#like twenty different things. [slaps desk]

[winged-wolf-s-collection-of-arts]

AAAAAUUUUGH GOOOODNIIIIIGHT. I’ll dream of more inspiration hopefully.

[kissandtellus]

Smart Enough

Synopsis: Dr. Zayne has an incredible mind, incredible physique and an incredible stamina. Having a pretty thing on his arm at all times is just a perk.

Warnings: Dumbification, Zayne is a Hard!Dom, size-difference, choking, filming, not for everyone, Y/n is sort of a crybaby, drooling.

As your fiancé, Zayne is a handsome doctor with an impressive physique, especially when it’s hidden under that white lab quote. He's tall, muscular, and you can't help but obsess over how much bigger he is than you. “Y/n, stop trying to get me to flex for pictures."

The way he says it is so cold. He’s relaxing, for once, in his home office chair. He just finished a workout, he tried to never miss a day no matter how tired he was from work. Y/n pouts, sitting on the edge of his desk. “Pleaseeee? I always like showing you off.”

Zayne looks up from his laptop, those piercing blue eyes meeting yours with a mix of exasperation and amusement. “And I always tell you I'm not here for your'showing off'. It's not professional." Despite his serious tone, there's a small smirk playing at his lips.

But behind closed doors, with the night casts a shadow over them, he changes. Your phone is propped on a tripod, angled just enough to show your cock drunk expression. His arm is around your throat, the muscle squishing your face as he drills you from behind.

The room is filled with the sounds of your heavy breathing and the rhythmic slapping of skin against skin. Zayne's grip around your throat tightens slightly, his voice low and husky in your ear. “See, this is what you want. Not some fucking Instagram post."

Zayne slows his thrusts, his hand sliding down to grasp your chin, forcing you to look at the screen. Your face is a mess of pleasure, his arm a thick band around your neck. He snaps a picture, the flash momentarily blinding you. “Perfect."

Your drooling, pupils dilated from the ecstacy. “S-so meannn Zay-!”

He chuckles darkly, his thumb wiping away the drool from your chin before bringing it to his own lips, sucking it clean. “You love it when I'm mean to you, don't you?" His hips snap forward, bottoming out inside you as his arm squeezes your throat.

You don’t want to admit it. Zayne is the smartest man you’ve ever met, maybe in the entire world. Knocking yourself down a peg is something that gives you a deep satisfaction. “N-Nu uh!”

Zayne throws his head back with a laugh.

God, you're cute.

He pulls out slightly, then snaps his hips hard. "You know what your problem is?" He growls, slapping your ass hard enough to leave a red mark. "You have no self respect. No filter."

You are whimpering as he releases your throat from his arms, instead he tangles his surgeon steady fingers into her your, pulling your head back so you are staring in the camera.

His fingers tighten in your hair, making you whimper. The camera captures your disheveled look - your mouth open, eyes half-lidded and slightly glassy, cheeks red. "Look at you," Zayne mutters, taking another picture. "No brain. No filter."

“I-I’m smart!” You sound like you are trying to convince yourself more than your surgeon fiancé

Zayne laughs again, his thumb spreading your drool over your chin. "Mhmm. And how many degrees do you have?" He asks mockingly, his hips moving slow and deep. "One?" He smirks. "Two?" He pulls back slightly, waiting for your answer.

You choke back a sob when his cock curved just right into your drooling walls. “N-none…”

Zayne's smirk grows wider, his eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and dominance. "Exactly," he says, his voice low and mocking. "And how many do I have?" He thrusts harder, emphasizing each word. "Four. Fucking. Degrees."

Zayne was a fucking child-prodigy of medical knowledge. But you, you were his pretty little Hunter that looked perfect on his cock.

His smirk softens slightly. "God, you're an airhead," He mutters, snapping another picture of your disheveled, half-crazed look. "One hundred fifty published papers. Surgeon at twenty seven. And you?" He laughs, his thumb pushing into your mouth.

"You're cute. Absolutely adorable. And so fucking stupid." His thrusts pick up speed, hitting that perfect spot inside you that makes you drool even more. He captures another photo, then pulls your hair harder.* "You know what else you are?"

You are so far gone, if your life ended right that second, you wouldn’t give a single shit.

“The love of my life.” He bends your head back and captures your mouth in a heated kiss. His cock twitches inside of you, and he cums.

He breaks the kiss, panting as he fills you up with his release. He holds the camera up, taking a picture of you all - him looking intense and satisfied, you looking absolutely wrecked and filled with his cum. He sets the camera down and gently pulls out of you.

You whimper, coming down from a very deep sub space. You’re shivering, sniffling and trying to wipe your tears away.

He watches you for a moment, a soft smile on his face. "Hey, come here," he says gently, pulling you into his lap and wrapping his arms around you. He brushes your hair out of your face and kisses your forehead. "You did so well, baby."

You immediately seeks his comfort, burying your face in his shoulder. His skin is sometimes cold to the touch, but there is no place you’d rather be. “D-did I do good?”

He nods, his arms tightening around you. "You did amazing," he murmurs, nuzzling into your hair. "I'm so proud of you. My pretty little Hunter, so obedient and perfect." He rocks you gently, his cold hands rubbing up and down your back to warm you up.

His voice dips, like he’s talking to one of his young patients in the pediatric ward.

His voice softens, taking on that gentle, almost paternal tone he reserves for his youngest patients and... apparently, his submissive fiancée when she's in a vulnerable state. “There we go... shh... my good girl..."

“Zayne?”

“Hm?”

“Am I smart?”

“Get some sleep, Princess.”

[haztory]

['sex' by the 1975]

⤷ atsumu miya x f!reader; best friends, references to infidelity, pining, sexual content (w.c 3.1k)

“it’s not sex.” he insists between mouthfuls. a drop of mustard dots the corner of his mouth. you stare incredulously.

“are you joking?” you ask. atsumu just shrugs his shoulder, intense focus saved for the burger held in his hands. practically inhaling a third of it in one bite as he brings it up to his mouth.

“‘s not like it’s the real thing.” he bobs his head side to side in consideration of the sandwich before he’s grabbing at the fries in your lap, “can i haf some.”

the carton lays practically emptied from his pilfering next to your abandoned chicken nuggets. three remaining, absent of consumption in favor of a bewildered stare at the man seated beside you on his bed. 

“fingering is penetration, that’s sex.” you say simply.

atsumu raises a brow, “yer gyno having sex with ya?”

“that’s different.” you level a stare at him, one that’s serious and fierce and that communicates everything you mean in the single look alone. he meets it with one of his own, familiarity and uncommunicated languages all the rage between the two of you. “she doesn't make me cum.”

“neither does yer boyfriend.” he shrugs, taking another large bite of his burger as you screech in offense. your hand meets his bicep with a sharp slap and he grabs at it in pain. “ow! ya were the one that told me that!”

”some people take a minute to figure it out.”

”sounds like its taking a lot longer than a minute.” he mutters to himself. “look, its a lost cause. just dump the guy before it gets anywhere. ya haven’t had sex yet, he’s got a weird face, dude cant tell a fake orgasm from a real one. why are ya fighting me on this?”

“fingering is sex! your body count would be zero if fingering didnt count.” you insist loudly and atsumu rolls his eyes. he crumples the foil his burger came in and throws it across the room, cheering loudly when it makes it into the bin in the corner of his room. 

his room is much the same since the last time you visited. photos of passing years sit framed on the desk— an image of he and osamu with their arms wrapped around each other, taken right before atsumu left for the olympics. another of you and atsumu placed right next to it, you leaning over his shoulder and him laughing loudly, beer bottles held deftly in hands and drunken flushes decorating your faces. momentos of faded high school memories, interspersed with flashes of young adult realities. 

its more sophisticated than it once was. minimal in furniture, and of the items that decorate the room they’re the perfect reflection of a twenty-four year old athlete. his closet is lined with designer gifted clothes, but his desk chair remains stacked with undone laundry, the basics of his everyday life found in the plush cushion more than on the hangers. the jacket you’re currently wearing was stolen from the top of that pile just after delivering a pointed comment at how cold he keeps his apartment. 

its a far cry from the bedroom he used to share with his brother, the one you remember at the dusk of previous memories. it was cramped and contained, lines between the two boys constantly blurred and you having to learn rather quickly where to step and when. but even now, as he lives on his own in a city a bit further from you than you’re comfortable with, not much has changed. you still sit on the left side of the bed and he takes the right; you still eat burgers on his bed and steal his jackets, and he throws papers into trash bins and insists he could’ve made it professional were he not already in volleyball; you still moan and complain about the woes of daily life and he still listens to them endlessly, interjecting the same amount of dumb enthusiasm as you know him to have. 

there is still much in common that remains between he and you. trusted familiarity, endless comfort; a bubble that remains whole and precious, unaltered despite life dealing its hand to you. you’re convinced there’s no one else in the world that gets you quite like atsumu does. 

there’s also no one in the world that works you up, quite like atsumu does.

atsumu stands from the bed, retrieving your own trash from your lap and chucking the rest of it in the bin. lithe and lean, he moves with a body that is sculpted to perfection as he turns off the overhead light and instead turns on the desk lamp, submerging the room in the lowly warmth of its glow. days are shorter now and the sun has just made it return home, leaving you to the dim luster of a pleasant comfort. 

its quiet, intimate. words entirely inappropriate to describe the weekly hangout with your best friend of seven years. 

pushing thoughts aside, you fight to remember what the whole point of the conversation was about. a boyfriend, right. your boyfriend.

right. 

“and he does not have a weird face, he’s just… interesting. it’s what i liked about him.” 

“revolting. i’m this close to spiking a ball in his face. it would be plastic surgery for the dud.”

“you’re being mean.” you tell him. 

atsumu scoffs loudly, “and yer being stupid! yer the one that’s complaining to me about it. yer really gonna date a guy who can’t figure it out when he fingers ya? what happens when ya actually have sex with the bozo?”

“it takes practice. i don’t blame him for not being able to get me there on the first try. i see him later tonight so i’ll talk to him about it. it’s hard to figure out how to turn someone on and then try to, you know, get me there—“

“woahwoahwoah—timeout.” atsumu hold his hands perpendicular to one another, forming a ‘t’. his eyebrows practically touch the hairline of his bleached hair. “he doesn't even turn you on?”

“not everyone is good at everything, like you.” you mean it sarcastically, but it comes out short and meek. it’s embarrassing to have to cover for the misgivings of your current beau, but there’s an obligation to. a point to make, especially to the man in front of you. 

you’ve met the ex-girlfriends, heard their feedback for the man before you. an average of six out of ten in boyfriend material, but he knocks the ball out of the park when it comes to the bed—or so you’ve heard. 

(aya, the most recent girl to have made her grand exit, followed you on instagram and asked you to not be a stranger. whether that was so she could have her in for atsumu or because she really wanted to be friends is still up for debate, but the gesture ended with a message in your directs.

[9:17] it sucks, he’ll always be more in love with volleyball than any girl he could ever date. and even if he didn’t, you’re his number two anyway, so there’s really no way i can win.

[9:20] i’m super sorry, aya. if it’s any consolation, i really liked you two together. he’s just slow, i’m sure you guys will figure it out.

[9:20] you were our biggest argument. 

[9:20] so no, i don’t think we will.

[9:21] i’ll miss that dick tho, best orgasm of my life. rip

there’s not much you can say to a message like that. there’s not much you can say to the surge of smugness that courses through you either, so you don’t.

you don’t tell atsumu about it.)

“alright. sit up then.”

his voice startles you. “what?” 

suddenly, he stands before the side of the bed, looming horribly tall over you as he peers down at you. he shoves his hands in the pockets of his gray sweatpants, the fabric unintentionally pulling down ever so slightly and the waistband of his black boxers peeking out in greeting. the light of the desklamp casts a halo over his silhouette.

your attention is drawn upward and it’s hard to deny the familiar pang that tends to strike through you every so often in times like this. the simple effect of being near him. atsumu is unfairly handsome, and while it’s hard to put a name to the feeling that pulses inside of you when the light catches him just right or when a smile is even more charming than usual, the ache is always the same.

it’s fleeting, you convince yourself. something you refuse to settle on for too long. contexts and suppressed hopes pushed to the back of your mind along with the other unspoken things.

“come on.” he gestures two fingers upward. “i’ll show ya how easy it is to turn a girl on.”

its curiosity that has you standing up on your knees on the comforter, nothing more. its the wonder of how exactly your best friend makes his move on women that leads you to be so close to him, chests practically touching. breaths intertwining as atsumu stares a kind of serious into you that you’ve never been in the receiving end of before.

“im gonna touch ya.” his voice is low and your heart beats erratically in your chest. you nod. 

lifting his right hand, cold fingertips run across the heated skin on the back of your arm. digits trailing upward as he paints a pathway up. and it’s nothing—just his hand on your arm, nothing new or different, and yet your breath hitches. innocent in theory, but something solidifies on atsumu’s face, the familiar signs of determination playing out on his face. it’s less babied now, more formed and angular with the growings of an adult man, but it’s the same focus in his eye, the same clench in his jaw. 

his fingers trail up then down, repeating a circular figure on your skin. the sounds of your mingling breaths the only whispers between you two. your eyes dart down to his lips, but his stay fixed on you. studying every flicker of your eye, every inhale. 

his fingers break from their pattern and trails down to your wrist, then your palm, then your own fingers. tracing them, dancing with them, intertwining them slightly only to pull them away. 

“we should stop.” you whisper after a moment of his caress.

“why?” he asks and a quick glance to his gaze reveals that he knows why. he’s just making you spell it out.

it’s unfortunate that the only reason you want to stop is out of principle, and not because you truly have any reservations about any of this. your boyfriend of three months all but an annoying buzz in your ear.

“this feels like cheating.” you tell him simply. atsumu cocks his head to the side, charming smirk pulling across his lips. 

“i’m touching yer arm. this isn’t anything, yet.”

“you shouldn’t be touching my arm like this.”

“why? cause it’s working, right?” his voice drops to a low rumble, words vibrating through you and shooting straight to your core. “see how easy it is?”

“that means this is cheating then, right?” the question is posed, but it’s obvious it’s more to convince yourself than him. because all that he’s done is touch your arm and you’ve felt the bubbling of that unnamed something heat within you. it feels the exact same as it did seven years ago when you met him; feels identical to the moment four years ago when a drunken night led to a drunken kiss that was forgotten about the next day; feels the exact same whenever he looks at you like he does now, like you're open for the taking. a pointedly very different response to the dread that comes when getting intimate with your actual boyfriend. 

and while atsumu may be doing this to prove a point, to rub it in your face that he was right and you were wrong, you don’t trust that you’ll be able to not carry this with you. to not want more than you should. 

“nah.” he says simply, knowingly. “if i kiss you then it’s a problem.”

“oh, so kissing is cheating, but fingering isn’t?”

