled by and socialized with the endless droves of visitors to the park. When Chan nudges you excitedly as a muster of birds approaches, you make sure that there’s no misconstruing your actions.

“Shoot, I’m out of feed. Do you have any left?” You don’t wait for an answer, helping yourself to Chan’s supply. The paper feed bags are relatively shallow, but you make a show of digging in, forcing your hand roughly so he almost drops it. Chan catches it in time, right when you’ve pushed it near his groin. Your fingers spread and continue searching even though they’re so obviously at the bottom, rubbing greedily at his cock through his joggers.

Chan stiffens at the sensation and you watch, delighted as his expression morphs from surprise to confusion to cautious understanding, lips parting and closing again as his eyebrows pinch together. When you’re sure he’s received the message, you retreat with a fistful of mixed grains, making a show of feeding the peacocks. To passerby, you’re just an overenthusiastic attendee, but to Chan, you’re a flashing neon light that says ‘trouble’.

It’s almost comically convenient that Chan’s never been on Sawyer’s Mill, the park’s log flume ride. Even if he had, you would have insisted that you board it today. Thankfully, it takes next to no convincing to get him to join you in line; the thought of just sitting down for a few minutes is appealing enough on its own. You waste no time cozying up to Chan again, pushing your chest into his almost wantonly when you pull him in for a hug while you wait.

He knows you’re teasing by now, but lacks the willpower to stop it. You’re cute and you smell nice and it’s not like he can deny that your tits don’t feel good smushed up against him. The best he can manage is to nervously peek at the other attendees as you slowly snake through the line. You and Chan are one of many touchy couples here, so nobody seems to notice or, if they do, care.

Chan thanks the universe that that’s the case when you stand just ahead of him, hand at your side perfectly level with the seat of his pants. Your pinky keeps rubbing at him through the fabric, coaxing a chub that he can only hide by moving closer to you so your form can shield him from prying eyes.

Is this the longest line at the park or is Chan in purgatory? He’s not sure, but the way you keep prodding is making him desperate to get out of sight so he can just cum already and get back to what was supposed to be a very normal date. Clearly, that’s what you want too since you won’t leave him alone.

“Excuse me, what are you doing?”

You’re almost to the front of the line now and there’s a staffer on guard to make sure that nobody cuts at the last minute. His nametag reads “Seungkwan”. Seungkwan seems laser-focused on you and Chan so the question must be for you, but you just push up your glasses and turn around to scan the lane behind you. “Huh? Who?”

Chan follows your gaze, but is met with park-goers just as confused as you seem to be.

“You!” Seungkwan says, starting to point at you before quickly retracting his finger when his customer service training kicks in fully. He settles for vaguely gesturing at the two of you. “Would you mind taking off your glasses, please?” he asks curtly.

“Next two!”

Another attendant calls your party forward and you grab Chan’s hand to dart away and get into the car (...log?) that awaits you. Just as you leave Seungkwan’s line of sight, Chan spies him muttering something into a walkie talkie.

The ride attendant at the cars is much less interested in you – which is good (?) Chan guesses. “Bags on the floor, hands in at all times, jiggle the safety for me,” they sigh, rehearsed and apathetic as they lower the safety bar onto your laps. You rattle the bar excitedly before squeezing Chan’s knee and the attendant finds this sufficient enough, sending you off with a flat, “Enjoy.” Just as the car jolts into motion, they add, “Oh yeah, hats off. Enjoy.”

For the first time all day, you remove your cap and toss it to the floor of the car, exhaling with relief. The car begins its slow, steep ascent and Chan has a lot of questions now. “Babe, is there something you’re not telling me?”

“What do you mean?” You place your hand back on his knee and start rubbing, batting your eyelashes behind your dark lenses. “Are you not having fun?”

Chan tries to shift in his seat, but the safety bar cements him in place. It’s chilly here, between the fall air and shallow water sloshing around you, but he’s a bit warm now. “No, I’m having fun! Just–” your hand creeps up further, skipping over the bar to land limply on his dick. He lets out a shaky breath. “Seems like you had a…plan? For today?”

