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welcometomypinkbox · 1 year

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Spider-Man & Ms Marvel: Love & War

By: Reborn Dark Phoenix

OMG THIS WAS THE BEST FANFIC I HAVE EVER READ! Is so WELL WRITTEN! You won’t be able to find it as it is delete. This is more of people who like Spider-Man comics where he is OLDER And People who might like Peter x Carol which depict here make a great couple.

Also we won’t be able to find this fic as it is deleted 😔 will post more soon!

Chapter 1: Minimal

If there was one thing Carol loved about having super speed, it was that she could race from her house to the edge of the atmosphere in less than five seconds to get to space. And if there was one thing Carol loved about space, it was how blissful and awe-striking it was. Despite having seen the beautiful view every day since she took up this habit three years ago, she was always struck with wonder when she saw the Earth from space.

And her most absolute favorite thing about space? Free-falling.

As she allowed herself to plummet through Earth's atmosphere, she felt the heat of the massive kinetic energy consume her body, as it warmed her and her body absorbed it. She loved this feeling, the heat nipping at her body; it was so tingly and pleasuring. She loved being able to do this every day, just flying up and plummeting back into the earth, and almost hitting the Atlantic Ocean before maneuvering herself to race to Manhattan.

This... this was probably the best thing to happen to her because of becoming Ms. Marvel.

Well, actually, Peter was... this was a close second, though.

As she arrived at the shores of Manhattan, people looked nonchalantly up at her form; superheroes had been around the city for almost 20 years now; showing up worldwide less than 10. This was a common occurrence, and flying deeper into the city, people didn't even give her a second glance, if they took a first glance, even. Carol was grateful for that-she was having a good start to the day, and the last thing she needed right now to ruin it were ogling eyes looking at her. It was one of the reasons she preferred flying high above the buildings and at super speed. Although, she did enjoy the lower, slower flights she had when she and Peter travelled through the city... well, enjoy wasn't a good enough word, really.

Suddenly, something jumped onto her back and her eyes were covered by a pair of hands. Now normally, she'd knock whoever this was into the atmosphere, anticipating an attack and then a battle, but this set of hands was all too familiar to her, and she simply smiled, waiting to hear his voice.

"Excuse me, but is this the ferry to Staten Island?"

She laughed as she flew up to a nearby building and landed. The person jumped off, and Carol turned to see her most favorite person in the whole world smiling at her: the Amazing Spider-Man.

"Enjoying your week off?"

"Eh, I guess," the Webhead replied with a slight shrug. "Yeah, I'm off the team for a while, but all these thugs just won't let me take a break, y'know? All the regulars like Doc and Rhino and such are locked up on the Raft at least."

"There's something," Carol said as she sat on the ledge, Peter joining her. "What've you been up to these last few days?"

"Well, the lab's needed me more than usual, Jameson's having me freelance more and more, and I'm visiting Aunt May tonight. Kind of dull, really, now that I hear all that out loud." Carol let out a small giggle at that. "Oh, c'mon-that's what you laugh at and not my jokes and quips?"

"They've been kind of failing in quality as of recent, babe."

"Yeah, name one time they've-actually, don't respond to that, it'll hurt my already fragile ego, and the bad guys depend on my fragile ego to help me mock them while I beat them up every day."

"The team says hi, by the way-Logan, Cap, Jess, Falcon, Luke & Danny especially."

"They miss me?"

"Nope, they've really enjoyed the quiet; they've asked me to tell you to take more vacations."

"Ba, humbug," Peter said as he rolled his eyes. "Remind me to pull a joke from my bag next time I see them."

"I'll be sure to do that," Carol purred as she brought his face to hers and began slowing and lovingly kissing him, letting herself get lost in the passion until...

"Captain America to all on duty Avengers, report to the Mansion for emergency mandatory meeting."

"Noooo....," Peter sighed as they separated at the sound of Cap's voice on Carol's comm.

"Sorry, Spider, duty calls."

"Fine," he pouted before smiling, giving her a warm hug. "Let me know what it's about & tell 'em I said hi."

"I think that in their book, that'd break the happy silence."

"Aren't you a bag of laughs..."

*Avengers Mansion, 10 minutes later*

Carol touched down on the mansion grounds at the same time her best friend Jessica, or Spider-Woman to SHIELD & the rest of the world, did.

"Carol!" Jess cried as she embraced her best friend. "What's new with you, huh? I haven't seen you in forever!"

"... Jess, we saw each other two nights ago; before you, Tasha, Clint and Bobbi were called in by Fury for that mission in the East. Remember?"

"Yeah, but that seems like forever ago," the British Avenger/SHIELD agent replied with a smirk. "Oh speaking of which, can you keep a secret? Guess what I found out. Bobbi is crushing on Clint."

"Wait what? But Clint's-"

"With Natasha, I know, and that really is upsetting for her. She asked my advice about it on the mission. Oh, don't tell anyone, ok?"

"Such a good friend you are, Jess," Carol smirked as the two made their way down the mansion hallways to the conference room. "But my lips are sealed."

"What's the seal for?" Logan's voice came as he joined them from his mansion quarters, walking with them to the meeting. "Actually- don't wanna know; better if I don't so I don' have to get involved in any way." The two women chuckled as the three of them entered the conference room and took their seats at the massive table.

Captain America, Tony Stark (Iron Man), Thor, Bruce Banner (the Hulk), Yellowjacket, Wasp, King T'Challa (Black Panther), Hawkeye, Black Widow, Vision, Scarlet Witch, Quicksilver, Falcon, She-Hulk,

Hercules, Tigra, Namor the Sub-mariner, Nova, Mockingbird, Wonder Man, Luke Cage, Dr. Strange, Iron Fist, Noh Varr (Protector), General Ross (the Red Hulk), Daredevil and now Ms. Marvel, Spider Woman & the Wolverine. The full roster of the pantheon of Earth's Mightiest Heroes was now assembled. The only one missing was the Amazing Spider-Man.

"Alright, everyone," Stark began. "Thanks for meeting here on such short notice."

"What's this about, Tony?" T'Challa interjected.

"There's been some... complaints as to how the Avengers are operating." At his words, everyone at the table was shocked.

"Who's been complaining?" Bobbi Morse asked. "I haven't heard anything from SHIELD, and Hill would definitely make sure that Clint, Natasha, Jessica & I would've known about this kind of thing-you know how she isn't so fond of us."

"Bobbi's right," Clint Barton added. "Fury may be in favor of superheroes and the like, but Hill still is against the notion of unsupervised superhumans and vigilantes-we'd have heard something." Carol couldn't help but notice that Bobbi slightly went a bit pink at Clint agreeing with her.

"Are governments and nations complaining about how we handle threats, how we operate?" Simon Williams asked.

"It's not so much as governments or the UN or even SHIELD," Steve Rogers spoke up. "More like... one government."