“can you shuddup? always runnin’ that damn mouth.” he renders you quiet. 

satisfied with your silence, he brings his left hand to cup your jaw, thumb and index finger grasping your chin and tilting your head to the left, leaving your neck exposed. he leans in, nose tracing a line up the column of your neck until he meets the juncture between that and your jaw. it’s a simple movement, and yet it feels like eternity in his hands. his breath hits steadily against the expanse of your cheek as he whispers into your ear.  “does he touch ya like this?” 

the gasp you release is guttural.

the arm previously fiddling with your fingers quickly wraps around your waist, pulling you flush to him. you have no choice but to embrace him with your own arms, hands cupping the back of his neck to steady yourself. it’s impulse to run them down the expanse of his back, to feel the muscles that he’s worked so hard for, but you resist. keeping yourself locked on his neck and nothing more, as though you being pliant to his ministrations wasn’t jeopardizing enough.  

his thumb inches upward, stroking the corner of your lips sweetly. “does he take his time with ya? cause i would.” 

its then that his lips meet the skin of your neck, tingles erupting from the connection. all of its effects causing an inadvertent clench within you. “it’s not about shoving fingers inside and just doing it. its about doing it the way you like it. and i’d make ya tell me how ya like it. since yer always runnin’ that damn mouth, might as well put it to good use.”

its all-encompassing, the traitorous burn between your thighs. and yet, this is the unnamed something, all that you’ve pushed away.

“astumu—” you whine and its in that exhale of yours that he releases a sigh of his own. one that almost sounds restrained.

“tell me to stop.” he says quickly, lips mouthing against your neck as he utters the words. 

and you don’t want him to. not really. the desire is feverish, unlike anything you’ve felt before and to end this is to end the sweetness of something you’ve yet to taste. if it were to be with anyone you would want it to be with him.

you could take the teasing, the “i-told-you-so” from osamu, the obliteration of a friendship for the uncertain promise of something more. but it isn’t right. not like this. if mountains were to come to a head, you want it to happen because they were gravitated to each other, not because the earth told them to do so.

“stop.” you tell him, and it’s like a hot brand that strikes him. he’s immediately pushing away from, untangling his limbs from you and stepping back into the swath of darkness in the room. 

his breaths are deep and heavy, that much you can tell from the distance. shuttering exhales that wrack his chest. you can hardly make out his irises, only see the intensity of dark pupils. it’s hard to believe that he could be feeling the way you do, just from the simple touch alone. a quick glance down to his grey sweatpants proves otherwise. 

a moment, then two, pass by. ragged breaths filling the distance, words spoken in the silent language you’re both fluent in. 

“does this mean i’m easy then?” you ask quietly, an effort to ease the wall of tension. 

“no.” he shakes his head gently, “just means i know ya.”

he knows what he means to say, the words and all of their yearning practically knocking against his teeth to escape. it’s the long haul, almost a decade long game of carefully advanced chess pieces to get to this point. blocked, temporarily, by the appearance of the new guy. a boyfriend of yours that atsumu met once, a guy he barely attempted to learn the name of. for reasons of his own, their knowing pertinent only to him. held deeply within the urges of being seen, the desires of having you wholly, completely.

there are plenty of other ways that he could do this—probably be more eloquent about it. admit pushed away feelings when you’re not in the midst of ranting about how your boyfriend just can’t get you off. 

but the tension irks him. thick enough to cut a knife, always following the two of you in the long held stares and closeness in which you two gravitate towards each other. the answer to your boyfriend problem is standing right in front of you. he knows what he wants you to do when you see your boyfriend later tonight. 

there are certain shoes that atsumu is convinced he could fill better than your boyfriend.

your face is flushed, and the desk lamp makes you look angelic under the lowlights, and you're wearing his jacket like you always do in a way that makes him believe it was always meant for you. and he’s not entirely convinced, even without the cloud of lust that hangs over him, that you don’t want this just as bad as he does.

osamu once said that atsumu wouldn’t admit his feelings to you even if they hit him over the head. they’re here, now. settling in the distance between you two, bobbing in the capsizing waves of want. they ache to be spoken, knock repeatedly against his gritted teeth. 

but a choice is made in that moment, with you looking at him as wild as you are. atsumu will admit to the selfish and prideful part of himself, but this—you— aren’t something to just take. the taste of your neck, the feel of your body against him, it must be given to him, earned. not because he needs to make a petty point, but because you want him to. 

he cares for you too much to be reckless in how he plays his cards. even if osamu will bust his balls for it later.

you have a boyfriend. and he can’t force you to change that. it wouldn’t be right, he’s given you the taste, he hopes it will be enough.

“like that.” he says after a moment, pushing down his pride and long held desires for you. “tell him ya like it like that.”

a/n: why is it that whenever i stop writing for kuroo, the one i always want to write for is atsumu. also big ups for my beta who entertains me and proofreads me at all hours of the day. i love you sanju!!!!!!

[ferrarifinnick]

risk | homelander, starlight

starlight x reader x homelander

the vought boardroom is for business, not pleasure. they say not to mix those two things together, but just this once won't hurt... right?

note: this is a reimagined version of attention, but this time lighter on the smut and heavier on homelander's involvement. this has not been proofread oops. only my second fic on the boys, what do you think? and i hope you like it!! love <3 masterlist

warnings: light smut, teasing, flashing, the deep, homelander, lots of boob action, tension, pretty mild for the most part

2.3k

Homelander endlessly paced back and forth. If you couldn't see his boots thumping the tiled floor of the Vought boardroom, you'd have been certain he'd burned his stress into the ground for all to see. Homelander wasn't known for privatising his feelings, after all.

For over forty minutes, your head swung left to right, following Homelander's frame, tuned in to the same unrelenting speech about the importance of statistics.

"If we don't boost our numbers with them," he referred to yet another protected class of people, "who knows what they'll turn to in our absence? Drugs, alcohol, maybe even murder — you name it!"

You sucked in another breath, fighting with all your might to repress the urge to roll your eyes into the back of your skull. Homelander wouldn't appreciate that. Not that Maeve wasn't nearly constantly taking glimpses of her brain out in the open for Homelander to catch. He'd have to stop pacing for that, though, and that didn't seem likely for at least another hour. Or until Deep rolled the wheels of his desk chair too loudly. He fell into that habit at the hour-twenty mark usually, so there was still a chance at the meeting ending early. And in flames, too, probably.

How his legs weren’t aching in the slightest baffled you. Not that you were staring... well, maybe you were. That suit did wonders for him. Thick thighs, meaty calves, just how you liked your superheroes. If only he wasn't clinically insane.

Your eyes shot open at the sound of the boardroom doors creaking open. With the rest of the Seven — or six, really, since Starlight was missing from the table — you glanced at the door.

There she stood small like a mouse, head sheepishly hanging down. Oh — and half naked.

Only when Homelander gleefully cheered "Ah, there she is!" did you realise you were gawking. Like the loose anchor of a boat, you reeled your jaw back up until it lifted back into place, clenching it hard as if to secure it. But really, it was to refocus your body on a different sensation to the one burning between your legs.

"I'm sorry I'm late. Took longer than we expected with wardrobe."

Homelander waved a hand dismissively, grinning so wide his eyes were half-shut. "Nonesense," he insisted, gesturing for her to take her place in the seat reassigned to her after Translucent's death. She obeyed, arms quickly crossing over her chest once she caught Deep practically panting over her, but the closer she got to the conference table, the tighter she held herself.

Homelander nodded in approval once she sat down. He slapped his hands together, sending a ripple through the silence of the boardroom. "Isn't this great?" He said, glancing from Starlight at the one end of the pointed table, to Noir at the other. "Look at us, back together," he said, slinging an arm over Maeve's stiff shoulder. "A united little front in the face of evil." He grinned gleefully down at Maeve, swooping in to plant a dry kiss on her hair. "Aren't we just a dashing little team?"

Deep quickly blurted out, "Best team ever, Homelander."

The grin faltered, but Homelander quickly stretched it back up into place. "Yeah," he muttered, but quickly cleared his throat to add, "Yes, thank you, Deep."

"You're welcome, Homelander." Smug, Deep rolled his shoulders back and glanced over at you, raising his brows as if to say did you see that?!

You nodded with exhausted enthusiasm, catching the roll of your eyes before Deep — or worse yet, Homelander — could clock it.

"So, Starlight, as I was just saying," Homelander continued, "We have to polish up our numbers. Sweep off the dust with the ladies," he said, gesturing to a screen on the wall with a diagram outlining a decline in interaction with women. "We could pump out some chick-flick girl power movie but that barely did anything for Maeve last time." Homelander's boots carried him back into the same line of pacing as earlier. "No, we can't do that, what's the point?" He mumbled into the palm of his hand as he caressed his cheeks.

Your head swung back and forth again. He rambled out into the room about the options, but with his hand now tightly cupping his mouth, he was almost completely inaudible.

With his head hung down, deep in thought, you snuck a glance at Starlight. She watching Homelander like a hawk, completely oblivious as you raked your eyes over her new super suit. The sleeves were gone, so was most of the fabric covering her chest. You glanced under the table. The skirt of her dress stretched up so high it was a wonder you couldn't see her panties.

What colour were they? White like her dress? Yellow like the accent on her suit? The urge to lift up her skirt to find out for yourself grew palpable, but you planted your boots into the ground in what you thought of as protest to your naughty mind.

You glanced around the table, sure to keep your head unnoticably still, and found nearly everyone else observing — no, ravishing—Starlight's freshly exposed skin. Animals, every one of them. You returned to Starlight, only to find her staring back at you.

She snapped her head back at Homelander with such speed you wondered how her head managed to stay attached to her shoulders. As if nothing happened, she stared silently as Homelander, her shoulders relaxed, hands resting loosely on the table in front of her. A coincidence, you convinced yourself. Two girls looking at each other at the same time, that's all. Nothing else to it, right? You bought your own thoughts. That was until you noticed the red creeping up her neck, painting her cheeks.

Was she blushing?

The twitch of your lips, pulling to one side with pride, took over you before you could control it. You flattened your mouth back into a straight line just as Maeve shot you an eyeroll as Homelander's ramblings continued again.

'Kill me' she mouthed, slumping back in her chair.

You stifled a snicker. Homelander suddenly spun on his feet. "Something funny?" He asked you, brow peaked up so high it lifted halfway up his forehead.

"Not at all, Homelander," you replied calmly, convincingly, offering all your composure wrapped up in a single smile. "What were you saying about the, ehem, bitter old cat ladies?"

"Ah, yes! As I was saying..." he continued on.

The beating in your chest calmed back into its regular rhythm. That is, until you glanced over at Starlight once more and caught her adjusting her sitting position. She uncrossed her legs, both heeled boots now pressed against the floor. It wasn't until she crossed her legs again that you caught it.

Red panties.

It was gone as quickly as you'd seen it. Her legs crossed again, absentmindedly swaying one foot as she listened to Homelander. This time it was your cheeks dyed with a flash of red, and before it could settle back down somewhere other than your face, Starlight snuck a glance at you.

Was that a smirk? Oh, it was definitely a smirk.

She might have a new — and definitely improved — super suit, but she was forgetting that two could play that game.

You reached for the glass of water on the table in front of you. Small sips, just a little bit of hydration to focus your mind. Starlight glanced over again, and a splash of water just so happened to spill onto the chest piece of your suit. It clung to the curve of your breasts, and deliciously, it highlighted the peaks of your nipples poking out in protest to the coldness of the water.

"Oh my," you gasped, setting the glass back onto the table.

The Deep immediately lurched out of his seat with a napkin stolen from the table. "I'll help you!" he said, his eyes blown wide with excitement as he gaped at your tits.

"Sit down," Homelander barked, hand on his shoulder forcing back into his seat. "Here," he said, and held out a handkerchief from some mysterious pocket in his suit. He watched as you made a show of patting down your breasts, careful not to block Starlight's view as they bounced as your rubbed them dry.

"Thank you," you smiled sweetly up at Homelander who made no secret of observing your wet breasts.

He offered his most affectionate smile back, the kind that promised he wasn't a psychopath hiding behind a pretty face. "Are you alright?" He asked, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder.

"You know me," you dismissed his concern playfully, "Butterfingers."

Homelander took one last look at your breasts and sauntered back to his place at the top of the table. You shot Starlight a challenging lift of your brow, and she all but scowled at you. Under the table, you suddenly watched as her legs uncrossed. Her manicured hands floated down to her knees, delicately trailing up to the hem of her skirt.

You snuck one last glance up at her mischievous eyes. She quickly eyed the room and, satisfied that nobody but you was paying her any mind, she parted her thighs, those red panties glaring out at you against the white of her dress. But the red of her panties meant nothing to you when she pulled them aside and flashed the delicious pink hiding underneath.

With blown eyes you gawked at her. She slowly ran a finger down her wet folds, starting at her swollen clit and dipping down to her glistening little opening. Before you realised, her white skirt once again concealed all colour and her thighs squeezed together as she crossed her legs.

She lifted her hands back above the table top, and with one last glance around the room, she presented her glistening finger and plunged it between her lips.

'Tease' you mouthed to her with a short-lived glare, shaking your head at the smug smirk she shot back, as if to say beat that.

Your mind raced for the next move. A hand reached for the chest of your damp suit, but before you could prepare your next move, Homelander's voice flooded the room.

"I have an idea."

The eyes of The Seven landed upon him. He basked in the attention first, and then he finally sank into his chair.

"Deep, ask me how we improve our numbers with the ladies."

"Uhm," Deep said, sitting up in his chair. "How do we improve our numbers with the ladies, Homelander?"

"Well, Deep, that's a great question."

"Thank you, Homelander." He once again turned to you with bubbling excitement.

"The way we improve isn't with chick-flicks or higher profile arrests," he said, and finally, his eyes landed on you. "It's with our two girls, right here," he said, gesturing between you and Starlight. "What do ladies love more than a chick-flick?" He asked, as if challenging you to answer him. But you knew better. Something was coming, and you'd be damned and you'd be lasered if you dared ruin his moment to punish you. "A love triangle."

You blinked. A what?

A quick glance around the room at the other confused faces supported your own questions.

Deep asked quietly, "Does Walmart carry those, or...?"

"Two women, fighting against each other to capture the heart of America's most eligible bachelor... me."

You shot a glance towards Starlight, who, collapsing into herself like a dying star, seemed to have already come to the same conclusion as you did. You looked back at his smirk.

Homelander knew. He knew what took place between you, what game you were playing during his own meeting. But how? He seemed to understand your silent question and glanced over his shoulder at one of the windows.

"It's like a mirror at night, isn't it?"

The glass against the low light of the New York skyline reflected the boardroom more than it did the other skyscrapers, and that's when you realised you could see Starlight's lap, clear as day.

Homelander, eyes locked on yours, nodded. He knew. He watched the whole exchange. He knew what you both wanted, and he knew he could rip it away from you just as easily as he could laser your brains into a pile of bloody mush on the floor.

"Mindflood fueding with Starlight, all over little old me," he said, unable to resist the prideful grin stretching across his face. Was this the first time he'd ever been modest about himself? "Team Mindflood versus Team Starlight..." he banged his fists against the table excitedly. "That out to get the numbers up, right ladies?"

He didn't care about an answer.

But you cared less about his feelings.

"How exactly is that going to work? What are we going to suddenly throw down in public over who gets to suck you off first?"