“Hmm, maybe, maybe not.” Your shit-eating grin clarifies further (as if it’s even necessary at this point).

“Are you sure about this?”

You rest your palm on his crotch, flat and firm. “I am. Are you?”

“I-I’m not sure.”

“Tell me to stop.” It’s not a threat or an order, just a reminder of what you’ve agreed to in conversations past. Experimentation is on the table until somebody calls it off.

Chan does nothing of the sort, instead whimpering and looking away as you continue to toy with him over his pants. You can’t hear him over the noise of the ride, but his refusal to look at you anymore provides plenty of satisfaction and confirmation that you should keep going.

You finally reach the top of the mountain, creeping into a cave that serves as a pit stop before the big fall. The darkride section of Sawyer’s Mill has seen better days, but the animatronic mountain lion that slides from the corner and roars through the speakers is sudden enough to give most newcomers a scare. Chan would have dove to certain doom if not for the bar and your now blatant grip on his cock. It jumps, just a little, in your hand and you’re certain that it’s not from the fear.

Chan slumps in his seat, rattled and frustrated. You don’t need to hear him to know; his cock is full and straining against the fabric. You lean over, breath ghosting the shell of his ear. “Is this enough exposure for you? Can you get off like this?”

He doesn’t answer, just throws his head back in defeat as you slide past the waistband of his joggers and grasp his dick through the slit of his boxers.

“We’ve only got a minute or two, so I sure hope you can,” you singsong, pumping his cock hard and erratic, the way you know he likes it when he just wants to cross the finish line. Watching Chan like this, struggling against the safety bar to hump and screwing his eyes shut in an attempt to forget he’s coming undone publicly, has you soaked through your panties. If you thought you could get away with it, you’d find a way to sneak back in here after hours so Chan could fuck you next to the mountain lion. But alas, this is an occasion to just enjoy the delectable view and the warm precum that’s lubing up your hand as you yank Chan closer to the edge.

Chan is so close; you can tell by the conspicuously audible groan he lets out and the way his heartbeat pounds through him and directly into your palm. He opens his mouth and his eyes roll back and he’s right there–

And then you freeze. Chan whines and refocuses, only to immediately squint as the glaring yellow circle of a flashlight assaults his eyes. He tries to shield himself, arm extending over his face as the light finally moves. Then, he sees it. Another attendee, nametagged “Minghao”, is pointing the light on his tented pants and shaking his head vigorously as he frowns. He doesn’t say anything – he just continues to glower disapprovingly – and that only makes it worse as the beam follows the two of you shamefully through the last ten or so feet of the cave.

Mortifyingly, you don’t flinch at being discovered. Instead, you get back to work and wave at Minghao with your free hand as if this were a routine predicament. Chan moans your name plaintively, but you just lean in again, this time making sure that your lips brush his ear when you speak. “What’s the matter, Chan? Gonna cum?”

You glide your palm down his shaft one last time and tug on the way back up, thumb pressing into the sensitive head. And that’s all it takes. The car sputters as it accelerates and you begin your rapid descent down the slide, water crashing into the car with a force only rivaled by his climax. Chan sees white and feels his stomach rise up to his chest, though he’s honestly not sure if that’s from the ride or your ministrations.

It’s not until you jostle him that he even realizes you’ve reached the bottom and the ride is over. He stumbles from the car, dazed and silent. You’re both soaked through and Chan really hates the sensation of wet clothes on his skin, but the endorphins of afterglow overtake anything else he should be feeling right now.

“Good thing we’re all wet or else someone might notice you had a really good time!” you joke as you lead him through the ride’s exit lane, waltzing along as if you hadn’t just jerked his soul straight from his dick only moments ago.

Despite your nonchalance, Chan spies how quickly you put your cap back on and pull down the brim when you pass the exit gate and the attendee guarding it. As you pass by, Chan notices in his peripheral that it’s Seungkwan again. He doesn’t say a word, but Chan can feel the man’s eyeballs burning a hole in your retreating backs. Among the ambient park noise of Amped Up Autumn, he hears a voice through Seungkwan’s walkie talkie.