"This is about the motions going on in Congress," General Ross interjected. "I've been hearing the rumbling about this for some time."

"What rumblings?" Cage asked. "And what's going on in Congress?"

"Remember back when we took the Hood's Syndicate back last year in Los Angeles when Moon Knight asked for our help?" asked Stark. The whole team remembered-that had been a more difficult fight, one of many times the team's full roster had had to be called in. "Well, I'm sure you remembered that one lady who was kind of badly hurt during a tussle between Grey Gargoyle and Wonder Man, and she had come to us to pay for her medical expenses. The way she saw it, it was our fault that she ended up injured and that we should've been more careful. Naturally, I felt kind of bad-" at that the entire team rolled their eyes-"oh come on, I can be human too; anyways, the point is Stark Industries paid all her expenses in full, me taking the responsibility."

Vision cocked his head sideways. "I am not sure I fully understand how that relates, Iron Man."

"Well, it was supposed to be kept on the down low, Vision. But a few months ago, word got out... and suddenly, Stark Industries is bombarded with letters from the courts and lawsuits across the country, not just from regular people, but from businesses. It's starting waves of lawsuits against almost everything we do. The government got wind of this, and since then, Congress has been brewing up a storm on superhuman and vigilante activity across the country-how it's slowly becoming reckless and dangerous. They're even talking about mutant problems again."

Logan, Wanda, Namor & Pietro groaned at once. "I'll always be amazed at how it's always America who seems to have the problems with mutants, yet no other country seems to have it as bad," Wanda exclaimed.

"How bad are these lawsuits?" Banner asked.

"Not too bad; in reality, most of them aren't even accurate or founded in truth-and I'd like to thank Jenny and Matt here for their expertise in law for helping me and the company with that. The major problem is the government's response," Stark continued. "They are motioning for the Avengers to take more responsibility for the actions we take

as a team; and it's not just us they're going after-they've got their eyes on various heroes in the States-Moon Knight in LA, Scarlet Spider in Houston, those New Warriors, the FF, Punisher, Black Cat, other independent heroes....they're associating all of them with the Avengers, being we're the face of heroes on this planet."

"How's their stance on the X-Men, Stark?" Logan asked.

"I'm not exactly sure, but they seem to be moving against the various teams you guys have going-X-Force and those New Mutants-"

"Hey; X-Force rarely does anything in America without Slim's or my approval... well, I can't speak for Deadpool, but you know what I mean. The New Mutants are just kids we're raising and training up to be the next generation of heroes. We've made sure up to now-"

"That's what they're worried about," Ross interjected. "Up to now; from what I've heard, they're questioning the Avengers having mutants on the team, especially Namor and Wanda, being how powerful they are."

"They dare question my motives? They should tread carefully," the Atlantean monarch mumbled.

"Not just you Namor-they're worried about the number of mutants taking residence up in San Francisco since the mayor opened it up as a safe haven; they're worried the X-Men may lead them in some revolution."

"Look, that's just one of the problems," Steve continued. "Congress is looking at all our past incidents here in the nation-Hulk's mind control under MODOK and his resulting rampage in Vegas, our LA Syndicate grudge match, our last battle with Magneto's Brotherhood; and they're also looking at other incidents... like Spider Island, the FF's near accidental destruction of Manhattan, the time the New Warriors almost blew up Stanford in their fight against Nitro..."

"There seeking to control us, aren't they?" Dr. Strange asked.

"I think so."

"They can't do that!" She-Hulk said. "The Avengers are an internationally supported team, and we have authority granted by the UN; we're backed by SHIELD & SWORD! Hell, the mansion grounds are considered international territory. Alpha Flight & Excalibur aren't bothered with this kind of thing. They think they can try to control us?!"

"In essence, they can try-the majority of us here are still US citizens. The only ones they can't touch are Thor, Hercules, Namor and Panther; maybe our resident SHIELD agents can get away, since... well, they work for SHIELD."

"So is that an alternative?" Carol asked. "We have to work for SHIELD to avoid all this?"

"No." Cap's voice was firm and commanding. "The Avengers work for no one. We go anywhere in the world where we're needed, even if it's Latveria. The government has no right to try and control us, because what we do is give back to the world best we can with what the world's given us." This seemed to calm the team down a bit.

"I just want to ask everyone that they be a bit more careful out there, avoid as much collateral damage as possible and whatnot, and just be overall the best you can be," Stark said. "It's getting annoying to deal with all these lawsuits. Carol, I'm sure I can count on you to relate this to Peter, right?"

"Yeah of course; although," Carol said, a smile creeping onto her face, "knowing him, he's probably already messing it up somewhere." At that, everyone laughed.

*Somewhere in the Lower East Side, NYC*

"I'm sorry... what?"

"You heard me-I want reimbursement! Someone's gotta pay for what happened to my restaurant!"

"Dude, why are you asking me? I just beat the bad guys up! Don't you have insurance for this kind of thing? I mean, it happens, like, every day out here."

Spider-Man was having a bit of a problem-swinging to Midtown, he happened across a robbery in progress, and being the responsible hero he was, came in and taught the thugs a few manners. Of course, they tried to fight back, shooting and stuff, but Peter was just too damn quick for them, and in only few minutes and jokes later, the thugs were taken down. Police were now taking them away, and he was just about to be on his way... when the restaurant owner demanded he pay him back for all the damages.

"You should be telling those guys to pay you back!" Spider-Man said as he pointed to thugs being pushed into the armored vehicle headed for Ryker's. "They DID try to rob your store!"

"Yeah, but they weren't shooting or anything! They were just taking money and they'd have left-then you show up and ruin everything, they shoot the place up and trash my restaurant! I should sue you!"

"Right... ok. Listen, I got to go now, so you keep suing passing heroes that save your life and I'll just go back on my way." With that, Peter swung off, with the restaurant owner yelling after him, "THE BUGLE WAS RIGHT ABOUT YOU, WEB FREAK!"

'Sue me? What's there to sue me for?,' Peter mused to himself as he arrived at Midtown and ducked in an alley to change to civilian clothes. 'I barely have any money to my name; I'm doing overtime at Horizon and freelancing as much as possible for Jolly Jonah to get enough money for this.' Exiting the alley and mingling with the populous, he checked his jacket pocket. 'Ok, envelope & cash are still here. Ok, Parker, time to go hunting.' With that, Peter began his third day of searching through Manhattan's best jewelry stores.

*Avengers Mansion, an hour later*

Carol and Jess sat in the lounge, watching a rerun marathon of one of the most popular shows in the country, based off one of the world's most popular comics.

"I loved T-Dog," Jess frowned. "He was awesome, and that was just a bad way to kill him off. I swear, those stupid prisoners... but I still love The Walking Dead."

"Can you imagine if a zombie apocalypse actually broke out in real life? The chaos that'd be caused; what if some of our own were infected?"