"That sounds entertaining, don't you agree, Deep?"

"Yeah! ...Ehem. Yes, Homelander."

Homelander taunted you with a grin. "Who wants to go first?" He asked, predating his laugh while patting his thighs gleefully.

You didn't need to look at her. You knew Starlight was looking to you for guidance.

"Oh, I don't know, Homelander," you said, batting your lashes and squeezing your arms to the sides of your chest, pushing your breasts together. He glanced down at your still damp tits.

"Do you really want to share?" You pulled your lip between your teeth "Three's a crowd and all."

Homelander seemed to weigh it in his head. But when his elbows rested on the table, head cocked to the side with unwavering confidence, he asked, "Oh, but you see, almost nobody pays attention to a show of just two..." he trailed off, and you knew he meant the little show you and Starlight just put on for each other. "Almost nobody."

He patted his thighs again. This time the smile was gone. "Time to practise," he ordered, unzipping his pants. "So, ladies," his eyes shone a bright red. "Who's going to make this show really interesting?"

[blackbat05]

Open Up

Jason Todd x Library Assistant! Reader

Plot: With a little help, you overcome your internal prejudice with an enigmatic patron.

Rating: PG-13

A/N: Had another writer’s block so really thankful for @the-slumberparty events as always! This is yet another of my self-indulgent pieces but I hope you enjoy it! Thanks for the unwavering support!❤️

************************************************

My choices:

🍧Mint Chocolate: the loner – mint chocolate is an acquired taste, so it is that one of your characters is of a similar flavour. A loner is brought out of their shell. 

🥄Cherries: meet-cute – this can be fluffy or a stereotypical first meeting gone wrong 

“It’s him again!” Miriam, the librarian whispers into my ear as I’m shelving back each book to its rightful place. I carefully climb down from the stool and observe the same man with a streak of white hair and an impressive physique to boot select another book from the Literature section.

Though a frequent visitor of the library, he was a lone wolf. Unlike patrons who greeted each other or strike up conversations, he was a lone wolf. No mingling, just quiet reading for two hours and he was out of the library to only be back the next day with the same routine. Not that it was an issue. He was easy on the eyes. Scary, but definitely easy on the eyes.

“If only I was single,” Miriam sighs fondly. “You have no idea what it’s doing to my woman parts.”

“Miriam!” I gasp, completely ignoring for a millisecond that I almost yelled at my supervisor. My supervisor who’s twenty years older but way cooler than I would ever be. She shrugs, “I just said what all women needed to hear.” She moves closer to me, thrusting a book into my hands.

“What is this?” I asked, afraid to hear her answer.

“Conversational material.” Miriam gently pushes me in the direction where our most frequent patron of the Gotham Public Library has disappeared to. “I got the circulation desk covered.” She winks and I’m not sure if regret ever sharing with her my relationship status that was as dead as a slug.

I walked towards the literature section and made my way further down to the sitting area beside the huge glass windows that stretched towards the ceiling, allowing natural light to give a warm glow to the area.

There he was, sitting casually on the maroon sofa, book in one hand and completely oblivious to the world around him.

I’m rooted to the ground, mesmerized at how his emerald eyes skim through each page carefully, capturing the essence of each word. I nearly fall into a stupor just watching this man when he suddenly closes the book and stares straight at me.

I give a squeak and my cheeks heat up. I must look like a creep to him. My brain tells me to get away from there and pretend that nothing ever happened but my feet are unsurprisingly stubborn. The man stands up to full height and my heart races a beat quicker with each step he takes closer to me.

Quick, come up with a good excuse so that he doesn’t chew you out and humiliate you for the rest of your life!

Before I can defend myself, he beats me to the punch. Not in the way that I expected.

“Hi, you’re the librarian right?”

I’m stunned for a second and have to mentally slap myself back into reality.

“Yeah! Actually, library assistant. How can I help you?” My words come out in a nervous blur and I bite the inside of my cheeks. So much for keeping my cool in front of a mysteriously handsome guy.

“Well, I was wondering if you had any good recommendations. I’ve blitzed through entire sections and re-reading Jane Austen for the fifth time isn’t exactly therapeutic.” His chuckle causes my heart to skip a beat.

“Oh darn, the reading block huh? Well there’s no such thing as that- I mean grammar wise, but I totally know how you feel, how about we go this way?” I direct him to the other section.

“It’s still Literature but it’s written by authors from different countries, different genders and colors.” I explain. “I always like to say that books widen your worldview.” I ramble, unaware of his green eyes piercing intensely into mine.

“Sorry,” I squeak sheepishly. “Am I talking too much? I’ll leave you to it.” I’m about to scurry away and possibly find a corner to die of embarrassment when he holds my wrist gently but firmly.

“I like it.” He gives me a smile that makes my belly do a couple of backflips. “Do you think you could recommend me one to start off?” His request is simple but so genuine that despite his intimidating appearance, I can’t help but to be drawn to this lone wolf that comes to the library every evening.

“Sure. How about Welcome to the Hyunnam-dong Bookshop?” I suggest. “I read it while I was feeling a little lost in life. Kind of a comfort book really.” I carefully pick out a hard cover book and wait with bated breath for his reaction.

He takes the book from me and I notice the scars on his hand are plenty - some superficial, some deep. I’m curious, but I know it’s not my place to pry. After all, the library is a safe place for everyone to be themselves.

Eyes quickly scanning through the summary of the book, he flips the books to the front and stares at it for a few more seconds before coming to a decision.

“It’s perfect.”

***

I learn that his name is Jason.

The next couple of days are no different. He comes in at exactly six on the dot in the evenings. He’ll wait for me patiently if I’m occupied with a patron and we’ll head to one of the many shelves for me to pick out another recommendation. Today was a children’s novel, The Boy At The Back Of The Classroom.

“The author intended to target younger kids as her demographic,” I explain. “But the way she explained the struggles of refugees in a simple yet impactful way through the lenses of a child, was beautiful to read as an adult.”

As always, Jason thanks me for the help. But this time, he doesn’t check the book out at self-help. I’m wondering if he wants more than one book when-

“When do you finish work?”

“Excuse me?” You tilt your head slightly, unsure if you had heard him correctly. Jason coughs to fill the silence and gathers enough courage to repeat his question.

“I was thinking if you don’t have any plans, we could have dinner?” He asks. “I know a place and we could read there. The owner won’t mind.”

My delayed response almost screws everything up when Miriam comes to my rescue.

“Of course she’ll love to! You’ve earned the time off! Go and enjoy your weekend!” She makes a shooing motion and when Jason isn’t looking, she winks at me.

“I’ll love to.” I reaffirm and the delight on his face is absolutely adorable for someone of his stature.

The more I get to know this enigma of a man, I discover more aspects of him that seem to draw me closer like a moth to the flame.

***

I’m usually not like this.

When a book gets my attention, I’ll blitz through chapters at one shot, eager to find out what happens next to the main character.

But I can’t seem to find the focus as I’ve been stuck on the same page of my latest romance novel for ten minutes, taking occasional peeks at the gorgeous man intently reading in front of me. I cover my face with the book, not wanting to appear like a creep when all he wanted was a reading buddy.

I’m starting to get fidgety and I really want to see how his nose scrunches up when he’s engrossed in the material in front of him. How he cracks his right knuckle after every chapter. How he smiles and frowns at the joy and injustices the character faces.

What I didn’t expect to see was Jason fondly watching me as I supposedly attempted to read my own book. My cheeks heat up at the sudden attention.

“Do I have something on my face?” I ask.

“You’re pretty when you’re reading.” Jason says as a matter of fact, ignoring my question. I’m sure that I’m flaming red as a tomato but this only causes him to break into a boyish grin. I’m at a loss so I end up putting the book back in front of my face, earning a chuckle from him.

He reaches out and takes the book out of my hands, putting it aside.

“Do you know why I’ve read Austen five times?”

I shrug. “I thought you just really liked the book. Predictability brings comfort. Knowing how the story ends.”

Jason shakes his head. “I was hoping you would come over and help a guy out. But I guess I was too afraid. I didn’t want to scare you. Most people don’t approach someone like me for a casual conversation.” He gestures and a pang of guilt hits me for immediately stereotyping him during my first encounter.

“I guess that makes two of us.” I say. “I was amazed at your extensive reading choices and I can’t deny that I’ve been trying to work up my courage to talk to the handsome patron at aisle eighteen.”

Jason’s eyes twinkles at my sudden confession. The man in front of me is no longer the big, scary lone wolf. All I see is a man who has come to seek for genuine human connection in the form of art. A man who is sensitive and hopes that someone would be able to embrace his vulnerability.

I know this because that is what I have been looking for all this time.

The owner reminds us that the cafe would be closing soon and we take our leave, walking under the cool spring breeze. On normal days, I wouldn’t be out this late but Jason’s presence is enough to lower my senses to the potential dangers that Gotham has to offer.

While exchanging more talks about books, we reach the bottom of my apartment.

“Thank you for the amazing night. I loved it.” I sincerely thank Jason.

He doesn’t move from his spot, fists jammed tightly in the pockets of his hoodie. It’s endearing that Jason doesn’t want to rush things even though he can. Funny for a man that I once considered mysterious is an open book.

For the first time in my life, I decide to take the first steps. I kiss him on the cheek, allowing myself to linger before pulling away to see Jason smiling bigger than I’ve ever seen before.

“I’ll see you tomorrow at the library?”

“I’ll be there.”

[gardens-light]

The Thunder Within The Storm

While sitting at your desk, your body slowly began to curl in on itself. As the silence within the medbay grew more eerie, your gaze studying your surroundings, as if the walls of the hangar had stretched back. Creating a cold, hollow space that swallowed sound, turning it into a empty void without Ratchet bringing it to life. Hours stretched into eternity, the words upon your notebook blurring into one another. As Optimus' words to Bumblebee over the comlink about 'checking in' with an old human ally, begun to repeat within your thoughts. And with the other Autobot's investigating the suspicious growing Decepticon activity, you couldn't help but allow fear to creep into your heart and give it a suffocating squeeze. For something just didn't feel quite right...

Content: Mild Coarse Language. Events takes place during 'Transformers- Revenge of the Fallen.' Major Movie Spoilers. Mentions of death/grief. Fluff/Comfort. Autobot Ratchet x F/Human Reader. Reader Insert.

Seris: The Intern- Part 1 Part 2 Part 4 Part 5 (End)

Word Count: 3,900K

"Major! Incoming SOS from Autobots!"

"Multiple Decepticon contacts in motion. Vicinity, eastern United States, sir!-"

"As in how many?" Lennox questioned, studying the Autobot's location upon the multiple computer screens within the main hangar.

"Unclear, sir-"

"Then get clear!-"

"They're on the move." Lieutenant Smith pointed to one of the screens. "Splitting into two teams, sir. One heading towards New York, the other to Philadelphia. None of our calls are being returned."

"Alright, full weapon's deployment. Wheels up in twenty minutes!-"

"I can get my tactical gear ready in five!" you called out. Rushing to Lennox's side, as the N.E.S.T team rushed into their assigned vehicles and positions.

But the major shook his head firmly, concern etching into his features as his brown eyes glanced at the screens. "Sorry Valkyrie... not this time."

"What?" disbelief lined within your unusual firm tone, as you grabbed the sleeve of Lennox's military jacket. Pulling him closer towards you and preventing him from running towards the standby aircraft, "you can't be serious!"

A heavy sigh escaped his lips while turning his attention onto you. His firm yet caring tone, matching his guilty expression. "I am serious. With how dire things look with the Autobots, it... it would be too dangerous for you to be there. I won't take the risk of you getting hurt-"

"Do not speak of me as though I'm an inexperienced cadet!" a firm frown came to your lips, as a scoff escaped you. "I've been on the frontlines! I know what you're up against! It was bad enough of having Ratchet push me onto the sidelines. But now you?!"

"Ah, Valkyrie..." Lennox sighed, running his free hand down his face. "You know that's not what I meant... the frontlines are different this time, what the Autobots and my team are up against isn't something you've ever seen before-"

"Oh please! Have you forgotten that I've already shot a Decepticon? With nothing but a double-barrel shotgun, may I add!"

Lennox placed a hand upon your shoulder, "I haven't forgotten that accomplishment. But the Decepticon you shot back then, was nothing but a scout. Running into this... you'd be running into the big guys themselves-"

"I'm not made of glass, nor easily frightened!" you firmly spoke, slapping his hand away. "I refuse to be grounded on this base!-"

"If this was any other situation, you know I'd have you by my side within a heartbeat." Lennox pulled his arm away from your grip upon his jacket. His voice changing to his authicating tone, while a firm expression etched across his features. "But... I'm putting my foot down on this one. You're staying put, whether you like it or not."

While grinding your teeth, hands curled into fists, nails digging into your palms. "Are you... seriously giving me a direct order?!"

"Damn right I am!" Lennox shouted over his shoulder. His soft expression betraying his authoritative tone, as a thorn of guilt pricked within his chest. Clearing his throat, feeling your glare narrow onto his back while approaching the nearby aircraft. "I'm not having you get caught up in the crossfire..."

"This is bullshit!"

Roughly An Hour Later

The sound of confused murmur and whispered guesses caught your attention. Taking a pause from your sketch of Ratchet, eyes flickering away from your notepad, as your attention studied the military personale crowding over the flickering computer screens.

What... the hell...?

The same chaos spread across the main hangar, all computer screens glitched and fazed out, while TV screens rapidly switch through the channels on their own.

"Citizens of the human hive." A cold emotionless voice filled the air, as the image of an unknown Transformer appeared upon all screens. "Your leaders have withheld the truth. You're not alone in this universe. We've lived among you, hidden. But no more."

Covering your mouth with your hand, as a silent gasp slipped from your lips. Fear flashed across your features, heart sinking within your chest as a video footage of a navy ship sinking off the coast, flickered upon the computer screen near you.

"As you've seen, we can destroy your cities at will." Your stomach took a sickening twist, as the Transformer's words held a hidden glee within his tone. "Unless you turn over this boy."

Footage of CCTV and photographs of a zoomed in driver's licence consumed every screen. Plastering a name and face that your brothers in arms seemed to recognize very well.

Sam Witwicky.

The chilling face of the Transformer returned, his crimson optics burning into your very soul. A devilish grin uncomfortably stretching across his features, as metallic blue crystals framing his elongated face clicked in independent movement. "If you resist us, we will destroy the world as you know it-"

"Find me who the fuck hacked our system and broadcasted that message!" Lieutenant Smith yelled from the tall platform.

"Origin unknown, sir! But it's showing up on every frequency globally!" one soldier shouted from the right side of the catwalk.

Frantic panic erupted throughout the main hangar. Voice's shouting over one another, ringing of phones and 'bleeps' of intercoms contributed to the madness. All the while, you remained seated at a desk, remaining frozen as your scared features blankly stared at the computer screen. Hand finally slipping away from your slightly parted lips, falling gently against your notepad.

"Our superiors have assumed Condition Delta, sir!" a voice shouted from the radio-coms station upon the left. "The President has been flown to a bunker, somewhere within the middle of the United States!-"

"Report just in! The aircraft carrier USS Roosevelt has gone down off the East Coast... a-all lives... lost... sir."