“...so gross!”

#kvanity #kwanderlust #svthub #dino x reader #lee chan x reader #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #dino smut #lee chan smut #dino fic #lee chan fic #svt fic #seventeen fic

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britany1997 · 4 months

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Stress Relief

Steve Harrington x Fem Law Student Reader

I’m on my self-indulgent bullshit don’t come for me for this ahaha (low key you can read this as any kind of student reader fic)

Comment to be added to my Steve Taglist or my Stranger Things Taglist)

“I don’t see what the big deal is baby it’s just a test,” Steve leaned over your shoulder, his brow furrowed as he tried to read your notes, “you’re so smart honey I’m sure it’ll be easy.”

You sighed. “You’re sweet Stevie, but everyone at my school is smart.”

He pulled back, scratching the back of his head in confusion. “So…everybody gets a good grade right? What’s the problem.”

You turned from your notes, looking up to give him a soft smile. He didn’t get it, but he was trying. “Not quite baby.”

“Well…” he bit his lip, “do you need anything?”

He couldn’t stand it when you got like this, exhausted, anxious, and filled with self-doubted. He’d told you countless times he’d take the exams for you if he could, and you knew he was serious.

You turned back to your notes, pushing your glasses up on your nose and narrowing your eyes at the jumble of nonsense words on the pages.

You let out a deep sigh.

“I suppose now’s a good a time as any for a break,” the corner of your lip pulled up into a tiny half smile. “Wanna distract me?”

He returned your weak smile with a toothy grin. “Sure baby,” he reached forward to thread his fingers through yours and pull you gently from your chair.

“What do you want to do? I’ll take you anywhere.” His hand wrapped around your waist and settled on the small of your back. As he held you, his thumb rubbed your skin in gentle circles.

You smiled, letting your hands drape on his shoulder once you were nestled into his side. “Why don’t we start with a drive, that’ll help me clear my head.”

“Sure thing honey,” Steve grabbed his keys from their hook and spun them around his finger.

You giggled, and stood on your tip toes to whisper in his ear. “Wowwww you’re so cool Steve.”

His lips pulled into a goofy smile, “I’m glad you think so,” he said, ignoring your sarcasm and leading you out the front door.

He untangled himself from your arms and jogged to the passenger side of his BMW. He opened the door before clearing his throat and bowing slightly, while gesturing to the open door.

“M’lady.”

You dissolved into a fit of giggles at his dramatics, “you’re such a dork!” You nudged his shoulder with your own as you slid into your seat.

He snorted and shut your door before jogging around to hop into the driver’s seat. “I know,” he leaned over and kissed your cheek.

He stuck the key in the ignition and let the engine purr. But when he turned towards you, his smile morphed into a concerned frown.

You felt your chest clench. “What? What is it?”

Without a word, he leaned over you, pulled out your seatbelt and buckled you in. “Can’t drive around without makin’ sure my precious cargo’s secured.” He winked.

You rolled your eyes, but smiled. “Thanks Stevie.”

He beamed, his dimples on full display, “anytime pretty girl,” he tapped your forehead gently, “gotta protect that big brain of yours.”

You giggled as he pulled out of the driveway.

As you whizzed down the highway, Steve had one hand on the steering wheel and one hand on your thigh. His huge, veiny hand wrapped around the entire it’s surface from thumb to pinky. His fingers stroked your soft skin absentmindedly.

Your lips turned up at his gentle touch.

You placed your hand on top of his own, lacing your fingers through his.

At the contact, Steve looked down to see your hands intertwined, before shooting you his signature, charming smile.

“Feelin’ better baby? Done thinkin’ bout that exam?”

You leaned over to place a soft kiss on his shoulder.

“What exam?” you asked.

He huffed a laugh, “the exam you’re going to destroy tomorrow.”

You beamed, bringing his hand to your lips. “Where you takin me to celebrate when I do?”