"Oh come on, Carol, like THAT'D ever happen; Wolverine heals from everything, we have two gods on the team... must I go on?" The two laughed, realizing that if a zombie apocalypse did ever happen, it wouldn't stand a chance against the superheroes of Earth. "So, how's my male counterpart?"

"He's alright, doing his thing, being bored out there, being all mine," Carol answered with one of her rare luminous smiles; Peter's name always brought a smile and happy memories to her mind. "He's visiting his... aunt tonight."

Jessica was quick to notice the faltering in Carol's voice. "Carol, don't tell me the woman still makes you nervous?"

"She's so sweet and loving, don't get me wrong, and we get along just fine-but that warning she gave me the first night I met her... I've never been so scared in my life. Seriously, if it was you, you'd feel the same way."

"I doubt it; I'd just manipulate her into liking me instantly."

"Of course you would," Carol replied with a smirk. "You always want to take the easy way."

"I'll have you know, Ms. Danvers, that I am very-"

"Ho Spider Woman, Ms. Marvel." Both women turned to see Thor standing at the doorway, his hammer in hand and a fierce grin on his face. "There is trouble brewing upon the streets, and the locals have asked for our assistance. What say you, maidens, are you ready for a battle?"

"Oh yeah, Thor," Carol replied, her eyes glowing. "I'm ready for some action."

*Avengers Conference Hall*

Steve and Tony had remained behind in the conference hall, looking at the various documents, forms and digital files of every lawsuit, complaint and government ordinance that Congress had sent them about their activity in the country.

"Tony, I know what I said to give the team a bit of support," Steve remarked. "But to be honest, I have a bad feeling about where this is headed."

"Honestly, Steve," Stark replied somberly. "I kind of feel the same way."

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yutke · 1 year

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11:40pm,

It takes comics for me to realize these kinds of things about myself. Such as, I had figured an usual workload should be bare minimum when I still neglect my laundry, my evenings are still busy despite me taking less on and focusing on just pending "mini" personal goals, and I still have unprocessed mixed feelings about life situations. I'm continuously finding myself pulled between my values of ambition, rest, and introspection. They come up in crossroads with my time lines and the fallout stress. It can be, for a long time, conceptually I've conflated their meanings as equal for quality self time when my life has evolved from such and their priorities are not clear.

So let's make time now and lay it out (at midnight, of course).

I have not secure self-boundaries around "more" and "letting go" yet. Because of this, I often overcommit and tension gathers along my eyes, collarbones, lower back. I'm working on the symptoms via my sleep posture and minimalizing my sleep debt with patience. Boundaries with people are recently easier by practice, so it's curious as to why I'm in such a pickle with my own. The line, "it's less about the source of concerns and more about how we cope about them" relates well to this situation. While I'm active on all values, I haven't fully detached myself from the grind culture of the immigrant dream of which I romanticize as reliable and familiar in gaming, work, health, etc because... to be frank, I've been quite successful and secure due to a reasonable amount to it. Determination helps me be brave and happy. Mature me realizes that there are natural, cultural, serious consequences for it in the long haul, and I applaud myself for trying everytime that I pause to reconnect with myself.

I catch the signs, so to apply medicine and aid. Much to my relief are my hard-earned skills, plentiful resources, and solid support system. Our relations are good even if other life things in theirs aren't at the moment, largely due to grief, health issues, intrapersonal conflicts. As for resources, I'm break out my multiple first aid kits, my fine China, my you-never-know-when-youre-going-to-need-it odd ball because the time is now and I'm worth it and whenever I feel that I need external supports, I'm going to give it to myself and I'm emotionally strong enough to ask for help from folks whom shown over and over that they want to be here for me, listening and hands-on. I'm proud to role model that and am receptive to being teachable and develop life-rewarding practices every single time I choose thriving. The skin of the jawline and back of my hand break out in stress. I relax my body by stepping back, apply body remedies, focus on my interests. Most of the time, it is a waiting game of repeated self care rituals to return me to baseline. It's conditional to having CPTSD, but it's also part of engaging with life I.e. homeostasis, seasonal changes, etc.

I'm understanding that my baseline is actually my best self, whereas I've previously believed in my youth that my best self is a superpowered machinelike version of myself. My baseline is plentifully enough. My baseline gets things done without compromising my selfesteem and depleting my entire capacities and distrusting my relations and exasperating my symptoms. I enjoy myself well at baseline. At first it feels boring but then, my self confidence just glows, in every aspect of my life. I can map my exact shape and shade and belonging. Anyone else's stories are not mine to fix, compare, mirror, gain approval from, nor view as the only truth. I nurture and thank my beautiful, mundane, whole self. I let my emotions flow through me as rivers and clouds. I am present and aware and playful and soft and enough.

Ah, I do feel steadyfast. I am kind and intend to continue being kind to myself. When I go about my life, mindfulness shifts my perspective with such reciprocity and groundness. I'm levelheaded about my decisions than passively uninterested of them regarding my wellbeing. I have purpose, community, pleasure, achievements, and a well-defined meaning of joy. I accept that change fosters growth than loss. I accept there is an finitive amount of photographs and time and mental processing, so channeling a sense of grace, I must choose what I can do without. And doing so liberates me. I'm taking good care of myself when I prioritize rest and introspection (preferably in that order). I feel quite integrated now, so I'm glad that I had written this all out.

I'm taking tomorrow off work and loading up on fam time incoming the Lunear New Year and appreciating my imagination as it is. Good night.

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sineala · 3 years

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How would you say fandom culture has changed over the years? What are some differences you notice between older and younger fandom folks?

I’ve been thinking for a while about how to answer this, and I’m not sure I have a really good answer, but I’m going to try.

I’ve been in fandom since approximately 1995. Maybe 1994. At that point, the world wide web was a relatively new part of the internet, and the fandoms I was in had most of their activity on privately-hosted mailing lists (predating eGroups/OneList/Yahoo Groups) and on Usenet newsgroups, with fiction beginning to be available on websites as part of either fandom-specific or pairing-specific archives as well as authors’ individual pages. Fanfiction.net did not yet exist. LiveJournal did not exist. AO3 definitely did not exist. If you wanted real-time chat, there was IRC. I was coming in basically at the tail end of zine fandom; zines were no longer the only way of distributing fanfiction, as fandom started to move online. So I have a selection of zines from 90s-era Western media fandoms but even by then zines weren’t where I was doing most of my reading.