"Worldwide casualties are in the neighborhood of seven-thousand... a-and expected to climb..."

Eerie silence gradually fell over the hangar, as realization of how grave things have become, begun to hit home to each soldier. Lieutenant Smith's heart nervously picked up its pace, feeling his comrades look up at him. Their gazes not only filled with fear, but also hope. As if the lieutenant held the answers.

As the roar of an aircraft engine cut through the tension, and snapping you out of your daze. Immedictly abandoning your station and carelessly throwing your notepad onto the desk, as the sight of the plane landed upon the tarmac just outside of the main hangar.

"Lennox!" your tone trembled with worry as you flung yourself into him. Almost knocking the major over, "are you alright? I saw the broadcast! What the fuck happened out there?!"

"The Decepticons... ambushed our boys." He lowly spoke, dropping his tactical equipment. Placing an arm around your shoulders, "as well as an all out global assault. We're... still trying to figure out why but... that's not the worst of it. I-It got messy out there... real messy."

Following Lennox's gaze, your eyes widened as a helicopter suspended Optimus' body above the tarmac. A dull ache plucked at your heartstrings, as the Autobot's lifeless body was respectfully lowered to the ground.

"Prime... was protecting an old ally of ours." The subtle crack within the major's voice betrayed his stern expression, "Megatron... murdered him in cold blood."

His gaze briefly met your wide eyed stare. Your pained expression caused his heart to sink lower within his chest, "th-this... is why I didn't want you to come."

The faminular sound of two car engines pulled you from Lennox's embrace. Slowly approaching the two vehicles, watching Ironhide and Sideswipe roll out of their altmodes. Kneeling towards you with their heads hung low, as an expression of grief and shock framed their features.

"W-We're alright, Doll." Sideswipe spoke with a shaky tone, as you tried to hug him and Ironhide. "A... couple of dents but nothing that can't be buffed out." The light within his optics were gone, as was any ounce of his usual playful demeanor.

As you took a step back, Sideswipe gently nudged your shoulder with the knuckle of his index digit. "And before you panic... Skids and Mudflap are fine. They're with Bumblebee, helping him protect our ally Sam."

Despite not quite understanding how or why this... Sam Witwicky was involved with the Autobots, you simply gave Sideswipe a nod. Now isn't the time to ask...

Not far in the distance, Ratchet's massive frame still hummed from exertion. His servos groaned quietly, and his systems were already running diagnostics upon himself. Sorrow flickered within his opics and a dull ache pulsed within his spark, as Optimus' form came into view. I-I... have failed you... old friend...

"Ratchet!" you breathlessly exclaimed, running towards him practically skidding to a halt as he knelt towards you. Wrapping your arms around his neck the best you could, causing the Autobot to stiffen as you quickly planted two kisses upon his cheek. Feeling his spark pulse against you, as your lips left a soft warmth against his cool steel. "You're ok."

Ratchet's spark skipped a beat, a subtle warmth radiated beneath his faceplates as you gently rested your forehead against his. The quiet intimacy of the gesture almost taking him off guard, and although it was barely a small touch by his standards. He knew to you, it was everything.

Just for a moment, the world seemed to slow down. The chaos of everything briefly fading, the tension in his joints loosened, and the quiet calm of your closeness settled over him. Ratchet didn't move nor breathe a word- don't think the medic was even sure he knew how to respond. But... there was something... peaceful in the way you held onto him, as if your very presence soothed the weariness in his circuits.

"You... don't need to worry about me, Valkyrie. I'm... functional." Ratchet assured, his low tone gentle than usual but you could hear a prang of grief hiding within his words. His knuckles carefully ran up and down your spine, while leaning his forehelm a little more against your forehead. "Steady your breathing. I'm right here..." Right in front of you...

"What's the meaning of this?" Sideswipe quickly raised to his full height. His optics narrowing onto the beige, military Hummers which surrounded him and his Autobot comrades.

"You dare point a gun at me?" Ironhide snarled, his voice roaring over the NEST personnel that immediately tried to settle the building feud between the new arrivals and the Autobots. "You want a piece of me?! I will tear you apart!"

As his comrades stood protectively over Optimus, their weapons drawn and aimed at the new arrivals. You couldn't help but gaze up at Ratchet, giving him a soft look of surprise as the medic protectively placed an arm around you. Ratchet's chassis lightly presses against your back, while he knelt against the tarmac. His free servo retracting and bringing out his saw, preparing the defend both of you.

"Easy, big guy." Reaching up and placing an assuring touch against Ratchet's faceplate. Your heart couldn't help but flutter slightly, as his engine purred in your ear.

"Drop your weapons!" Lennox ordered, his voice adding to the shouting-match that erupted between his N.E.S.T comrades and the new arrivals. Slamming his fists against a Hummer's hood. "Tell them to lower their fucking weapons!-"

"Major, there's nothing I can do... talk to him-"

"Your N.E.S.T team is deactivated, Major." Director Galloway spoke as he exited a Hummer. His stern gaze meeting Lennox's eye roll, "you are to cease anti-Decepticon operations. You all are to be deported to Area 51 and await for further orders-"

"No! We take our orders directly from Chairman Morshower, sir." Lennox challenged, stepping into Galloway's personal space and eyeing him down.

"Well... I'll see your Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. But in the meantime..." Galloway reached into the inside pocket of his blazer. Shoving a crumpled piece of paper into Lennox's hands and adjusting his glasses. "I give you a President of the United States official Director of Command! I have operational command now... An alien blood feud has been brought to our shores, for which our soldiers are paying the price! Their secret is out! This is our war now! And we will win it as we always have, with a coordinated military strategy!-"

"This fool is terribly misinformed." Ironhide lowly growled, not caring that Galloway clearly heard him.

"You're gonna need every asset that you've got-"

"What we need is to draw up battle plans." Galloway rudely interrupted Lennox. His professional expression not shifting under the major's firm gaze. "While we explore every possible diplomatic solution-"

"Like what? Handing over the kid?"

You saw a heavy breath escape Lennox. Your anger equally matching the major's, as Galloway's silence spoke volumes.

"All options are being considered." Galloway straightened his blazer, proudly nodding to himself. "Now... you and your boys prepare for departure, and someone remove that thing from the tarmac!-"

"Have you no respect? Or is it pure arrogance that drives you?" you snapped. Stepping away from Ratchet's protective embrace, and storming towards the government director. "Show some compassion!-"

"As this no longer involves you, Private. You are here ordered to return to your original post, back at your previous unit." Galloway casually spoke, waving a dismissal hand as he turned back towards the beige Hummer. "The pathetic joke of this 'intern program' with N.E.S.T has concluded-"

"Beryllium bologna!" many curious gazes and raised eyebrows fell upon you, as you barked the unknown words. While a proud smile tugged Ratchet's lips, knowing full well what the Cybertronian insult meant. "Give them time to grieve and process their loss!-"

"Whoa. Hold up. Hold up." Lennox whispered, stepping in-between you and the director. Preventing you from grabbing a fistful of Galloway's blazer, "don't let bastards like him get the better of you-"

"Save the sentiment speech." Galloway coldly spoke, adjusting his glasses once more. "You're nothing more, but a mare human to the Autobots, Private Y/N. They hold no regard for you-"

"Valkyrie." Ratchet corrected, the uncharacteristic growl within his words giving them a sharp edge. "Her name is, Private Valkyrie. And you have no place to determine her worth!-"

"Whatever the Decepticons are after, this is just the start." Lennox warned, attempting to defuse the tension that grew thick within the air. "There is no negotiating with them-"

"I'm ordering you to stand down!" Galloway snapped, stepping towards Lennox whom still stood between the pair of you. The director's authoritative gaze meeting your narrowed glare. "You all have... twenty-four hours to prepare your assets for departure. And those piles of scrap with you!"

"I really don't like that dude." Lieutenant Smith sighed, crossing his arms and approaching Lennox's side. All three of you watching Director Galloway and his men load back into the beige Hummers and head towards the main hangar. "He's an asshole."

"We should just leave this planet." Ironhide growled.

"That's not what Optimus would want." Sideswipe spoke in a gentle tone, placing a servo upon his comrade's shoulder and encouraging Ironhide to lower his weapon with his free servo. "And... I don't think that's what our medic wants..."

Both Autobots turned to their medic, seeing the brief moment of heartbreak flicker within his optics. Sensing Ratchet's spark slow to yearning pulse as he watched you storm away from the situation.

---

Most of the afternoon dragged at a painful pace. Concerned voices and panicked tones shouted over one another in the main hangar, updates of events from comlinks and radios, adding to the chaos almost every hour. Grief, pain, anger and sorrow whirled within Lennox, his comrades and their Autobot friends, like the wave of an unforgiving whirlpool that continuously reminded them of the current struggles. While Director Galloway barked orders from the high scaffolding platform within the main hangar, looking down upon the military personnel through the circular leans of his glasses.

Forcing open the medbay hangar doors with ease, Ratchet's aching spark twisted in it's chamber, as his soft gaze scanned the area. The space that the medic once happily shared with you, became almost unrecognizable.

Still silence deafened his senses. His monitors and equipment appeared to lose their lively hum, leaving their colour as a dull hue of gray under the dim lighting. A slight shiver vibrated through Ratchet's frame, while his optics scanned the concrete flooring.

Cold...? I've never felt cold. This place has never been cold. So... why...?

Worry and concern flickered within his optics, as his gaze settled upon you. Sitting in the middle of the medbay, knee deep in files and documents which almost swallowed your exhausted frame. He could practically feel the stress radiating off you. A stern and focused expression was upon your features, taking away any hint of your beautiful smile which Ratchet adored.

"Enough." His voice held a gentle warmth, but his words were softer than usual. Brushing the mess aside, kneeling down, making sure not to startle you. "You've done enough."

"Time isn't exactly on our side right now." Your flat, expressionless tone caused his spark to pulse with a dull ache.

"I know that... but drowning yourself in these archives, digging through hundreds of old files. Won't help your chance of finding anything-"

"Why? Because I'm simply a 'mere human' to you?" your words held an uncharacteristic sharpness.

A painful volt of electricity zapped through the medic's internal circuits. The Autobot didn't know what hurt more, how you spoke to him with this new cold attitude without looking at him. Or that somehow a part of you believed Galloway's words, causing you to throw them in his face.

D-Darling... "you know I don't think that. I've never thought that." Ratchet's servo twitched, iching to reach out to you and pull you into his embrace. "You're not just a 'mere human' to me... you never have been. You're... so much more than that."

A warm sensation tugged upon Ratchet's spark, as you took a moment to pause. His gaze softening with worry and concern, seeing your shoulders slouch, your hands slightly trembling. Despite his desire to hold and soothe you, Ratchet refrained from following his spark. Remaining logical and quiet, giving you a couple of moments to breathe, allowing you to attempt to ease your frustration and exhaustion.

"Th-There... has to be another way..." you sighed, a subtle hint of gentleness crept back into your tone, as you continued to blanky gaze at a folder in front of you. "Another solution."

Another solution for what? To bring Prime back? Or... to keep you with me...?

"Valkyrie... I know you're tired and overwhelmed. And I appreciate your determination to find a way through this, but... exhaughting yourself wont do any good-"

"It can't just end this way! I won't allow it!" Ratchet flinched at your sudden outburst, his optics widening as you carelessly through a folder across the medbay. Causing papers to rain down on the pair of you, as you looked up at him through watery eyes. "W-We haven't spent all this time together! Learnt and shared so much, just for it all to meanlessly be taken away! I-I haven't grown to...!"

Ratchet's breath slightly hitched as he waited for you to finish the sentence. His spark skipping a beat in anticipation. But after a few moments of your silence, a shaky sigh escaped him. Composing himself, as he tried to ignore the yearning which tugged upon his spark. Forcing the small zaps within his circuits down, holding onto the small bit of doubt that plagued his processor. The doubt that you could care for him, in the same way he's grown to care for you.

Hold her! Comfort her! His pulsing spark practically screamed. Twisting within its chamber causing an ache to run through his frame.

"What... are you trying to say...?" Ratchet's soft gaze met yours. His words holding a soft, tentative tone.

"Th-That... returning to my unit is going to feel so strange." You lowly admitted. "And that... my medbay is gonna feel so... empty... without you."

Oh... my darling. Ratchet's spark skipped a beat at your words, his processor almost moaning the nickname, as an invisible tug pulled his frame closer to you. I-I'm going to be so lost without you beside me. Working in the medbay just won't be the same...

"Valkyrie..." his servo involuntary reached out for you, knuckles caressing your cheek with a feathered touch. As his thumb brushed away your rolling tears. "My life will also never be the same again... without you in it."

Ratchet's free servo nervously clenched as he gazed into your eyes. His spark thudding within it's chamber, sending volts of electricity throughout his wires. Like how one would feel butterflies in their stomach. A mixture of worry, hope and doubt flashed across the medic's features, almost daring to believe that you too somehow felt what he did.

His thumb gently caressed your cheek in a tender, soothing motion. The warmth within his spark spread throughout Ratchet's frame, subtly making his faceplates warm to the touch. His free servo edging closer to you, iching to cradle the small of your back as you leaned in closer. The pulse and rhythm of the volts zapping throughout his circuits strangely changing, as you slowly reached out for him. Causing the medic's frame to shudder under your touch, while your fingers traced over the scars of his chassis.

Butterflies entangled your nerves. A breathless gasp escaped your parted lips. Your soft, affectionate gaze flickering from Ratchet's blue optics to his lips, as your heart fluttered within your chest. Feeling his loving touch filled you with such affection and tender, that your happy sigh almost broke the crackling, electric tension between you.

This... This is the closest we've ever been. Ratchet's digits carefully ran through your hair, nervously swallowing a lump in his vocal processor. The... warmth and touch of her against me. H-Her perfume is filling my sensors. And my spark... it's pulse and rhythm almost matches... his eyes slowly widened. His frame stiffening as your lips almost ghosted over his. O-Oh, Primus no...

"Ratchet...?" your puzzled tone was almost just above a whisper. Your confused gaze studying his flushed expression, as the medic quickly pulled away. Straightening his posture while clearing his throat.

A small prick of embarrassment and disappointment nipped at your sinking heart, like a thorn against your skin. Did I... do something wrong?

But little did you you know, Ratchet felt like he had to pull away. Even with every fibre of his being, begging him to just pull you into his embrace and never let you go. To finally cure his curiosity of how it would feel to touch your soft lips. He just couldn't bring himself to accept the fact you felt the same way.

Saying something now, would... only make it harder to say 'goodbye.' His processor convinced. Like it or not, we have to go our separate ways.

"T-Take care... Valkyrie."

His spark and your heart released a painful ache, a heartbreak that almost shook your very souls, as Ratchet raised onto his peds and walked away.

Your eyes lowered towards the ground again. Ratchet....

Closing the medbay doors behind him, leaning against them and letting out a long, weary sigh. Ratchet briefly looked up at the starry sky, his optics rolling shut as he lightly banged the back of his helm against the large metal doors. His spark clenching within its chamber, while the medic harshly scolded himself. Banging his helm against the doors, in time with each syllable as tears streamed down his faceplates.