He smirked, “anywhere you wanna go baby, anywhere at all.”

Steve Taglist❤️:

@6lostgirl6 @misslavenderlady @gothamslostboy @bloodywickedvamp @anna1306 @ria-coolgirl @dwaynesluscioushair @arbesa-mind @lostboys1987girl @kurt-nightcrawler @f4iryfxies @teelas-library @warrior-616 @palomam18 @walmart-icarus @fraudfrog

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jonathanbiers · 2 years

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eddie was both the lead guitarist and vocalist in corroded coffin up until the upside down happened to him.

he healed, regained his strength, made up for the months he was in the hospital and couldn't play his guitar. he wasn't even that rusty really, just a little weak in the hands after everything. he's impatient and easily frustrated about it but looking back, it doesn't actually take too long to get back to where he was.

the problem is his voice.

the health of his vocal chords wasn't exactly the first thing on his mind when the bats were going at him and he was screaming for his life, it wasn't even on the list. and when he tried to get back into jamming with the guys and found he couldn't hit the notes he used to and it fucking hurt when he tried, he was absolutely crushed. that was an outlet for him, a way to get the complex emotions out in the form of poetry, to bare the softest parts of his soul and then shield them with killer guitar solos and brain-melting drums, now taken from him.

enter robin, who's become a close friend after everything they went through together. they bond over being queer in a small conservative town, they butt heads over eddie's smoking habit, they listen to each other's music and come to actually like it, they vent to each other about their romantic misadventures, they become best friends rather quickly.

so robin's heart breaks for eddie when he tells her about this newest thing the year of '86 took from him. she does her best to reassure him, she hugs him and lets him mope as long as he needs, they watch eddie's comfort movies together, and it helps him feel less like shit.

then one day, the two of them and steve are on a little impromptu road trip, and they're singing in the car. eddie's heard robin sing before, she likes to put on silly voices and sing along to the top-40s eddie loves to tease steve about. but he's never heard her sing before, not like this, not to a song she obviously has tremendous love for. her voice is warm and the song she's singing is a little soft and eddie is captivated in an instant. he has to stop himself from pulling over on the highway just to urge her to pursue a career as a musician.

robin tries to brush it off, jokes, "i'll do it only if you let me join corroded coffin."

"done," eddie agrees without second thought.

robin thinks he's joking too, but he's not. he's so not joking, he's too busy trying to imagine what it would sound like. he thinks it'd sound pretty fucking good, such a soft voice to balance out the harshness of their music. he knows robin's capable of other styles, too, he's heard her impressions of the screaming sometimes utilized in his preferred genre, her natural speaking voice has a nice bit of rasp to it, but something about the gentleness with which she was singing in the car just speaks to eddie. if it'd be anything like what his mind is conjuring up, he'd describe it as hauntingly beautiful, and he just has to hear it for himself. even if nothing comes of it.

robin still thinks he's joking when he sets the mic up at corroded coffin's weekly band practice, which both steve and robin had taken to attending. but he isn't, he digs his notebook out of his backpack and hands it to her, walks her through the melodies and she picks it up quick. she's been in band for years, music is something that just comes naturally to her. eddie doesn't know why the fuck he didn't think of this sooner.

it ends up sounding just as good as he imagined. her range isn't the same as eddie's used to be but it works, it morphs their music into something mesmerizing, something that bends the limits of the genre. robin sings eddie's lyrics on tuesday at the hideout mostly to entertain eddie because she loves her friend so much even though he's fucking crazy, and at least half a dozen people approach them after, tell them how different it sounds from what they're used to, how instead of being put off by it, it just works. they seem just as blown away by it as eddie was.

robin joins the band officially not long after that, and they start gaining attention locally. anyone who listened to them before would tell you they were good, but being a woman-fronted metal band wasn't all that common yet, and paired with the new elements robin's voice brought to the songs, they stood out from their peers a lot more easily. they're playing in a dive bar in indianapolis when they're approached by a scout from a record label, and they all just kind of look at each other, a mix of disbelief and happiness and seriously is this fucking happening right now?