I think in terms of generally “what it was like to be in fandom,” the big-picture stuff hasn’t changed. Fandom still produces creative fanwork and likes to, y’know, get together and talk about fandom. Also, almost every fight or complaint that fandom has about something is a thing that has been going on for actual years. People complain that, say, the kudos button is ruining comment culture because back in the LJ days the only way you could comment on a story was, well, by leaving an actual comment, or sending an email on a mailing list, and this might mean that people who would have otherwise commented have left a kudos instead. But back in the LJ and mailing list days, people were complaining that commenting was going downhill since the days of zines, when in order to comment on a story you had to write a real paper letter and mail it and because you had to do that, the quality of feedback was so much better than you got nowadays because people could just dash off a quick email or comment. You get the idea. Top/bottom wars are not new either. Pairing wars are not new. If you’ve been in fandom a while, you will pretty much have seen all the fights already. I think one thing that is new, though, is the fandom awareness of things like privilege and intersectionality and various -isms, as well as things like “providing warnings might be nice” (do you know how much unwarned deathfic I have read? a lot!) and I sure won’t say we’re perfect at any of this now, but I think fandom is trying way way more about all that stuff than it used to.

There are some fights we actually don’t have anymore, as far as I can tell. I feel like it’s been years since I’ve seen the “real person fiction is wrong” battle, but also I don’t hang out in a whole lot of RPF fandoms, so it’s possible that’s still going and I just don’t see it.

There also used to be a recurring debate about whether gay relationships that were canonical were slash or not. When slash started, obviously this wasn’t a question because there weren’t canonical gay relationships in fandoms, period. But as gay characters began to appear in media, people started to wonder “does slash mean all same-sex relationships, or does slash mean only non-canonical same-sex relationships?” Now, you may be reading this and think that sounds like an incredibly weird thing to get hung up on, but that’s because what appears to have happened is that the term “ship” (originally from X-Files Mulder/Scully fandom) has, as far as I can tell, come up and eaten most of the rest of the terminology. Now people will just say, “oh, I ship that.” For any pairing, gay or not, canonical or not. Fandom seems to have decided that for the most part it no longer actually needs a term specific to same-sex relationships as a genre.

Similarly, there are a few genres of fic that we used to have also pretty much don’t exist anymore. There are also plenty of genres that are well-entrenched now that are also extremely recent -- A/B/O comes to mind. But there are some kinds of fic we don’t write a lot of now. Like, I haven’t seen smarm in years! I also haven’t seen We’re Not Gay We Just Love Each Other in a while. There was also a particular style of slash writing where you’d basically have to explain, in detail, what made you think that these particular characters could be anything other than straight. You’d have to motivate this decision. You’d have to look at their canonical heterosexual relationships and come up with a way to explain why all those had happened in order to reconcile how this one guy could have romantic feelings for another guy. When had he figured out he wasn’t straight? Who might he have been with before? How does he interact with people in ways that make you think he’s not straight? That kind of thing. You had to, essentially, show your work. And these days a lot of fanfic is just like, “Okay, Captain America is bisexual, let’s go!” It’s... different.

Fandom also used to skew older, is my sense. A lot older. I don’t know, actually, if it really was older, but I get the sense now that there are some younger people who are surprised that adults are still in fandom. I have seen people saying these days that they think they’re too old for fanfiction because they are not in middle school anymore. And I think a lot of this has to do with the fact that the barriers to access fandom are a lot lower than they used to be. You used to basically have to be an adult with disposable income (or know an adult with disposable income who was willing to help you out; but even then if you were reading explicit fiction you also had to swear you were 18+, usually by sending in an age statement to whoever you were buying the zine from or to the mods of the list you wanted to join, so a lot of fandom was very much age-gated). Internet access was not widely available. Even if you had internet access, you maybe didn’t have your own email address, so you couldn’t sign up for mailing lists; free email providers didn’t exist. If you wanted to buy zines, you had to have money to buy them. If you wanted to go to cons, you had to be able to afford the cost of the con, travel to the con, et cetera. If you wanted to have a website you had to know HTML. Social media did not exist. You want to draw art? Guess what, you’re probably drawing it on paper! You might be able to upload a picture to your website if you have a digital camera or a scanner, but both of those things are expensive, and also a lot of people don’t have the capability or the money to download pictures from the internet (some people have data caps with overage charges, and some people have text-only connections!), so they won’t get to see it. Maybe you can sell your piece at a con! You want to make a fanvid? We called them songvids, but, anyway, you know how you’re doing that? You’re going to hook two VCRs together and smash the play and record buttons very fast! If you want anyone else to watch them, you are either making them a tape personally and mailing it to them or bringing your vids to a convention. Maybe you can digitize them and upload them, but it’s going to take people hours to download them!

(Every three hours my ISP would kick me off the internet and I’d have to dial in again. If it was a busy time of day, it might take me 20 or 30 minutes to get a connection again. And that was assuming no one else in the house needed to use the phone line. Imagine if your modem went out every three hours now.)

And now, for the cost of my internet connection, I can read pretty much whatever fanfiction I want, whenever I want it. I can see all the fanart I want! I can watch vids! Podfic exists now! Fanmixes exist! Gifsets and moodboards exist! If I want to write fic I can write it with programs that are completely free, and as soon as I post it everyone in the entire world can read it. If I want to draw or make vids that may require some additional investment, but I may also be able to do it with things I already have. Do you have any idea how good we all have it?

There are a couple of kinds of fan activity that don’t seem to exist anymore, though, and I miss them. I know that roleplaying still goes on, but I feel like these days most people who do real-time text roleplay have switched to things like Discord. I know that in the LJ days, RP communities were popular. But I really miss MU*s (MUDs, MUSHes, MOOs, MUXes..), which were servers for real-time text-based RP with a bunch of... hmm... features to aid RP. There were virtual rooms with text descriptions, and objects in virtual rooms with descriptions, and your character had a description, and they could interact with the objects as well as with other characters, and you could program things to change descriptions or emit various kinds of text or take you to different rooms, and so on. Just to, y’know, enhance the atmosphere. It was fun and it was where I learned to RP and I’m sad they’re pretty much gone now.

I also don’t think I see a lot of fanfiction awards in fandoms. Wonder where they went.

Going back to the previous point, the barriers to actually consuming the canon you are fannish about are way, way, way lower now. You can pretty much take it for granted that if right now someone tells you about a shiny new fandom, there will be a way to read that book or watch that show or movie right now. Possibly for free! Of course you can watch it! Why wouldn’t you be able to?

This was absolutely, absolutely not the case before. I’m currently in Marvel Comics fandom. If there is a comic I want to read, I can read it right now on the internet. I have subscribed to Marvel Unlimited and I can read pretty much every comic that is older than three months old; the newer ones cost extra money. But I can do it all from the comfort of my own home right now. I was also, actually, in Marvel Comics fandom in the nineties. If I wanted to read a comic, I had to go to a comic book store and hope they had it in stock; if they didn’t, I had to try another store. Not a lot of comics were available in trade paperback and they definitely weren’t readable on the internet. I used to read a lot of Gambit h/c fic set after Uncanny X-Men #350. I never found a copy of UXM #350. I still haven’t! But I did eventually read it on Unlimited.