Tag List

@junebugessentials @genarf

[ahtae]

Just this once... (c.s)

You and Soobin have been friends forever...so one little kiss shouldn't hurt...right?

warnings: sub!soobin, use of nickname (binnie), heavy petting (no actual penetration), dry humping, friends to ???

You and Soobin were friends — plain and simple. A pair of friends who'd known each other for an unfathomable amount of time they can't even remember how they met. Growing up together has led the two of you becoming close, so much so he's staying over tonight because his family is out of town.

"Soobin can you shut the fuck up for two seconds?!" you shout from your computer desk. Soobin has been singing off-pitch (on purpose) for twenty entire minutes. You would've joined in normally, but you have a project due at midnight you're currently trying to finish.

"Memememe!" He echoes, making his hand into a mouth. You slap it away before he starts giggling.

"Seriously though, I need to finish this fucking project," you groan, rubbing your temples.

Soobin groans loudly before flopping down on your bed. "Come onnn," he whines, wiggling. "Hurry up."

"Yeah? Well you're too dumb to even have projects so don't whine because my stuff is tougher than yours!"

"Nu-uh!" He sits up, pouting like an insolent child. "Your mom always said I was the smartest out of all your friends," he argues.

"Then again, it's not that hard when you barely have any!"

You roll your eyes and throw the pillow you were sitting on. Soobin howls, catching pillows as you begin to type on your computer. You ignore the creaking from your bed. Soobin could entertain himself for one goddamn second.

You move your hand to the mouse, and are met with a different hand already there. Looking over you shoulder, you see that Soobin is leaned over you, look straight ahead at the monitor. Black glasses framing his face and sinking into his strands like magic.

"You forgot a period here," he says, voice rumbling by your ear. Soobin taps your hand away from the keyboard and begins to type on his own. The two of you are silent like that for a moment. Only the warmth of Soobin's chest above your head, and the air brushing your ear as he speaks to you.

"This is good but you can add— are you...okay?" Soobin asks, pushing his frames onto his nose.

You jolt out of your trance and push Soobin's hand away from the mouse. "Yeah, I think I'm just seeing things..." you say.

There's a brief silence as you finish up your project. Your heart is thudding in your ears. And for what? Soobin? Choi Soobin? The same little tot you knew to eat sand and cry on rollercoasters?

Out of the thinness of the air, Soobin breathes: "like seeing me differently?"

You hear him loud and clear, but don't process what he says until you fully let go of the mouse, and spin your computer chair around to face him. Soobin is sitting on your bed, leaning back with his arms behind him, facing you. He looks above his glasses with a stare to make you breathless.

"What?—"

"Don't do that," he shoots down.

"Do what?"

You see a jolt of frustration tick in his jaw. "Get up," Soobin commands.

"What?" You ask, confused by his sudden mood change.

Soobin steps towards you, wraps both hands around your shoulders, and pulls you to standing. In a blink you are met with his brown eyes, deep and dark like midnight chocolate.

He steps towards you, eyes flicking over your entire face before settling right under your nose. The heat of his glare now on your lips.

You feel something in you jolt, writhe underneath his staring. As Soobin changes his gaze to your eyes, yours lands on his lips. Pink and shaped like they're made to feel good. Like warm velvet against your skin.

You blink up at him, "Soobin. Soobin we can't, we— you are my friend—"

"I am a boy who has liked a girl long enough to not feel desperate to ask her for a kiss," Soobin blurts, the words coming hot and fast for him.

"Just this once...please."

All it takes is that last little word for you to wrap your hands around his neck and pull him into you. Soobin hands cling around your waist, grabbing at the fabric of your shirt as if he can hold this moment in his bare hands.

He's so soft. Smooth and buttery like he was made in a bakery. Soobin breathes against you, warm breath fanning against your cheeks making you moan and press into him. With the contact, Soobin trails a hand to your upper back, and the other to your lower. Full in contact with the heat of each other.

You pull away. Lips still tingling and heart hungry. Soobin's eyes are full of shock from the sudden lose of contact. They search for a sign, a reason why you stopped, and come with nothing.

"Did...Did I go to fa—"

You grab him by his shirt and shove him towards him on the bed. Soobin squeaks, tumbling onto his back. You crawl over him, sitting right above his pelvic bone. He bites his lip, shutting his eyes as you feel a tent beginning to form.

"Excited?" you voice lows, quipping an eyebrow.

Soobin lets out a breath, "I just...never expected you to be so...in control?"

"You thought you were going to be calling the shots?"

"N-No Ma'am."

You lean down so your mouth is pressed against is ear, "Good," you whisper. You take his ear lobe between your teeth and nibble, relishing in the way he writhes and wiggles underneath you. Trailing your hands up his chest, you begin to press more kisses into his collarbone. Cold fingers like icicles dripping onto his molten skin as your teeth bite harsh marks into his flesh.

Soobin is trying to keep up. His hands perch on your hips as he bites his lips to keep from moaning. Your mom is home after all. So he suffers as his hands grip your hips like a lifeline. But he can only take so much, so much before he loses it just thinking whether your mouth would feel the same on his cock.

"Pl-please," Soobin begs, voice growing higher. You look up at him. Foggy glasses. Swollen lips. Marks beginning to form around his neck. He's pathetically sweet looking.

"You're going to have to be more specific, Binnie," you say, beginning to grind against him.

Soobin groans, forcing your hips further down as he bucks into you. You gasp, stabilizing yourself on his chest. "S-shit, Binnie..." you whisper. You hum your next moan, gripping onto his wrists as Soobin grinds the two of you together.

"I've wanted...shit...you for so long..." he groans, "fuck this I can't," he blurts, whipping the glasses off his face before speeding up. Soobin moans, loud, louder than he promised himself he would. But he can't help it when you feel so good and — fuck — you don't even have any clothes off so why is he so close already?

You can feel how his rhythm is getting choppier and caress his cheek, causing his tear filled eyes to catch your gaze.

"Come for m—"

*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK*

"Hey you two! Dinner is ready!!"

You throw yourself onto the floor faster than you can think of how badly it would hurt. "Okay!!" you shout back, rubbing the pain in your hip.

Soobin is dumbfounded. He lays there on the bed without a thought in his head. Not a singular one but how badly he needs to get off right fucking now. He grabs your pillow, laced in your lily perfume, and sniffs it, beginning to jerk off in his pants. Imagining that he's drilling into you again and again. Seeing the back of your eyes roll in pleasure. Fuck does he love the way you look. The roundness of your tits, the swell of your ass. The look you gave him when you were on top. The whole thing has him panting and whining like you guys never stopped.

You watch him cum in his pants. In a way, you were just as dumbfounded as he was. Except, at how...whipped you had Soobin and didn't even know it. His mouth drops into a slack 'o' as he groans, his whole body tensing up while he finishes, panting and sinking into your bed.

"We...we should...uhm...eat Soobin," you nod, avoiding his gaze and gesturing towards the door. You can't look at him right now, but you're unable to tell if it's because he's too hot — sitting there in his own cum — or if that line between you shouldn't have been crossed.

He nods, still sprawled out on your bed. "Just...just tell her I'll be down in a second," he breathes, chest rising and falling.