they don't take it - eddie's heard of the record label this guy is from, and they're known for screwing over their artists and leaving them scrounging for enough to put food on the table. but it's a push for the five of them to start taking it a bit more seriously, start on an actual cohesive album instead of a bunch of songs with little relevance to each other slapped together on a cassette.

eddie and robin work together on the lyrics, and their first self-made album ends up being something that's hard to pin down to one specific genre. but it's good shit, eddie can tell, they get some tapes made and sell them when they play at bars around indiana. the offers keep coming, but they're smart, and they know their worth. they wait for the one that fits, and it's fucking perfect.

#stranger things #eddie munson #robin buckley #eddie munson headcanons #robin buckley headcanons #can you tell one of my favorite subgenres of metal is when the music heavy and the voice soft #platonic robin and eddie is everything to meeeee #*#*writing

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fayes-fics · 1 year

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Stand & Deliver

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Roleplaying highwayman with Benedict

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, consenting-non-consent (CNC) play, gunplay, gags, handjob, dirty talk, exhibitionism, a touch of breathplay, slightly rough vaginal sex. Staged robbery, fake threats, husband and wife very much in love roleplaying. Kinda romantic too tbh.

Word Count: 2.1k

Authors Note: Soo, to get my smut muse going, I played a drabble roulette wheel game. I got Regency + Benedict + Roleplay… and instantly Highwayman popped into my head. So uh yeah, sorry. This isn’t a drabble. Dedicated to @eleanor-bradstreet. Enjoy! <3

The oak bark is rough against your shoulder blades as he presses you bodily into the tree trunk. A cooling breeze rustles the leaves and ruffles the tendrils of hair around your ears, almost a balm against your flushed skin.

“Please, sir, please do not,” you plead, playing up.

His hand, gloved in black leather, is grasping the golden locket you wear long around your neck, his knuckles resting on your cleavage as he does so, sending your thoughts haywire and your chest heaving under his touch.

“It was a gift from my beloved husband,” you add breathily, pointedly, for his benefit.

His eyes flash, framed by a simple black mask, slipping effortlessly into the role he has assigned himself. “Oh really, and where is he now?” his voice low, leaning in and running his nose up the column of your neck, inhaling deeply as you turn your head, biting your lip, fighting to conceal the very real gallop of desire in your veins. “Not here to defend his fair lady?” he adds mockingly.

This is a game—your husband, one Benedict Bridgerton, roleplaying highway robber. Swinging out of your carriage on this country lane near your cottage, paying your footmen handsomely to look the other way while he stages a late-night ‘robbery’, brandishing his empty duelling pistol as he hauls you from said vehicle and holds you ‘hostage’.

“It would appear not,” you reply with a faux tremor in your voice.

“Well, more’s the pity, pretty one,” he sighs, then scrapes his teeth along the edge of your jaw. “This trinket, while nice, is not nearly enough to make this robbery worthwhile,”

“But sir,” you protest weakly, “it is all I have to give you.”

He chuckles darkly, and the hand drops the locket, smears heavily down your dress, and lewdly cups between your legs through the cloth, making you gasp and squirm on his fingers.

“Oh, I do not think that is at all true….,” he rumbles, smirking deadly as he rocks his middle finger expertly over your throbbing clit, making you whimper, “....do you?”

“Please, sir, no, take my locket, not me…” you pant, very much lying through your teeth now. You know he can feel your heat and dampness through the gauzy layer, your underwear discarded in the carriage before this charade so much as began.

“And what, pray tell me, would stop me from taking both?” his question with a touch of menace that is entirely believable as he continues to tease your swollen bud.

You glance apprehensively over at your footmen, steadfastly averting their gaze as they stand with the moonlit carriage about thirty feet away. His smirk grows wider, but that is all your husband, not the highwayman.

“Oh please, wife, have we not fucked in our carriage countless times?” he whispers, breaking character.