Being in TV show fandoms also had similar challenges. Was the show you were watching still on the air? No? Then you’d better hope you could find it in reruns, or know someone who had tapes of it that they could copy for you, otherwise you weren’t watching that show. It was, I think, pretty common for people to be in fandoms for shows they hadn’t seen, because they had no way to see the show, but they loved all the fanfic. The Sentinel had a whole lot of fans like that, both because I think it took a while for it to end up in reruns and because overseas distribution was probably poor. So you’d get people who read the fic and wrote fic based on the other fic they’d read, which meant that you got massive, massive amounts of fanon appearing that people just assumed was in the show because it was a weirdly specific detail that appeared in someone’s fic once. Like “Jim and Blair’s apartment has a small water heater” (not actually canonical) or “Blair is a vegetarian” (there’s an episode where his mother visits and IIRC cooks him one of his favorite meals, which is beef tongue).

Like, I was in The Professionals fandom for years. I read all the fic. I hadn’t seen the show. As far as I know, it never aired in the US, and it certainly never had any kind of US VHS or DVD release. I’d seen a couple songvids. I eventually saw a couple episodes in maybe 2003, and that was because my dad special-ordered a commercial VHS tape from the UK and paid someone to convert it from PAL to NTSC. I didn’t get to see the whole show until several years later when I got a region-free DVD player someone in fandom sent me burned copies of the UK DVD releases and then I special-ordered the commercial release of the DVDs from the UK myself. But if I were a new fan and wanted to watch Pros right now? It is on YouTube! For free!

I think also one of the things about fandom that’s not immediately evident to new fans is the way in which it is permanent and/or impermanent. There are probably people whose first fannish experience is on Tumblr or who only read fanfic on FFN and who have no idea what they would do if either site, say, just shut down. But if you’ve been in fandom a while, you’ve been through, say, Discord, Tumblr, Twitter, Pillowfort, Imzy, DW, JournalFen, LJ, GeoCities, IRC, mailing lists. And sure, if Tumblr closed, it would be inconvenient. But fandom would pack up and move somewhere else. You would find it again. It would, eventually, be okay. Similarly, if you’ve been in a lot of fandoms, if you’ve made a lot of friends, drifting through fandoms is like that. You’ll make a friend in 1998 because you were in the same fandom, and then you might go your own ways, and ten years later you might be in another fandom with them again! It happens.

But the flip side of that is that I think a lot of older fans have learned not to trust in the permanence of any particular site. If you like a story, you save it as soon as you read it. If you like a piece of art, you save it. If you like a vid, you save it. Because you don’t know when the site it’s on will be gone for good. I have, like, twenty years of lovingly-curated fanfic. And I feel like people who have only been in fandom since AO3 existed might not understand how much AO3 is a game-changer compared to what we had before. It’s a site where you can put your fic up and you don’t have to worry that the webhost is going out of business, or that the site might delete your work because they don’t allow gay fiction or explicit fiction or fiction written in second person or fiction for fandoms where the creator doesn’t like fanfiction, or whatever. Because all of those things have absolutely happened. But, I mean, I still save pretty much everything I like, even on AO3, just in case.

So, basically, yeah, fandom is a whole lot more accessible than it used to be. I think fandom is pretty much still fandom, but it’s a lot easier to get into, and that has made it way more open to people who wouldn’t have been able to be in fandom before. There is so, so much more now than there ever was before, and I think that’s great.

#Anonymous #replies

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metellastella · 3 years

Text

In Honor of Deltarune Chapter 2, Lemme tell you about exactly HOW world-breaking Chara really was, and IS.

Here's the thing about Chara. It is implied that they are THE PLAYER's insatiable thirst for new video game worlds (or, they have latched onto it). As in, they accompany the player to the next world they go to.

Direct quote:

"HP. ATK. DEF. GOLD. EXP. LV. Every time a number increases, that feeling . . . That's me. Chara. Now, we have reached the absolute. There is nothing left for us here. Let us erase this pointless world, and move on to the next." i.e.: Let US move on to the next.

Every time THE PLAYER conquers and sets aside a new game . . . they have effectively DESTROYED it. Because they do not "exist" unless they are played and interacted with. Also, they only exist up until the end of the game anyway (most of the time)

And- I say usually- no matter how many times THE PLAYER plays a game- they will eventually tire of it. Also, if they play 500 games in their lifetime . . . it is unlikely they will re-play that many consistently. Plus, add on random internet "mini" games.

Now, that's only considering ONE player.

But since Chara is a multi-dimensional being, because they are aware of other worlds . . . it's not much of a stretch to say that the millions of people who are carrying around Chara "with" them count . . . as Chara.

Bill Cipher, from Gravity Falls, to my knowledge, despite his reality-warping godly demon powers, makes no such 4th wall shattering and domineering claim.

Let's assume for sanity's sake, that this current dimension you're sitting in and reading this screen on is the primary reality. There ARE no dimensions higher than this. All others are contained within human imagination. Bill Cipher was Created by a Creator.

All the 'lower' dimensions we can muck around in as basically gods. (gods or demigods either incarnate as weaklings, or come about some other way, in many mythologies, but then grow steadily stronger to realize their godhood. Ya know, Hercules. Krishna. In Hinduism. That sort of thing.) We can travel between dimensions on a whim by flipping a switch. With enough Determination, we can ALWAYS reach the end. Now, sometimes collaboration does expand these universes a little bit- through comics and fanfiction. But even these created 'higher spheres' nearer to this primary dimension, author 'omniscience' is taken as a given. Actually there is some debate about that, given the real-world phenomenon of novel writers in some cases having no clue where characters are taking them . . . they just sit down to write with a kernel of an idea. That's how I operate, for instance. In that case, they somehow have had their 'future sight' that should be default as a god, blocked. People who outline plots and know where they're going with a story beforehand, and then create characters to fill in the gaps, they're the type of 'gods' that could tell their characters future events, if they wanted to. Anyway. Back to video games specifically, and their fandoms. There is only so much CONTENT and it can always be recorded and shared. So there is still a limting factor. Here's the weird thing about Undertale. You are there as a 'god.' Just as usual. That's nothing special. You're just there to muck around. But. The whole toe-curling horror aspect UT was demonstrating, for specific characters NPCs who realize this sobering fact . . . such as Asgore and Sans, they are driven to despair, mental instability, and in two cases, suicide, by the fact.

If Homestuck is considered a "game" that is destroyed once you reach the end? It is rolled into all of this as well. Homestuck is a game. What evidence to I have of this, since it's a 'written story'? It has many playable elements and 90% of its lore and plot is based on deconstructing game conventions and sticking them back together in weird angled positions with crazy glue. Therefore. If the player reads Homestuck after playing Undertale, (i.e., someone who is newer to internet culture, and entered it after Undertale came out, which was far after Homestuck) Chara has CANONICALLY destroyed the Homestuck Universe. (or, if you re-read Homestuck after playing Undertale)

YOU. The PLAYER make or break all fictional characters. They live and die by your interest in them, or, for games, your direction, and no other character has explicitly taken YOUR control over the game, as Chara has. In Homestuck, it never gives you something to "do" and then takes the decision away from you, as Undertale does.