You nod, still avoiding his gaze. "I'll see you downstairs."

~~~~

Hey y'all ! Tell me how you liked this!! This will most likely be pt 1 in a series (idk how long maybe one or two more) because I have a couple ideas for this hehehe~

Update: here's pt 2!

[applysome]

I was tagged by the lovely @glorious-blackout 💜 to share the first lines of some of my recent WIPs. Unfortunately naming things tends to be the last thing I do (I'm terrible with names) and I always feel like the introductions are the weakest part of what I write, so bear with me!

Untitled comfort fic - Maxie is unwell and Alex is the only person available to take them to the vets...:

Twenty four hours on the dot. That’s how long it had been since Maxie had eaten anything. Miles had been pushed to his wits end, trying to tempt him with everything from his favourite wet food, four different types of dog biscuits, peanut butter. Even the most expensive sausage from that new deli on the posh street, where the staffs’ eyebrows had hitched at Miles’s Scouse twang before falling in love with him and insisting he come back in a few days to try their new honey roasted ham hock. Miles couldn’t help the effect he had on people, after all. Well, most people anyway. But Maxie had shuffled away from his bowl, or Miles’s outstretched palm every time, with a soft yip and a tilt of the head.

Untitled gym fic - Alex joins the gym and Miles is a hot personal trainer:

It had definitely seemed like a good idea at the time. I should get back in shape, put some muscle back on. Show Rob what he’s missing. That, and not having any space left on his favourite leather belt to bodge a new hole, meant Alex found himself stood at the entrance to his local gym, waiting for one of the trainers to let him in for his induction. He passed the time by studying the posters of the personal trainers; each one comprised of a motivational epithet, a smiling photo and a brief summary of why you should choose them to make your fitness dreams come true. As Alex’s gaze roved over the posters, he noted the majority of the male trainers were huge, beefy military types, and indeed their bios confirmed that, with a former paratrooper, two former soldiers, and an ex naval officer all now resident trainers. Not that Alex had an issue with a tough love approach, far from it in fact, having a propensity to enjoy being told what to do, though that was mostly in the bedroom. Alex closed that wandering train of thought down in an instant. Look where shitting where you eat has got you in the past. 

Untitled piano fic - Alex teaches Miles to play the piano (cheating slightly as the start doesn't exist yet!):

Alex stood up from the piano to stretch, rubbing his neck and raising his arms above his head. “Gettin’ a bit stiff now.”

“Hunched over the piano, that’s why, it’s not good for your back Al. If only I could play, you could have a break and maybe you’d hit on the missing piece we need.”

“I could teach you. If you wanted I mean. Think you’d pick it up pretty quickly already playin’ the guitar.”

“That’d be great Al, my own one on one accomplished rock star teacher. Don’t go takin’ after your parents now bein’ all strict with me. I need extra special attention and nurturin’.” Miles fluttered his eyelashes and winked.

“Slap on the wrist’s what you need more like,” Alex said. “Come on then, sit here and we’ll make a start.”

Untitled original work - after Matt's relationship with his girlfriend breaks down, he moves in with his estranged best friend Dylan, and Dylan's feelings start to resurface:

Dylan was making a decision with huge consequences. He’d already lost his nerve three times, and had to make a couple of about-turns on preceding days, when someone other than him had been sat behind the reception desk. Dylan peered through the glass of the door. A dark haired man was engaged in an animated discussion with a lady holding a pot of what was presumably a bodily fluid of some kind. Yep, that was definitely him. Matthew. Matt. 

Untitled original work - Amy ends up working as the personal assistant for a now famous actor that she met ten years prior on a day that changed her life:

“Tell me your hopes, your dreams, everything you’ve ever wanted. Speak them all into existence, here, with me.” Amy should have been back in the office over an hour ago, but she’d been enraptured by this handsome stranger.

From anyone else, and in any other circumstance, Amy surely would have found his words pretentious; a cacophony of wank designed to cause a woman to swoon head first into bed, but actually earning an eye roll and a swift departure, likely accompanied by a suppressed gagging sound. But something about him, an elusive combination of everything Amy had noticed about the man sat opposite her, and probably twenty other things she hadn’t, held her under his spell. Amy had found herself desperate to pour her heart out to this man she knew nothing about, as if he alone could make the deepest desires of her heart come true through the sheer determination in his tone.   

Untitled original work - Kat's best friend of twenty years, Joe, splits with his girlfriend and expects her to pick up the pieces, not knowing she's been in love with him since their school days. Oh, and Joe happens to be one of the world's biggest rockstars, just to make things so much easier...:

Not the day I wanted. Whatsoever. Not only are they making us compete in some sort of weird, office Hunger Games to become deputy, David is somehow ahead. David who has been here for about six months. I mean, come on, I might not be the best but after three years working here I think I’m more equipped to run the project than David. But when Gary was stood in front of us asking for volunteers, I just froze. I know my performance is reasonable but if I make it through an interview without some kind of coughing fit where each panellist asks me if I want to 'take five' or looking like I’m about to burst into tears (it was allergies, I swear) it’s a miracle. I only got this job as I managed to string a few reasonably coherent sentences together and they were desperate. But now I’m here I’m okay. Next will be the annual fundraiser; I bet they’ll make us do some ridiculous task, Apprentice style where the one who raises the most money for the charity gets to be deputy dog, and the rest of us get torn a new one. I was busy relaying all this to Lizzy via furious text under the table when my phone buzzed in my hand. It was Joe.

That was probably overboard, kudos if anyone actually read all of these! Tagging @uhbasicallyjustmilex @ladyfauxhawk @anitabrassi @futuristicanoe @blacktrickle (who also provided the gym fic prompt!) @danishphoner and any other writing friends who'd like to take part to share any parts of WIPs / fics / anything they're working on (no pressure as always!) 💜🌈

[littleweezel]

I posted CH 6 of Coming in First, a Good Omens Triathlon AU

Rated E for Explicit sex

Summary: AJ Crowley was a talented cyclist who crashed and burned out in his 20s. Twenty-some years later, he lived in the US, worked a boring job, and spent all of his free time training for and participating in triathlons.

Ezra Fell was a swimming phenom who couldn’t handle the pressure of being an elite athlete. He moved to another continent, opened a bookshop, and discovered triathlon as a low-pressure way to stay in shape while doing something he loved.

After competing against each other for years, the two men—who were radically different on the surface—realized they had more in common than they expected. Could their friendship possibly lead to more? (*slaps explicit sex warning* What do you think?)

Chapter 6 Excerpt: When they got to the hotel room, AJ seemed to hesitate when Ezra unlocked the door. Ezra waved him through, “After you,” entering the room behind him. AJ sauntered in and dropped his wallet and phone on the desk.

Ezra put his own fat, worn brown leather wallet next to AJ’s sleek, black thing that looked like it only had enough space for two cards, struck for a moment by how even their wallets reflected their vastly different personalities.

AJ spun around to face him, removing his sunglasses and dropping them next to their wallets with a plink. He looked at Ezra with wide amber eyes. Ezra took a step forward, feeling drawn in like a magnet. Closing the distance between them, AJ’s hands flew to the back of Ezra’s head and his delicate fingers laced into blond curls.

Being a few inches taller than Ezra, AJ bowed his head slightly and tilted Ezra’s face to his, eyes dropping to his lips. Just before their lips touched, his eyes flitted back to Ezra’s. He asked, voice a low whisper, “You’re sure this is okay?”

Read on from the beginning on AO3!

@goodomensafterdark

[edwin-paynes-bowtie]

fic snippet (starting line) - edwin & crystal

“Just give her a tick, mate,” Charles said. “Talk to her. Niko and I will stand right out the door, yeah?”

Edwin looked unenthused, but he sighed. “Very well, Charles. Because you asked, and only because you asked.” He reached over to the edge of his desk and took an egg timer in hand. Then, spinning it, he met Crystal’s gaze. “You have approximately two minutes to say whatever you like. Do not waste them.”

Charles steered Niko out of the room, hoping that everything would go okay.

-

“You have wasted thirty seconds,” Edwin informed Crystal. “You now have one minute and thirty seconds to make your case. Well, one minute and twenty-five, now.”

“God, Edwin,” Crystal said angrily. She clenched her fists at her side, hating the blank look in Edwin’s eyes. “I’m sorry that I betrayed your trust or whatever, okay? But I’m not sorry for keeping you out of Hell. I didn’t mean to hurt you, but I’d do it a million times over to stop you from getting ripped apart by that thing for God knows how long again. You have to see my perspective.”

“And you must see mine.” Edwin crossed his arms. “Do you know how many people I have ever shared parts of my life with? I did not even speak of such matters to Charles until a couple of months ago, at least not routinely. I told you things that day that I never… I am an idiot for having done so. I see that now.”

“No, you’re not,” Crystal said. “You’re family to me, and I’m glad I got to listen to you, Edwin. But, fuck, you’re family to me! I wasn’t gonna let those bitches drag you back to Hell because of your sentimental attachment to fucking notebook.”

“Sentimental attachment? I apologize that my ‘attachment’ to having once been a person is inconvenient for you.”

Crystal rolled her eyes. His stiff-ass finger quotes suddenly didn’t feel funny. “You’re still a person!”

“And you have thirty more seconds.”

Crystal closed her eyes and sighed. Maybe this was a lost fucking cause. “Fine, then. But can we at least work together? Without, like, giving each other the cold shoulder or whatever? It’s for Niko. We both love her, so we should be able to put aside our goddamn differences for her.”

Edwin stiffened, and Crystal knew she’d struck a nerve.

A beat passed – a long one. And then Edwin huffed. “Fine, then. For Niko, I shall at least cooperate.”

“I love her,” Crystal said again, hoping to get the point across.

“As do I,” Edwin said. “And yet, as happy as I am for her having found a relationship, I cannot help but wish it was not with a veritable traitor. I believe that she could do better.”

The egg timer buzzed, and Edwin slapped it off. “As you may have inferred, your time is up.”

[the-penguin-of-baskervilles]

Reissued Post - Backstory

Author's Note: Because Tumblr was having issues when I posted the original version of this, some of my followers are having trouble accessing it. I'm reissuing a few of my side piece stories so everyone can read them.

Masterlist

Word Count: 3,132

Masterlist

When do you think Lloyd realized he cared and had feelings for princess? I recall in the story that the guys would give Lloyd a hard time when princess finally found a boyfriend that Lloyd would be devastated (poor thing 😭) I also kinda wanna know how he felt while she was dating Aiden. Obviously we know he didn’t like Aiden at ALL lol but did Lloyd ever feel hurt in a way watching princess go on dates with him and when she talked about him?

Learning about Aiden

“Why are you being such a space case?” 

You jumped at Lloyd’s question, startled out of your own little world. Scrambling, you shut your screen and re-focused. 

“Sorry. I was distracted. What were you saying?”

Lloyd’s sharp blue eyes narrowed. 

“Who are you texting?” 

“Uh… no one?”

He leaned back in his desk chair and looked at you steadily. You curled tighter into the couch on the other side of his office, looking down at the floor. 

“I still have that report to do… maybe I should go work in my office. I don’t want to distract you.” 

“I’m already distracted, Princess. What’s the big secret?” 

“I met a guy. You know that alumni mixer I went to a few weeks ago?”

Lloyd grunted. “Yeah.” 

“His name is Aiden LeDoux. He moved in similar circles to me during college. We kind of hit it off.”

“That’s LeDoux, spelled like the country singer? What state does he live in?” Lloyd asked. 

He typed the name into a search engine with the word, ‘Virginia’ to filter the results. 

“Twenty-six, graduated three years ago, and works for AVT security?”

“That’s him. What did you find out?”

Lloyd glanced over. “You haven’t run a background check on him?”

“No. That’s for when I’m deciding whether to go on a date with him. But I’m curious.” 

“Ah. Let’s do this.” 

Lloyd cracked his knuckles and leaned over his computer. Your phone dinged with a message from Aiden, which you responded to as Lloyd typed. 

“No speeding tickets, no parking tickets. His academic record was less than stellar. Apparently he subscribes to the philosophy that C’s get degrees.” 

“Not everyone is academically inclined,” you said. 

“But you are. What will you guys talk about on a date if you have nothing in common?”

“I don’t know. Football?” 

Lloyd snorted. “Doesn’t start until September.” 

“Oh. That’s why you’re not showering me with long winded descriptions of the athletic accomplishments of people I don’t know.” 

“You could always mention how happy you were that the Atlanta Braves won the Superbowl.” 

Your eyes narrowed. “I know that’s wrong, but I’m not sure which part.” 

Lloyd snickered. “If you have to comment, just say that you’re a fan of anyone who isn’t the New England Patriots.” 

“Noted. Anything else on Aiden? Slaps on the wrist from university institutions, or other authorities?”

“Ah-ha. He has three parking tickets at the university. And a complaint for under age drinking. You should reconsider the date. He’s clearly an alcoholic who steals parking spots. One of these tickets was for him parking over the line. Disgusting.”

You laughed. “Terrible. He was probably drunk when he parked. Maybe even high.” 

Lloyd toggled over to a different page, one that Jake had set up for him. He typed in Aiden’s information and was surprised to see several security clearances. He checked out the company he worked for and found they had several Department of Defense contracts. 

Lloyd memorized the contracts and filed the information away for future use. 

Just in case. 

Date # 1

You were wearing a short black dress with tights and a blazer. He’d noticed the hemline was shorter than usual, but the jet black tights made it work appropriate. The color only served to highlight the shape of your legs. Lloyd had tried not to be distracted. He failed miserably. 

It didn’t help that the cut of the dress perfectly flattered your figure. He caught a glimpse of a spaghetti strap underneath your jacket and the image circulated in the back of his head for the rest of the day. 

Fuck. He needed to get laid. 

You were his friend and he needed to put aside this nonsense. The chemistry between you would never be realized and that was for the best. He sometimes wondered if the chemistry he felt was all one sided. Maybe you only saw him as a friend and a coworker, not a man. 

“Has Y/N mentioned that she has a date tonight?” Jake asked. 

Lloyd stiffened. “No. Why?”

“Just wondering.” 

He tried to brush off the irritation, but it bubbled up throughout the day. 

You had a date. That was fine. It was what single people did, right? They went on dates. He could arrange a date of his own, if he liked. With an age appropriate woman and not someone who was starting on soft foods when he was choosing a college. Lloyd’s eye twitched. 

He glanced at the clock. If he wanted an update on the insurance investigation reports he needed to catch you before you head out. Reluctantly, he set off down the hall for your office. 

Your door was closed, so he knocked. 

“Just a sec!” 

Did you sound breathless? When you opened the door, he saw why. The black tights were gone. In their place was a different kind of tights, made of mesh with a floral pattern that wound around your legs making them look long and sexy. The blazer was gone and your dress was held up by the thinnest of straps connected to a tight fitting bodice. 

Your height was different, which prompted him to look down. 

Fuck me heels. That’s what they’d called shoes like that when he was young. As the saying went, ‘you can’t walk in them, but you can wear them in bed.’ 

“What do you think?” you asked. 

“Is this a first date?” 

“Yes.” 

“Do you have any concerns about breaking an ankle? Or perhaps an entire leg?”

The shoes bothered him more than the dress. 

You laughed and turned to the mirror you’d hung on the far wall of your office. He watched as you applied a fresh coat of red lip lacquer. The shiny finish made him think it wasn't lipstick, but at the same time, it had more color than lipgloss. He wondered if it was one of those fancy products with the no transfer formulas. The kind women usually wore when they planned on kissing a man. 

A vibrant image of you on your knees with your lips around his dick came to mind. Lloyd shook his head to dislodge the image. 

“Okay, now what do you think?”

“You look beautiful.” 

He genuinely meant it.

“Really?” You tilted your head. “What’s missing? Please, just tell me.”

“Well… maybe it’s the context, but you don’t look like you in this outfit. It’s probably just me. I usually l see you in office wear.” 

You flashed him a smile. “That’s perfect. I’m going more for attention than authenticity, you know?”

He didn’t, and couldn’t untangle the concept behind your statement. The authentic you was a far better version than this glamorous photo shoot ready version of you. With a quick peck on his cheek, you skirted by him and down the hall to the elevator. 

Lloyd stood there, confused, disgruntled, and irritated that he hadn’t even asked about the insurance investigation he’d planned to bring up. He rubbed a hand over his face. 

Fucking hell. 

When he stepped into your office to lock the door, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. An imprint of red lipstick was on his right cheek. He stared at it for a long moment before he rubbed it away with his thumb. 

Lloyd returned to his office in a much better mood than he’d left it.

Date #3 

Jake had informed him of your last date, but this time it was Zach who let him know you were going on your third date with Aiden. 

Lloyd ground his teeth. 

“Careful there. Don’t crack a molar.” 

“Shut. Up.” 

“Would I do a thing like that?” Zach asked. 

He was grinning like a little boy with a sadistic streak and a magnifying glass on a bright summer day. 

“You’re enjoying this.”

“Heck yeah, I am. Have you met the dude?” 

Lloyd’s head swiveled. “No. Have you?”

“Yep. I waited outside, pretending to be on a call, so I could catch a glimpse.” 

“That’s creepy.” 

“No, it’s being nosy. I’m a private investigator. Being nosy is literally my job.” 

“Well?” Lloyd said. 

“He’s six foot three and probably weighs one forty. It’s like looking at a baby colt - all arms and legs, no substance.” 

This was great news. If you weren’t attracted to him this would probably be over quickly.

“Did you to talk to him?”

Zach smirked. “I texted her that you needed an update on the insurance case and cornered him in the lobby.” 

“She’s going to kill you when she finds out.” 