“Yes, but that is unseen,” you hiss as he raises a sardonic eyebrow. “Well, mostly.” you modify.

“It’s certainly not unheard,” he huffs bemused.

“Hush, husband. Alright. Get back to being a dastardly highwayman, please,” you pout theatrically.

He takes a half-step backwards, his face morphing into sharp contours as he pulls the unloaded duelling pistol from the front of his britches. Slowly, he drags the cold metal barrel down your breastbone until it catches against the top of your locket, the metal tinking together. Your inhale is ragged, the sheer thrill coursing through your body of being held at ‘gunpoint’.

“Sir, please, no, do not,” you implore louder, ramping up your distress, your hands scrambling over the rough tree near your hips, digging your nails into its sharp grooves.

The hand not holding the gun clamps over your mouth, the leather glove creaking slightly around his flexed fingers.

“Shhhh,” he warns, pressing into you again so you can feel something else in his britches that is steely but by no means cold. “This will be much more pleasant for you if you stay quiet and do as you are told.”

Something hot and molten bursts behind your ribs. This. He always knows exactly how to make you weak at the knees.

“Please don't hurt me,” your mewl muffled under his palm.

“If you behave, pretty thing, I will let you go unharmed,” he avows, the hand clamped over your mouth, slipping to trace the swell of your breast. “Can you do that for me?”

You nod with pleading eyes to affirm as an entirely wicked lopsided grin claims his face.

“Good girl.”

He drags the gun up over your collarbone until it is pressed to the underside of your chin.

“Undo my britches,” he orders with a sinister tone.

You inhale sharply as if horrified, even as you feel something trickle down your inner thigh. Reaching forward with trembling fingers, you do as bidden, pulling open the buttons of his trousers until the front of them relents. As ever, he is without undergarments, and his cock stands proud of his body.

“Take me in hand,” he adds gruffly.

You obediently wrap your fingers around his cock, hot and rigid, and pump with your fist as he growls, the gun barrel pressing into your skin as his hand squeezes your breast in syncopated rhythm with your hand. Even though he is partially obscured behind his simple black masquerade mask, you can still see every expression on his handsome face as you do his bidding, a slight growl under his breath with each stroke you make.

“What will you do now, sir?” you ask, biting your lip, acting up as if afraid but aching for him to be inside you.

The gun withdraws as he grabs your dress with both hands, rapidly tugging up the hem, the sound of delicate silk tearing as he does so. He bats your hand away from his cock and hauls your right leg over his arm. Before you can so much as take a calming breath, he is nudging your folds, the sound of metal hitting the ground as he drops the gun and grasps your left hip in an almost painful hold.

You cry out as he thrusts up and fills you swiftly. It’s an overwhelming sensation heightened by the night chill swirling around your thighs and the sight, over your husband's shoulder, of the footman stock still and unwatching as you fuck right there against a tree.

Your foot curls around the back of his thigh where he holds it up, and you moan as he starts to move. It’s not gentle, snapping his hips harshly and oiling you down to spear his cock to your hilt with each stroke, causing that good ache, the one that pulls like a string between your hips from the inside, so utterly spellbinding in its intensity.

The bark scratches into your skin as he takes you without mercy; all you can do is cling on. His wool jacket is soft under your fingernails where you scratch down his back, wrapping your arms tight around him, playing as if fighting him even as the truth couldn't be more the opposite. Craving this and him, uncaring of the audience you have.

His gloved hand is back around your throat as he snarls in your ear. “Don't bother trying to call for help; no one is coming to rescue you from me, pretty one,”

“Please…,” you murmur, pretending to be upset when you are the opposite; you want to bite him, leave marks on him for how thoroughly he is fucking you.

When he changes angle, your eyes roll, and you hiss at the sensation. Cursing quietly under your breath as he preens, so very proud he can do this to you.

“What is in your locket, pretty thing?” He gusts in your ear.

“It is a lock of my husband's hair,” you respond, attempting defiant but mostly breathless, wanton.