Chara, except for someone who has 100% control of that little dopamine rush that comes with leveling up (read: no one), is out there, gleefully wringing out, growing bored of, and then destroying hundreds of thousands of worlds. Chara is the first of zeir kind. And possibly the last. Or at least, anything that comes afterwards will be but a pale imitation. Toby Fox is truly LEGENDARY, in this way. I'm not sure even he fully understand what he's done here. Let me try to explain this. Our education system is currenlty ripping itself to pieces over back-breaking student loans and the realization that we don't actually need all these professors because of the easy availability of information on the internet (Demonstrated, in a roundabout way, in one or two deft lines of dialog in the movie A Beauriful Mind). Now, let's say colleges and universities do survive this shift in society, going foward. It's probable that at the very least technical colleges and vocational schools will. Any others, including high schools, will be replaced by students shrugging and just taking a G.E.D. certification, because why should they spend time at a high school if they hate it, or if they want to learn at their own individualized pace? No reason to do that at all. If the stuffy old guard of the outdated higher education system ever starts treating stories told by video games as literature, as they ABSOLUTELY SHOULD, because they're merely a different medium, not some weird separate thing . . . Toby Fox, having overturned the "trope" of the RPG "genre", wrecking and dismantling it so thouroughly that it has unsettled millions of people who ever again play an RPG where they slaughter any monsters for 'points.' He should be immortalized. Just like any other author in history who has churned out a landmark piece of literature. It's merely his fair due. Perfectly logical, right? He is the Ubermench game-changer. Literally. I hope Sans appreciates the pun. Chara is the vehicle through which this overturning of the trope happens. Chara stares directly at the player, deconstructs a longstanding staple in the 'literary genre,' and gives a body and voice to the psychologically addictive quality of video games.

One estimate says there are more than 60,000 video games in existence. And millions of copies of each one.

Chara, as we've established canonically, has access to ALL that are played after a runthrough of Undertale. (or at the very least, genocide Undertale) In Hinduism, it is Shiva that is the god of destruction. To quote Oppenheimer, Chara has become Death, Destroyer of Worlds. Checkmate.

Q. E. D.

Endgame.

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mdawritings · 3 years

Text

Wanna Be Yours: Ch. 13

II.II

Masterlist

Warnings: None

Song(s): “Mr. Perfectly Fine” by Taylor Swift

You find yourself having more sleepless nights than ever before. Every time you close your eyes you’re facing the terrifying horrors your brain has managed to conjure up. The sounds of people screaming for help as debris rains down around you. You’re fighting against the arms of two firemen. Someone has to help them!

Your alarm is still hours away from ringing, yet you glance at the time every few minutes, every minute dragging along like it’s an hour. Your eyes are glued to your ceiling fan, watching as it swings back and forth slightly with each rotation of the blades.

After your first case with the BAU, things have started to slow down. Contrary to popular belief, you don’t have cases every single day of the week. Most of your days of work are summarized by piles and piles of paperwork. The team seems to be perpetually behind on every case report. The team tries to write up a general profile for every case that requests the BAU assistance that you can’t help with in person. In addition, Strauss loves to load the whole team with special talking events and lecture series. There’s hardly a day where everyone is in the office at the same time and when you are, you’re all soon called away on a case.

You haven’t been called away on a case since your first with the team. You actually don’t mind doing paperwork most of the day. The main reason is that it gives you an easy way to stay away from Hotch. You’ve jokingly struck up a deal that for every one of your files that Reid walks up to Hotch’s office for you, you’ll buy him a coffee. So far you owe him nearly two weeks of coffee.

Hotch is not completely oblivious. He’s caught on to your little game and so far, he’s been kind enough to give you some distance. He’s stopped pressuring you to talk to him. Maybe he finally sensed the raw emotion of your voice the other day in his office.

You resign yourself to the fact that you’re not going to fall back to sleep before your alarm rings. You pull the sheets off of you, kicking your feet off to the side, wrapping your arms around your body tightly as a shiver runs through you. The temperature in Virginia is dropping rapidly as winter takes over. You love when it’s cold. You love the way the cold, blustery air bites at your skin and makes you tingly. It’s a nice reminder that you’re alive. After everything you’ve been through, you’re still standing. You can still feel something. You can feel the cold.

You go through the motions of your morning routine, taking a shower to wake yourself up, brushing your teeth, pulling on some slacks and a nice blouse. You turn on some music while you get ready but even your favorite songs can’t seem to pull your head out from the haze you are living in recently. Your body is working on autopilot because before you know it, you’ve finished your makeup. It’s not even 6 AM.

You pop half of a bagel into the toaster, make a cup of coffee in your thermos, and then cover the bagel with cream cheese and honey. You look around your half-empty apartment, taking your time to eat your small breakfast.

Today is just going to be one of those particularly difficult and painful days. You can sense it. Your body feels lit up with nerves. Eating your breakfast is difficult, just the taste of the food making you sick to your stomach.

Your thoughts bounce between two topics: your past in the FBI and your past with Aaron Hotchner. It’s hard to believe that the Aaron Hotchner you see every day is the same Aaron Hotchner you once knew. You glance at the time, if you don’t leave soon you‘ll miss the train and be stuck at home for another hour. You rush out the door, walking to the train station. You settle into a seat, pulling your headphones on, hoping to drown out the rattling and humming of the train. You reach down to dig through your bag for your thermos of coffee. Shit.

The thermos is sitting on your counter. You can practically see it in your mind, right there on the edge of the counter. It’s almost become a joke at this point the horrible quality coffee of the BAU. You and Reid have a running joke about starting up a collection fund for better quality coffee, at least for your BAU floor. Nearly every team member brings their own coffee, settling for the shitty stuff in the conference room or on the jet in place of their second or third cup that day.

You get off the train, tempted to call Reid to bring you coffee, but according to your deal, you’re supposed to be the one doing that for him. You let out a tired sigh, calling a car to drive you to the office, wincing at the cost of your morning commute. You really need to get a car.

The parking lot is almost completely empty. You swipe your ID at the door. The night guard hasn’t switched out for the morning guard yet. You recognize him from some of the late nights you’ve had within your first week of work and give a small smile and nod. Your heart thumps into your throat every time you step onto the elevator in this building. All this in an attempt to avoid being alone with Hotch.