“I bought him a coffee and did a twenty minute interrogation. He didn’t even know what I was doing. He thought I was just being friendly.” 

Friendly wasn’t a word often applied to Zach Hightower. Lloyd got along with the Texan because they shared a devious streak and could lose themselves in the hunt; especially when the prey was other human beings. 

“Give me your impression.”  

“He’s squirrely. I don’t like him one bit.”

Lloyd focused completely on Zach. 

“In what way?”

“He used the phrase ‘I was in a mood,’ and not ‘my mood was.’ Stuff like that. Princess got pretty annoyed when she found me getting cozy with her boyfriend.” 

“She probably thought I sicced you on him.” 

“She asked me what I thought of him this morning and I had to dodge the question,” Zach said. “Landon noticed I didn’t answer and asked what was up. When I told him about interviewing Aiden, he said the mood thing is a sign of a personality problem.” 

“What kind?”

Zach shrugged. “The kind that makes you an asshole.” 

“She’s going out with him tonight?” 

“I guess so.” Zach said. 

A long moment passed as Zach stared at Lloyd, expectant. 

“Well?” 

Lloyd raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Aren’t you going to say something to her?” Zach asked. 

“You’re the one who thinks her boy toy has a personality problem. You say something.” 

“Landon said that, not me. I can tell he’s the kind of guy things just ‘happen’ to. The kind that doesn’t realize they’re responsible for how they act.” 

“I’m not going to disturb her relationship.” 

Zach sighed. “You’re such a bitchy little girl.” 

Lloyd sneered. “And you’re a nosy old woman.” 

“It’s my job, asshole.”

Date #5

Lloyd should’ve been suspicious when Zach brought him to a bar that didn’t have chandeliers made of antlers. 

Obstensivey, this outing was to distract him from your date tonight. When he found himself sitting at a table on the mezzanine of a place called “Club Violet,” questions should have come up. 

Jake sat to his left and Zach across from him. When Zach’s eyes began to stray around the room, Lloyd mimicked the behavior, almost out of habit. The lower area held the majority of the crowd. Its large dance floor pulsed with activity and the bar was packed. 

Then, he saw what Zach was looking for. You were perched on a barstool, your arms twined around Aiden’s neck. He was standing in front of you, his hands caressing your hips, straying lower than they ought to. 

Lloyd’s breath hissed. “Jake, if I throw Zach head first over this railing, do you think he’ll die?” 

“Huh?” Jake’s head snapped up from his phone. He stared. “What?”

“I could just snap his neck with my bare hands.” Lloyd’s tone was conversational. 

Jake looked between them and then back to his phone. “Landon will be here any minute.”

“Off topic, boy wonder,” Lloyd grumbled. 

“It’s relevant. We need two of us to break you up.”

“He’s been waylaid,” Zach said.

Lloyd glanced down and saw that your position had changed. You’d let go of your boyfriend to speak with a newcomer. Even from a distance in dim lighting, he could identify Landon’s fade haircut and the military straight posture. 

“Damn it.”

He snarled at Zach, who returned a Cheshire cat grin. 

“Well, well, well… look who's coming up the steps.”

Lloyd didn’t need to look. He knew you’d be on your way over. He covered his eyes and groaned. 

“I’m blaming you for everything. Everything.”

“Why are you guys playing the role of protective older brothers?” Jake asked.

“Because Aiden’s a squirrely little punk,” Zach said. “See? He isn’t even coming with her.”

Lloyd uncovered his eyes and frowned when he saw Zach was right. Aiden was still at the bar. He’d turned to a girl with raven’s wing hair and was chattering away, looking suspiciously like he was trying to pick her up. His eyes narrowed as something cold moved in his chest. 

You arrived on the second level with Landon and were rapidly approaching.

“What’s our cover story?” Jake asked.

“No cover story,” Zach said.

At least Zach was being straightforward, even if he was obnoxious. Lloyd tossed back half of his bourbon and hoped some liquid courage would take the edge off. 

Your eyes cut to Zach when you stopped at the head of the table.

“What are you? The Gladys Kravits of Bishop & Howard?” 

The big, blond Texan flashed a smile. 

“Why thank you, sweetheart. In my profession, that’s the highest compliment one could hope to achieve.” 

With an exasperated groan, you dropped into the chair beside Zach, and turned to Lloyd with an expectant expression.

“Can’t you collar him?”

“I’ve tried. Shock collars, choke chains… Nothing has worked.” 

Zach slung an arm around the back of Princess’ chair. 

“Your boyfriend is an asshole. Landon? You talked to him.”

“Just for ten seconds.”

You shared a look with the dark haired man and slanted Zach a sidelong glance. 

“You’re paranoid. I think you should see someone about that.”

He laughed. “I have. They can’t fix me.”

It was annoying that Zach’s arm had moved forward on your chair and was now pressed against your back. Did he think he was your best friend, rather than Lloyd? He had the urge to kick the other man under the table. 

You turned to Jake.

“What do you think?”

“I think you’re right. These two,” he gestured to the older men, “are crazy. I think it’s age.”

“Shut up, punk. I can kick your ass any day of the week,” Zach said.

It was pretty much true. Zach only had two inches in height on the young man, but it was the solid 60 pounds of muscle that made him an immovable force. You couldn’t see the weight until he took off his jacket and even then, there was only a hint of the musculature. Zach never wore clothing that drew attention to his physique. He let it come as a nasty surprise to anyone stupid enough to mess with him. 

You were bantering with the Texan about him being your nanny. Lloyd watched closely and all he could see in Zach’s behavior was a paternal kind of affection. He knew a thing or two about Zach and because of that, he doubted there were any hidden motivations behind his actions.

What about Aiden had triggered Zach’s instincts? The way he talked. The lack of ownership of behavior. Lloyd tried to evaluate that on its own, treating it as fact. He could see the issue Zach was insisting was such a problem. Sitting there with the others bantering around the table, Lloyd turned his thoughts inward, pretending to present as he ran through the logic in his mind. 

He was paying enough attention to the conversation to notice you were gently trying to soothe Zach’s nerves. It seemed to be working, too. Landon was watching you closely and asking questions from interrogation school 101. By the time you left the table, pausing to hug Zach and reassure him that you were totally fine and had listened to all of his red flags, Lloyd had come to a decision. 

“What do you think?” Zach asked Landon when you were gone.

“I’m not sure. He seems insecure but hey, some guys of his age just are.” 

Zach groaned and shook his head. He picked up his beer and tilted it at Lloyd in a salute. 

“Look at the benefits of being nosy. I talked some sense into her.” 

Lloyd grunted. He waited for the right moment to corner Landon alone. He caught his shoulder and turned him away from the bar, where he’d been heading. 

“Come on. You don’t need another beer.” 

“Excuse me?” Landon demanded. 

“I want to talk to this Aiden kid. If Zach’s this worried about him, we need to check him out.”

“When did this become ‘we,’ rather than just you,” Landon asked. 

“Hurry up, we’re losing him.” 

Aiden was heading toward the door and the crowd prevented them from following as closely as they would have preferred. By the time they hit the sidewalk, Aiden was out of sight. Lloyd spun around, scanning the area. 

“Shit. We lost him.” 

“Is that him?” Landon asked. 

Lloyd whirled. 

He searched the crowd for a tall, thin man but didn’t find him. 

“Where?”

“With the blonde.”

Lloyd’s eyes narrowed on the silhouette of a couple standing in the shadow of a street lamp. 

“Are you sure?” he asked. 

“No,” Landon said. 

Lloyd was almost ready to approach when the couple turned and began walking away. 

Landon grabbed his elbow. 

“Come on. Let’s not be weird. If you have something to say about Princess’ relationship, say it to her.” 

“What, exactly, am I supposed to tell her that Zach hasn’t already?” 

Landon snorted. 

“You know he’s only saying it because he knows you won’t.” 

Lloyd paused. “He is?”

“Yeah. We were expecting you to meet him at least before date number three. But she said you didn’t seem interested, so she wasn’t going to bother.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me this?”

“Because we talked about it-”

“We? We, as in who?”

“Everyone. Except for you and Princess.”

Lloyd grunted. “Which is why Zach decided to get nosy.”

Landon shrugged. “He’s your best friend and you’re her best friend. It balances out. We get why you don’t want to step in, and that’s why Zach did.” 

They were nearly at the entrance of the club again, when Lloyd stopped short. 

“Should I be worried about this guy?”

Landon grunted, rocking back on his heels. The look on his face was all the answer Lloyd needed. 

“Right. I’ll look into it.” 

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

Masterlist

[ionlymadethissoicouldleaveanask]

“Can I get 50 bucks?”

My dude if I had, I would give.

But in more seriousness, this comes from this prompt list. When we talked a little bit ago the plan was for this to be about Fred/Kelly but I have written a ton of them lately so I'm branching out just a little bit - I hope that's okay!

---

Reach City, like most things in Riz-028's perception, was different after the pellet. Everything seemed... more. More light, more noise, more smells. The sound of vehicles on the street and children playing on the sidewalks were distracting. The bright lights of mobile billboards burned her eyes. The aroma of overcooked street food and hot asphalt filled her nostrils. It was almost overwhelming.

Still, she forced herself to go out into it. She had a few reasons... she needed the time to adjust before sliding back into the field, she could use the experience viewing how civilians interacted with her without the pellet masking her reactions and feelings, she wanted to see the world the way it really was - not the gray, emotionless place she had known for the majority of her life. More significantly, though - she was out because Vannak-134 insisted she come along with him.

The big man managed to be convincing when he wanted to.

Vannak stopped on the street outside a brightly-lit building. A large window dominated the front of the store, showing off animal displays all throughout the interior. Riz raised an eyebrow at her companion. "What are we doing here?" she asked with a smirk.

"You'll see," the other Spartan answered. He was wearing a grin - not the sarcastic one Riz had grown used to seeing whenever he won some kind of competition over the past twenty-some years, but a sincere, almost childlike smile that was at once familiar and foreign to her. She wondered if it was the same grin he used to give her before the augmentations and the pellets and the... everything else.

She blinked when she realized that they'd been staring at one another for too long. "Well," she said, trying to hide the warmth she felt in her cheeks, "show me then."

"Right," Vannak said with a nod. He opened the door and marched inside.

Riz followed him, her smile growing more and more curious as Vannak confidently strode to the front desk. "I'm here for my shipment," he said.

The attendant looked up at him nervously. Riz supposed that a Spartan - even out of their MJOLNIR armor - must be an incredibly intimidating sight.

Vannak slapped down a large handful of credits on the counter, causing the attendant to flinch. "I'm here for the birds," he declared with a stern look.

The attendant nodded, disappearing into the back.

"What did you just buy?" Riz asked, crossing her arms over her chest and shooting Vannak a look. Spartans didn't have much room for personal belongings, much less living creatures.

The other Spartan just smiled cryptically. "You'll see," he rumbled. Something about the glint in his eye sent a thrill down Riz's spine, but she decided to file that bit of information away to analyze later.

After several moments of silence in which Riz did everything she could not to meet her fellow Spartan's eye, the attendant finally reappeared. In his hands were three cages, each housing a multicolored bird.

Riz stared first at the cages, then turned her eye on Vannak. "You dragged me all the way out here to show me that you bought some sky rats?" she asked, remembering the slang that Earth still used for pigeons.

A look of mild offense passed through her teammate's features. "These are certified purebred show pigeons," he countered fiercely. "They are beautiful, and I brought you here to meet them." Under his breath, but still loud enough for her to hear, he added, "And because you're making everyone depressed just hanging around the barracks all day."

The attendant cleared his throat nervously. "Well, here you are Sir," he stammered. "We've got the papers written up as well."

Vannak smiled wide enough to show his rows of perfect white teeth. While it was a display of pure joy from the Spartan, the civilian seemed to regard his grin almost as one would a tiger baring its teeth. "Perfect," the Spartan said, ignoring the attendant's obvious discomfort. "Riz, meet Benny, Jenny, and Lenny."

Riz rolled her eyes. "What am I supposed to do," she said with one eyebrow raised, "shake their hands?"

Her fellow Spartan snorted. "Maybe you ought to leave the jokes to me," he countered in a low voice, but the mirth in his tone was unmistakable.

"Uh... Sir?" the attendant interrupted, his voice squeaking only one octave this time. When the pair of Spartans turned to him, he swallowed nervously again. "There's... there's actually another bird," he stammered quickly. "If you're interested." As he spoke, he lifted another bird cage onto the table.

Riz watched as Vannak all but bounced from one foot to to the other in excitement. Then, the large man's smile turned downward slightly.

"I didn't bring enough credits for a fourth pigeon," he said thoughtfully, counting out the currency he'd brought on their outing. Several seconds passed in silence before he turned to Riz. "Can I get fifty credits?" he asked bluntly.

The candor with which he spoke, particularly about such a seemingly mundane subject, took Riz off guard. "Why would I give you any money?" she countered.

Vannak took a step toward her, standing close enough now that she could smell his aftershave. It was surprisingly pleasant, as was the heat that radiated off of his large form. "I'll let you name the fourth one if you spot me the money," he said, drawing out the words as if it must have been the most enticing offer she'd received all day.

Riz crossed her arms over her shoulder. She knew from the sinking feeling in her stomach - accompanied by the strange fluttering she felt whenever Vannak turned that smile on her - that she was going to lose this fight.

"Fine," she finally said, slapping down a handful of credits on the counter. Then she turned to Vannak and said, "You're ridiculous." There was no venom in her tone, and for once she didn't even try to pretend that there was.

Vannak smiled widely as the attendant collected the money and began filling out the final paperwork. "What should we call him?" he asked her from the side of his mouth. "I'm thinking Kenny."

Riz shook her head, a smile working its way to her lips in spite of her. "Absolutely not," she bit back. She stared at the bird, surprised to find that it really was a beautiful creature. She tapped one finger against her lips three times as she thought. Finally she came to a conclusion, and turned a smile on her companion.

"I've go it," she said brightly. "We're calling him Keith."

---

Full disclosure, I do not remember the pigeons' names and am not in a great spot to be able to look up the episode right now. So I'm putting down the names that genesisgray used in this story (which I highly recommend that you all read.)

I also know nothing about pigeons. Ask @makowrites if you want to know what makes Vannak's special.

[lizhly-writes]

cnovel shenanigans: a different kind of twins au. had this in my giant wip document in a while, decided to polish it up to take a break on what i'm supposed to be working on. surprise! it's yang haoshu and yang haoran (og).

Yang Haoshu glanced at the door that linked her room to her brother’s.  At the ever-auspicious hour of four in the morning, there was still light seeping out from under it.  Maybe Yang Haoran was passed out on his desk with the lamp still on, like he’d been prone to when they were younger; maybe he was still obediently, diligently hard at work.

There was really only one way to find out.  Delicately, Yang Haoshu twisted the doorknob and stepped inside.

Yes, he was clearly awake, squinting at his desktop monitors, one hand tapping at his keyboard and the other scribbling in a notebook.  He didn’t notice her as she stepped in, didn’t notice her as she got closer, didn’t notice her as she hovered a hand over his shoulder.

He very much noticed when she slapped her hand down.

It was a little like watching a bomb go off – body going tense, whirling around with sharp, furious, motion, ready to bite off the head of anyone who even looked at him wrong –

“Hi, it’s me, your sister!” Yang Haoshu said.

She did so in a cheerful, innocently oblivious voice, the kind that heightened mild annoyance into pure rage.  It always worked well enough on Jiang Mingxi.

It didn’t have any real effect on Yang Haoran, desensitized by long-term exposure. He simply sighed, rubbing at his eyes.  “Haoshu.  What are you doing up.”

“I just woke up,” Yang Haoshu said.  “Because unlike you, I went to bed at a regular time.  Don’t you know that staying up after midnight is bad for your skin?  What will happen to your pretty face then, huh?”

Said pretty face twisted in distaste. “Don’t start that again, is it so important to you that I care about how I look –”

“It seems like such a shame to finally win the looks competition just because you don’t care.  This is the sort of sentiment that’ll make you old before your time, you know?  You’ll look forty at age twenty–”

“Haoshu,” Yang Haoran said forcefully.  “What do you want.” He was twitching faintly.  If it was because of irritation, no harm done.  If it was sleep deprivation, though…

When was the last time her darling brother got a full night’s sleep, anyway?

“Nothing, really,” Yang Haoshu said, instead of straightforwardly asking this question.  “I just wanted to see what you were doing.”  She leaned forward, peering at the neatly arranged windows on his monitor.  “You’re trying to get up-to-date with company info?  What a good, dutiful son you are, hmm?”

Yang Haoran bristled preemptively.  “Don’t start that again.”

“What am I starting?  I thought you liked being told you were such a good boy.”

“Why do you have to make me sound like a dog.”

“But aren’t you, though?  I mean–” Yang Haoshu gestured at his notebook for emphasis – “look at you!  Diligently learning what needs to be learned!  Unwaveringly doing whatever your owners want!  Did Mother or Father even tell you do this?  I don’t think they did!  You’re jumping to heel without even being told!  How well-trained!  What a good prize hound!  If they enter you in a competition, you’re award-winning for sure!”

“Did you only come in here because you wanted to call me a dog first thing in the morning?”  Yang Haoran said, hackles raising, his pen stabbing into – no, through – the notebook by the strength of pure irritation.  Well done, gege! “You couldn’t have even waited until breakfast?  Did you just want to be certain this was the first thing I heard all day? Are you really this bored?  You really don’t have anything better to do?  Here’s a suggestion: sleep.  Didn’t you just say staying up after midnight is bad for your skin?”

“Now, isn’t that hypocritical, A-Ran?  After all, you’re still awake, killing yourself trying to be as good as Da-jie, aren’t you?”