“How devoted you are. But tell me, does he fuck you like this?” He growls, sucking your earlobe, hoisting you higher so your feet almost leave the ground.

“Only you can fuck me like this,” you respond, intentionally vague.

“That is right. Do not forget it. You are mine,” the lines blurring between Benedict and the highwayman he plays so effortlessly. His possessive talk never extends beyond your intimacy, but his ferocity and heat in the moment never fail to leave you in floods, in no doubt about his primal desires.

He places one hand high above your head on the tree trunk as leverage to curl himself into and around you. The fingers of his other hand insinuate between your bodies, snagging your clit between his knuckles and squeezing roughly, making you cry out.

“Do not fight it; how much you want to come for me,” he growls. “You want to come screaming, don’t you?”

When you don’t respond, too busy gasping, he halts, speared deep. Your pulsing clit is left bereft as he grabs your chin instead, forcing his gloved fingers between your lips. The taste of your own desire tart on the supple leather.

“I asked you a question…,” the tone dripping with jeopardy as he holds down your tongue, your breaths loud and harsh over his fingers, “you must answer me, pretty thing, or the next thing in your mouth will be my gun.”

Your mind stutters a curse, so enrapt, enthralled, undone.

“Yes,” you garble, your speech impeded by his hold on your tongue. Feeling desperate, wanting, needing relief.

“Yes, what?” he raises a chilling eyebrow.

“Yes sir, I want to come,” you reply, trying your best to enunciate. The fingers slip from your mouth, glistening in the moonlight, and wrap around your throat, just enough to notch your arousal higher, a little pressure on your windpipe as he starts to move again, withdrawing slowly and surging back in fast, your body going limp under his assault.

“Good girl. Come on then, I want to hear it, to feel it,” he snarls.

At this point, you are at his mercy, his pelvis aligning with yours to stimulate without needing his fingers between your legs. You wrap yourself tight around him, not wanting to be parted for an inch, the rough wool of his trousers abraiding the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, the scent of his body, soap with an undercurrent that is all him, is strong; your senses of smell heightening with his grip on your throat.

You start to babble his real name, the roleplay falling away for you both as you greedily chase release. Knowing you are giving your staff an audience and not caring one jot. You hope they experience passion like this—all-consuming, intoxicating, almost addictive. He is groaning with each thrust now, and you can see small beads of sweat forming around the edge of his mask as he increases in speed and intensity. There are a few moments where you are skating the edge, your whole body tense, awaiting the moment you break.

With a few whispered words and his hand relinquishing its grip, you are tumbling, the sudden rush of unrestricted air filling your lungs and pulsing around your head, open-mouthed, teeth hooked on his neck as your cunt pulsates hard around him, clenching in waves that mirror the tension and slack in your muscles. Needing his arms to hold you upright. In the blissful state that follows, you feel him take a few artless moves, then still, his jaw locked tight, gritted teeth as he finds his shuddering release deep inside you.

He slumps around you as you gingerly find your footing again, your mind returning from a fuzzy floating world high above the country lane you are on. Your hands squirrel under his jacket and draw soothing patterns on his shirt back as his breathing returns to normal.

One hand sinking into his luscious hair, you untie the mask; it falls away from his cheekbones to reveal the handsome face you know so well.

“Welcome back, husband,” you murmur playfully, “I had such an adventure this evening you would not believe.”

He huffs a bemused laugh and rearranges both of your clothing back to a semi-decent state, scooping his pistol from the ground.

“You and your adventures, dear wife,” his responding tone light as he picks you up bridal style and sweeps back towards the nearby carriage. “Why not tell me all about it on the journey home, hmm? You must be exhausted from your eventful day,” he hums sympathetically into your ear as he settles onto the seat and bangs upon the roof with his fist. The carriage jerks to life as he pulls you further into his lap, wrapping you in a warm embrace, his treasured locket nestled safely against your chest.

“Well, there was this highwayman…”

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @Mlovesbridgerton @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queenn @jeanfreau

#benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton smut #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #bridgerton smut #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader

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