You reach forward to press floor six, when a voice calls out, footsteps moving rapidly towards the elevator, “Hold the elevator please!” You see a black briefcase swing up between the closing doors as you lunge for the door hold button. “Thank you—” There’s a slight hesitation in Hotch’s voice as he pauses and looks over you. “Agent.” He steps into the elevator. You make room for him, putting as much space between the two of you as possible.

You attempt your best, most polite, professional smile and nod, “Good morning, Sir.” You rock back and forth on your toes. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see him open his mouth to say something before closing it again. There’s a long pause.

Should you say something? A normal employee would ask their boss how they are and make small talk. But this isn’t really the most normal boss/employee relationship. It seems frivolous to make small talk with someone who has seen the most intimate parts of you.

“You’re here early again,” Hotch finally speaks up. The elevator’s cool blue fluorescent lighting somehow emphasizes just how warm those brown eyes of his are. Those intimate parts of you that you keep shrouded from the naked eye, every single weakness you have shoved down, seem to be on full display in the way that he looks at you.

“I was already up. Thought I’d come in and get some work done,” The only way to keep the profiler in him at bay is to tell him some version of the truth. It’s true. You were already awake. You did decide it would just be better to come in and get started on work. However, you know that the exhaustion in your face is something you can’t hide away from his analytical eyes. There’s something in his expression that you can’t quite place as he gazes back at you. It’s a cross between disbelief and pity.

Pity. That’s definitely something you don’t want. Especially not from him. But maybe it’s not pity? Concern?

“I work out in the mornings,” Now you’re just fully lying, “I finished early and thought why not come in.”

“Y/N-” His voice lowers in volume as if someone’s listening to your conversation. He says your name like it’s a swear word. Like the name is some secret, forbidden phrase that he shouldn’t be saying, especially not at work. The elevator doors ring and they open to the BAU floor. Thankfully, there’s a worker from the night crew waiting to get on, interrupting whatever Hotch planned to say, and you’re quick to step off, moving around the man.

Hotch knows better than to follow after you to continue the conversation. There’s no one else in the offices yet, but the elevator is like neutral territory. A space separate from the job. Some sort of limbo between personal and professional. If the elevator is neutral, the BAU floor is the war front.

The situation is comical. You speed away from him, but he has to walk right past you to get to his office. What you don’t expect is the small coffee cup that he places on your desk before continuing right up to his office.

You remember him holding a tray of coffees in the elevator. Did he always intend to give you one of them? Is this attempt at a truce?

You remove the lid from the cup. The steam erupts wildly, just the smell of the coffee alone enough to already start perking you up. Once the initial small burst of heat clears, you stare down into the cup, expecting to see completely black coffee, the way that Hotch takes his. To your surprise, it's a light caramel color and you can smell a slight sweetness. You take a long sip. It’s perfect. You haven’t changed the way you take your coffee. He remembers your order. Is that supposed to mean something?

You realize you’ve been staring into your coffee for too long once you see Morgan and Garcia step off the elevator, his arm casually thrown around her shoulders. You can’t hear their conversation, but she says something, vibrantly gesturing with her hands, as Morgan lets out a laugh, flashing those perfect teeth of his. He gives Garcia’s arm a reassuring squeeze. She turns and scurries off to her little lair while Morgan turns towards the bullpen, digging around for a file in his bag.

“You’re always here early, new girl,” Morgan teases with a playful smack of the file to your head as he walks past.

“I have a name, Morgan,” You roll your eyes, attempting to fix your hair.

“What can I say? I’m a big fan of nicknames,” He grins and starts to walk towards the stairs.

“Wait! Can you take this file up to Hotch?” You hold out the papers from your desk. You give him your best, most innocent, pleading eyes. Usually, that works pretty well to get Reid to do things for you. Flirting really trips Reid up. The problem with Morgan is that he doesn’t get flustered or uncomfortable like Reid, he plays into your flirtations. You get along much better with Morgan now that he’s had about a week to warm up to you.

He still doesn’t trust you and you can tell that he questions your skills. So occasionally, you’ll indulge him. You’ll ask him for advice on something you’re working on. You’ll ask him to check your work before you hand it in to Hotch. You want him to know you respect him.

You don’t trust easily and neither does he, a quality that you have both noticed in each other. Morgan doesn’t push you to indulge him with your past. The other team members haven’t pushed you necessarily, but they seem to dance around the topic of your dismissal. Morgan avoids the topic entirely. You get the feeling that you and Morgan are way more similar than it would appear on the surface.

“Pretty boy gets free coffee, what do I get?” He stops and walks back closer to you.

“What do you want?” You smirk and lean forward placing your chin in the palm of your hand.

Morgan pauses and thinks for a second, “You come out with the team for drinks sometime, first round on you.”

You roll your eyes, “Fine. Deal.” You hold out the files and he takes them with a smile.

“I would’ve done it just to be nice, you know,” He laughs and walks up to knock on Hotch’s door. “Just wanted to see what I could get out of the new girl.” He opens the door, disappearing into the office. Emily finally arrives for the day, Reid trailing close behind her.

“All I’m saying is there are so many scientific fallacies built into the Jurassic Park franchise that it's totally reasonable to watch the films as comedies. I mean mixing Jurassic DNA with any other species just produces new species, not the same exact dinosaurs from the Jurassic period.” Reid rambles on and Emily just shoots you a look.

“This is why I don’t offer to carpool anymore,” She taunts and smiles at you.

“Not even me?” You smile, giving Reid a playful kick under the desks as he sits down.

“Are you going to annoy me about the minuscule details of every great award-winning movie?” She raises a brow, unpacking her belongings, setting a large cup of steaming coffee down.

“Well, I don’t know shit about science,” You shake your head, “I might complain about different book to screen adaptations and the number of details lost and the symbolism lost in the transfer of the work to the screen.”

“It’s moments like these that make me hate that the rest of the team has their own offices,” Prentiss sighs, already reaching for her headphones. You’re not really supposed to listen to music while working, but she breaks that rule all the time. She argues it helps her focus, but you really think it helps distract her from the horrors on the page. In the past week, you’ve learned that Emily Prentiss is great at compartmentalizing.

She’s easily able to push aside personal for professional, however, that comes at a great mental cost for her. She reminds you a little bit of Hotch in that way. She pushes the personal feelings down so deep that it’s hard for her to retrieve them when she needs to, so she’s wary of how detached she gets. But being emotionally detached from the work is the only way to avoid pain. So she listens to music.

Only two case reports later, the day is almost over. The days of sleep deprivation are finally taking a toll on your work ethic. Your brain is in a haze. You thought the two servings of caffeine would help clear your mind, but instead, they’ve just heightened your anxiety, making you more on edge than you already were. It doesn’t help that every few minutes your eyes drift up to the blinds of Hotch’s office, looking up at him while he focuses down on his work.