Yang Haoran narrowed his eyes.   If she had been a stranger, he probably would tried to kill her (subtly!) for saying this kind of thing, but Yang Haoshu had the advantage of being the only sibling he liked.  Instead of going for the throat, he only said, “Get out.” 

“Really?  You could at least let me finish.”

“You give me the same lecture every time.  It gets old, I don’t need a refresher.”

“You always need a refresher, because you never understand my point.”

“Your point is that I should give up,” Yang Haoran said flatly.  “What’s to understand?”

“You make it sound so bad. It’s good advice, I’ll have you know.”

Yang Haoran wasn’t the only one who had tried living up to their parents’ expectations, after all.  Yang Haoshu had done the same; it was just that, unlike him, she had realized that there was absolutely nothing she could do that could ever compare to what Yang Haoli had done before the both of them.

Grades, talent, skill, intelligence, pure fucking luck – Yang Haoli would always beat them both.  When it came to their parents’ attention, Yang Haoran and Yang Haoshu would always lose.

The only way to win was not to play.

“What, you’re saying I should be like you?” Yang Haoran said derisively, who had never been convinced of this line of thought. “Accomplishing nothing of any importance, failing at the very start just because I can’t be bothered to try for a higher standard?  Just because you can do it doesn’t mean I can do the same.”

Ouch, gege.  If Yang Haoshu was anyone else, she might be – y’know – hurt.

“That’s a pretty uncharitable way of looking at it,” Yang Haoshu said.  “You sound just like Ming-jie.  She says this sort of thing about me, too.  You know, about how I’m irresponsible and taking my privilege for granted and how I’m wasting all my time on frivolous things.”

His expression twisted, obviously dissatisfied.  Wasn’t this what he just said, in different words?  But ah, it was only gege who was allowed to insult his very cute meimei, huh?  Even his fiancee wasn’t allowed!  One could even say that especially his fiancee wasn’t allowed!

There weren’t very many people Yang Haoran hated more than Jiang Mingxi, after all. 

“But then again, maybe I should expect this from you,” Yang Haoshu said.  “You’ve been getting along much better with Ming-jie lately, so maybe it’s not so much of a surprise that husband and wife are speaking with the same mouth.  All those ‘training spars’ alone – ”

“What exactly are you trying to say here,” Yang Haoran said, scowling heavily, which was disappointing, she was honestly hoping to get a more telling reaction out of him.

“What, me? Am I trying to say anything?  Who’s trying to say anything? I’m straightforwardly implying you two fucked, but that’s just a guess on my–”

“Do you want to die, is that it? I can help you with that.”

“So touchy, A-Ran.  Picking up habits from Ming-jie, aren’t you?  She’s such a bad influence, I should tell her to stop infecting my brother with her delicate sensibilities.  It’s no good to be so…”  Yang Haoshu clicked her tongue.  “Emotional.”

The corner of his mouth twitched.  It wasn’t a smile.  But it wasn’t not a smile.  Yang Haoshu had finally steered the conversation into territory they both liked: making fun of Jiang Mingxi. “If you tell her that,” he drawled, “you really will die. Calling her delicate and emotional – do you have a death wish?”

Yang Haoshu blinked innocently. “But gege will defend me though?”

Now that was a smile – a little too sharp to be presentable, but a smile, nonetheless.  “Defend you? How do you know I won’t help her?  You keep saying that we’re getting along so well lately, after all.”

Ah, A-Ran was always so happy when he got to be mean.

“That would be such a betrayal,” she pouts.  “How could you?  And when I’m always on your side when Ming-jie attacks you–”

“You’re on my side because you think it’s fun.”

Well.  That wasn’t wrong. It was incredibly fun antagonizing Jiang Mingxi, which was why Yang Haoshu did it so often.

Still, Yang Haoshu pressed a hand over her heart, mock-hurt.  “How could you say that, can’t it just be that I care?”

He scoffed, like he always did at the thought of anyone doing something as plebeian as caring about him. 

Yang Haoshu was really so tired.

“And because I care so much–” she patted his shoulder.  “I’m telling you to go to sleep, A-Ran.”

“Haoshu.  I have things to do.”

“You’re really driving yourself to an early grave, you know,” Yang Haoshu said, and, because she knew that Yang Haoran had never really been afraid of dying young, she added, “Anyway, do you think you do good work when you’re sleep-deprived?”

Yang Haoran paused. Yes, she had him there – he didn’t give a shit about his health, but when it came to his work quality, that was something he cared very much about.  

“It’s fine,” he said.  To anyone else, he would have sounded really rather sure of himself.  To Yang Haoshu?

He did very well with sleep deprivation, she knew.  Much better than the average person, just like Yang Haoshu, and like-but-not-quite-like Yang Haoli. But even he had his limits, and while those limits were very high –

“When was the last time my darling brother got a full night’s sleep, anyway?”

Yang Haoshu didn’t know the answer.  She was betting neither did Yang Haoran.

“It’s fine,” he repeated, as if saying it with enough force would be enough to make it true.

“Is it?  Oh, but what do I know.  It’s not like I’m used to looking at this.” She tapped the row of numbers on the screen – revenue, profit, expense, debt.  Quarterly reports for the family company and quarterly reports for every single other competitor they had. 

All meaningless garbage.  

“Gege is so accomplished,” Yang Haoshu said.  “So sure you haven’t, ah… misplaced a number somewhere?”

If Yang Haoshu had wanted to be mean, she would’ve added something about Yang Haoli – how reliable their jiejie was, a machine that never needed to shut down for maintenance, no sleep no food no drink necessary for perfect work.  It would have even been true.  Their older sister, inhumanly perfect, impossible to live up to, worthless to try against.

But that would really do nothing but start a fight.

It was 4AM. Yang Haoshu really had better things to do – sleep, for one.

“Go to bed, A-Ran.  I promise you’ll be much more efficient in… well, I’d say in the morning, but we’re already there, aren’t we?”

[flowergirlmiwa]

back in the day i used to burn videos/movies to DVDs just so i could watch them on my twenty inch CRT TV. it just felt different from sitting at the desk and watching videos on the computer

you remember like, the family having The Computer that was in The Location? you remember not being able to just slap an HDMI cord into a laptop to instantly see anything on your 4K tv? idk sometimes i miss when things were less convenient

[pirate-of-the-southern-isles]

Fanfic's snippet - How Hans became a pirate, part IV

First part here

Second part here

Third part here

Hans is telling the story of what the hell is he doing here to Anna and Elsa after three years of the events portrayed and from his own perspective, mind you.

Hans was painfully aware that he is wearing only his old pyjamas.

Captain Rogers, on the contrary, had an elegant, red coat with black lining and a tricorn similar to his daughter’s, with a golden hem.  Across his chest a leather belt was hanging, two small daggers inserted into it. He had a short, dark and well-kept beard. His hair was surprisingly long for a sailor and he didn’t even tie it. But the most important thing about him was his aura of… not even an authority, it was simply something that made Hans think that the captain knows every answer to every question, and if he is still asking – it is simply because it is, unfortunately, his duty.  

“Prince Hans Westergaard” he stated calmly, tapping his pen on the desk. “The unlucky thirteen”.

Great, so he didn’t have to introduce himself.

“Ahoy?” he tried; from a time perspective, this attempt to make the atmosphere a bit lighter was quite… sad.

Nevertheless, captain did smile a little. Probably for the sake of good manners.

“So, what exactly are you planning to do here, m’lad? We have no princesses to kill. Nor queens.”

Hans took a slightly deeper breath, trying to compose himself. Maybe it is good that Layla warned him. In the end, the word of his… misdeeds… has probably travelled far. Of this fact his father reminded him constantly and painfully, explaining in excruciating details what a shame he brought for the entire family. It was a little strange that the crew didn’t recognize him, though. Maybe it was too dark? But if their captain knows, he will have to tell them too. Maybe he will gain some “tough guy” points. He heard that it works that way in prisons… maybe.

“I… I would like to be a pirate” he stuttered, knowing that it sounds like something said by a ten-year-old rascal. He pulled down his sleeves a little.

“Why?”

How did Raivis put it? For adventure, for glory, for unforgettable story?

“Because I have nothing left to lose and no way out”. Those words practically rolled down his lips without him knowing. He almost wanted to slap himself. How could he let himself be so vulnerable in the first ten minutes?! He was practically begging to be laughed at.

Captain looked at him carefully, like he was studying some specimen.

“You look quite alive, Hans, so you have something to lose”. He put a pen down. “Two legs, two arms, one head… look, you even have a full set of fingers and toes. Do you know how easy it is to lose it, being a pirate?”

He took a moment to think about it.

“I suppose… I am willing to risk it”.

Rogers smiled again, this time with slight amusement.

“You have no idea what you are trying to get into. Nor what are you really willing to risk.”

“But I know what I can’t risk”. He lifted his chin a little and added a few more decibels into his voice, so it doesn’t feel like he was whispering anymore. He also hoped that captain won’t notice how hard he is trembling. “I can’t risk going back home”.

For a moment there was a silence in the cabin. After a few seconds of it he was fully willing to get down on his knees and beg if Rogers won’t let him in.

“What can you do?”

“E… excuse me?”

“On a ship, every crewman has to have some skills. What are yours, m’lad?”

Hans had over twenty years of experience in being a prince, which meant he was trained in a few different martial arts and fencing, he knew something about diplomacy and, how certain events demonstrated, he was also excellent at manipulating people. He was also able to run fast, take cover and pretend he is not even here. After Arendelle he learned how to do a hard, physical labour. That was quite a good start for an entry level pirate, wasn’t it?

He could say all of this and maybe it would work. But this smoke from a burned gun powder went through his nose straight to the brain, swaddling everything into a thick layer of fog. Or so he assumed, because there was no other explanation of his next words.

“I can read maps…?”. It was the stupidest thing he could say. He didn’t even know why, from all the possible options, he chose this one. He didn’t know the first thing about maps, he just knew how to not held them upside down!

It was a mistake, it was painfully obvious.

“Ah, maps, you say…?” He knew the captain knew he just lied. “Alright, then.” Rogers rose up from his stunningly ornamented desk and walked to the back of the cabin. Only now Hans has noticed that there was a portiere, its colour blending with the wallpaper, hiding some other room. “We shall see, then. We are heading towards Eldora now. You will tell us the shortest route and explain how to avoid submerged rocks. Please, wait for me”.

The captain disappeared and good, because Hans was pretty sure that in a few seconds he is going to burst into tears and he really wasn’t able to endure such an embarrassment. This day was definitely too long. And in a few minutes he will be kicked off the ship he barely managed to get onto. They were quite far on the sea now, so there were only two possibilities. Either he will drown or he will manage to swim his way back to the land. There was only one, small issue – there was no other land in the swimming distance other than the Southern Isles. If he would swim there… maybe drowning wasn’t such a bad option.

“Mrrp?”

He flinched, hearing an unexpected sound.

A cat has jumped on the desk. It was a giant cat. Not a fat one, just… muscular. It looked a little like a tiger, just sized down by some sort of a spell.

“Oh… hi?” He stood steadily, letting the animal to smell him. He even offered his hand, as a sign of a good will. The cat started to rub its whiskers against it. And then it climbed and leaned its front paws on his chest. It was so heavy it almost hurt. “Oh, you are friendly…”

The cat was now sniffing around his ears and eyes, every few seconds nudging his cheeks with its head. Eventually, Hans decided to take it into his arms. In the end, if he is going to die today, at least he is going to hug a kitty before. Maybe it will make it a little better.

The pet immediately snuggled into him, its head against the shoulder and started purring deliciously. Vibrations of this sound went straight down into Hans’s spine. He felt how they are steadying his rampaging heart, untying the knot on his stomach and loosening the tightness in his throat.

“Well, hello” he whispered, petting the creature on its enormous back. “What is your name, kitty? Mine is Hans and, well, apparently I am an idiot”.

After this surprisingly honest, probably originating from a subsiding hysteria, statement, the cat purred even louder. And it laid its paw – a really mighty paw – on his chest, like it was trying to say that everything is going to be alright…

And in this moment Hans has finally noticed that captain Rogers just got back and is looking at them with his eyes wide.

“Oh, sorry, I shouldn’t have…?” the prince asked, wondering if he should keep holding the cat or if he should put it down somewhere.

“No! Don’t move!” Rogers approached them fast, not blinking even once and started to examine them like they were a statue in a museum. Hans couldn’t tell if he managed to make him mad or if he is just borderline stunned. “M’lad, how did you manage to do that?”

“But… what, exactly?”

“You are holding Mango”. He answered, still shocked. “Mango is a hellish creature, feared by the most vicious pirates. She hates the whole world with a burning passion and usually, if someone is trying to touch her, they end up with few stiches… and you… can you talk to animals, by any chance?”

“Not that I know…?” He stated, even if he was tempted to enthusiastically confirm – at least this lie wouldn’t be so obvious like the cartographical one.

“So, how…?”

“She… she just came to me, I didn’t know…”

Purring quickly turned into growling when the captain took one step too far – as far as the cat was concerned, of course. He immediately recoiled, like even he was scared of her.

“Well, m’lad…” He put the map he brought with himself on the table. “I see there is indeed something interesting in you”.

Hans didn’t know how to respond, so he just smiled awkwardly, still holding the cat.

“Very well, then”. Rogers finally said, passing near them. “You have to know that Mango is also the most excellent pest-catcher who ever lived on this world. She won’t let any rat on her deck. If she states that something or someone is not a rat, then I am left with no choice but to trust her judgement.”

Hans held his breath.

“Come.” The captain gestured towards him to approach. “We should introduce you to the rest of the crew. Welcome aboard.”

The sense of relief he felt in that moment was nearly impossible to describe.

“I… thank you”.

“Just don't make me regret it.”

“You won’t regret it!”

“Captain”.

“Captain. Of course. You won’t regret it, captain. I promise. But… captain…?”

Rogers turned towards him and raised an eyebrow.

“I… to be honest, I can’t read maps. I mean, at least not to well.” He admitted, crouching down a little.

Rogers chuckled.

“I know.”

[soir-rouges-esprit]

xxxi.w: Coke, Blood & Handguns, we all stopped with our infighting … we all looked forward at the colorful flashing screen that was centered in the slot machine … the world started to go quiet around me … my vision darkened around me … until it was silent … and there was nothing but me … and the machine in a dark room … I was … I … … …. I hear … that low roar … that rumble … it builds and builds in my ears, as I feel my chest tightening and my breath becoming heavier … tunnel vision … my focus sharpened on one thing and one thing only … The screen … the number … the- … one, one, dot, five, two, eight, dot, three, seven, one. Eleven-million, five-hundred and twenty-eight-thousand, three-hundred and seventy-one dollars … I hi- … I hit the fucking jack pot … *breath* … *Breath* *Weez* … *BREATH* *WEEZ* *GASP *WEEZ* *GASP* *BREATH* *CLAP* … … … The world starts to come back to me … the sounds, the sights … slowly … clapping gets louder and louder and deafening. M & J are jumping and hollering all around me … a crowd had developed all around me … then everything came to me. “HOLY FUCKING SHIT!!!! HOLY FUCK IN THE SHIT SHIT IN THE FUCKING FUCK!!!!!” “RED!!!!! WHAT THE FUCK!?!?! YOU … YOU FUCKING UNBELIEVABLE FUCK WHAT THE HELL???” A bunch of hands slapped my back as the crowd cheered on … then a large man in a suit came to me and pressed a few buttons on the side of the machine … a ticket was printed out from one of the front slots of the machine, he grabbed it and asked “Are you the winner?” y-yea “Alright kid, well it’s your lucky day, come with me so we can get this ticket checked over for you … life is about to be very different for you from now on.” We get up … M and J follow … I’m … still in a trance, stumped in the situation and what was happening … it all must be a dream, it has to be, no way I hit the jackpot, Me!? Of all people on some stupid fucking slot machine? No way th- “Sir!” huh? “Sir … were gonna need you to sign here, and here … we’ll need to see your ID as well” ok … yeah ok. I signed where they told me … I handed over my ID. “Ok perfect, come with me” we walk through the back end of the casino, past a bunch of workers and the back desk, up an elevator and to a large room filled with desks and computers and people working at them … we walk through some big golden heavy doors into a main office … there is a man sitting at a desk on the phone, he showed us away at first but the lady that guided me up here kept walking, made her way around the desk, and tapped him on the shoulder and showed him my ticket … he took a once over … then quickly looked back out the window and continued the call. He turned grabbed the ticket, and gave it a whole punch from a hole puncher that he pulled from his desk … then got a red pin and wrote on it, handed it back to her, took a glance at me and said in a lack luster and somewhat dismissive way “Congrats kid” then he turned away and acted like nothing happened … she guided us back downstairs and to a large front desk area, where her and another employee went over the ticket and settled out a lot of paper work … then … she turned to me … handed me a bunch of paper, and a receipt … and said … “Congratulations Mr.Red, on behalf of the Bellagio we happily award you your winnings … we’ll contact you in a few days to discuss how our annuity plan will work and what you should expect … thank you sir!” … … … T-thank you … I took all the paperwork and my recipt and walked out to the front desk in a sort of haze … when M and J ran up to me, J jumping on me and giving me a large hug, forcing me to support the wright of his entire body and energetic nature, while M danced around me making little crab hands clamping and unclamping while circling me. “WOAH THERE!!! EVERYONE WATCH OUT WE GOT A BIG SHOT IN HERE” oh god please stop don’t say that … “WOOP WOOP!!! WOOP WOOP!!! WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO FIRST WITH YOUR WINNINGS??? I’d quit my job and move to the Maldives … live my life sipping wine and eating high-end food delivered to me by my three male servants.” ... [To Be Continued]