How can he be so… okay? He pretends as if your presence isn’t immensely distracting. Maybe it isn’t for him. Whatever he felt for you all those years ago was never love, you know that. Maybe he liked the ego boost of the way you worshipped him, hanging on to every last word out of his mouth. Maybe he just liked your body. He broke your heart, yet he sits in his office like everything is perfect.

“Today’s cases?” Reid stands next to your desk, a large stack of files in his arms already.

“How do you get those done so fast?” You shake your head at him and hand him your two, very slim, files.

“Eidetic memory, high-speed reading, genius-level IQ,” Emily pipes up without looking at the two of you. “Any of those options is a good explanation.”

“Thank you, Spence. I am forever in your debt,” You tease him as he gives a cute little tight-lipped smile, rushing up the stairs to hand in the work from the day.

As if on cue, Garcia, Morgan, and JJ step into the bullpen, their bags slung over their shoulders and Rossi comes down from the catwalk to meet the three.

“So how about that drink now?” Morgan once again has an arm wrapped around Garcia who then glances between the two of you.

“Yes! The newbie has to join us for drinks!” She smiles wildly, “Oh I just know you’re going to be so much fun. Plus, I have so much I want to interrogate you about.” It’s a light-hearted joke, a turn of phrase, but you know that Garcia probably vetted you within minutes of your time at the BAU. Penelope Garcia has the biggest heart of anyone you’ve ever met. She has so much love and joy for her family, this team, but you also know that she will do anything to keep her family safe. She’s not a violent person, but you know that if she had to die to protect this stand-in family, she would.

You glance among the faces of your new team, each more hopeful and excited than the last. They’ve all been immensely welcoming, despite their individual reservations about you. “I guess I could be down for a drink or two.” You start packing your bag. You hear Hotch’s office door open.

“Pretty boy, you down for drinks? Y/L/N is buying the first round!” Morgan calls up to Reid. You smile up at him, but it quickly drops when you see him.

Reid’s eyes flit to yours and there’s an apologetic look on his face, “Y/N, Hotch wants to talk to you.” The team exchanges a series of looks, your face getting warm as soon as you can feel all eyes on you.

You wave at them dismissively, “You guys go ahead, I’ll catch up if I have time,” You force a smile, pulling your bag onto your shoulder, practically dragging yourself up the stairs. As you pass Reid, he gives your hand a small touch. It’s small, but it means the world to you. You know how weird Reid is about contact and germs. He hugs or touches the team because he trusts them. He feels a sense of family with them. It’s only been a week, yet you and Reid have shared countless passionate conversations about books.

He gives you recommendations and you rush to buy them. You indulge his rambling rants. Sometimes you ride the train together. He gets off much later than you on the train, taking it all the way to DC, but he makes the ride seem like seconds, not minutes. You love to see what people are passionate about and Spencer Reid is passionate about everything. He loves to learn, a feeling you relate to heavily.

You knock on the hardwood door, the nameplate seeming to stare back at you, taunting you. It isn’t new that a door with Aaron Hotchner’s name on it haunts you, but this one is different. It holds so much more potential. Just a little strip of metal adhered to the dark wood. Yet it holds your past life with him and about a million different possible future ones both with and without him.

You hear a deep ‘come in’ through the door and push it open to see Hotch hunched over, focused on the work on his desk, the same way he’s looked all day through his blinds. “Please, sit,” He reaches for a pen and your eyes go to the form on his desk.

You smooth out your pants as you take the seat across from him. “You wanted to see me?”

“Interesting system you’ve worked out with Morgan and Reid.” If you weren’t looking directly at him you would swear he was smiling through the comment, but instead, you're faced with those emotionless eyes of his.

“I’m sorry,” You stumble over your words a little. Did he call you up here to reprimand you for not walking your own work up to his office? “It’s just a little silly thing I was doing. It’s childish I’ll—”

“That’s not why I needed to see you,” He cuts you off, waving his hand. He leans forward, one arm resting on the armrest of his chair, the other hand holding his pen. He rubs his fingers together with the pen in his hand.

Needed to see you. He didn’t mean those words that way, but your brain takes them and runs with them, forcing you to need a second to breathe. As always, Hotch sucks the oxygen out of your lungs, leaving you breathless, scrambling for some sense of sanity.

“Strauss suggested—” He pauses and corrects himself, “Well, Strauss requested an evaluation of you after your first week on the job and I don’t think it’s a bad idea.”

“Right now?” You question him and he gives a slight nod in response.

“I know you’ve been through a lot and Strauss wants to make sure you’re really ready for this job.”

“I am. I was gone for a year. I don’t need more time off. I need to get back to work and back to feeling useful.” You answer decisively. It’s that simple. He has your psych evaluations and your therapists notes. So does Strauss. What more do they want from you?

You can tell he takes note of your exact word choice, eyes narrowing as you say ‘useful.’He jots something down on the pad in front of him, “You’ve gotten great work done these past few days. You’re an excellent agent and you have a real skill for profiling.”

“Thank you, Sir,” You play off the compliment, but truthfully, it terrifies you how much you feel joy coursing through you at the praise. His approval still means everything you. You can’t and won’t be dependent upon him. “The rest of the team definitely has a lot more experience though.”

“Is that why you ask Reid questions that you know the answer to? Or ask Morgan to look over your work even though you’ve already checked it over twice and know that it’s perfect?” You meet his gaze reluctantly and this time there is a small upturn to his lips at the corners.

You’re rendered speechless temporarily. Fair enough. Just as much as you’ve been profiling and analyzing him, he;’s been observant. He’s paying attention to your behavior. That is his job after all. “Excuse me?”

“You want everyone here to like you. You want to prove yourself to everyone, to me. You don’t need to do that.” The look in his eyes makes your heart pound aggressively against your ribcage so wildly that you’re convinced he can see your chest moving with each thud. He’s saying he’s noticed the signs of sleep deprivation. That’s what the coffee was about. That’s why he’s called you in for this evaluation. “I think you’ve been through something traumatic. Now, I don’t know exactly what you’ve been through, I understand that the details of your removal from your original post have been made confidential but I think this job takes a lot from you.” He scoffs a little and shakes his head, “No actually, this job will take everything from you. It’ll eat you alive, but you need to find a way not to let it.”

You’re sure that the state of both of you is enough to scare off anyone from wanting to join the BAU. Both of you are poster children for sleep deprivation. You’re working yourself overtime to prove yourself to the team while distracting your mind from the past. And Hotch? It’s clear he works himself overtime to make up for something. You haven’t quite figured out what yet, but he’s trying to make up for a past mistake. He’s trying to be the best that he can in his position. What did the job take from him that’s left him a shell of himself?

“Is there a question in there, sir?” You try to play off the instinct to snap at him.

“Do you have someone to talk to?” There’s that confusing look on his face again. The one that makes you feel like you’re being pitied, “You don’t have to talk to me, I mean, of course, you can talk to me, but you need to talk to someone. Do you have someone?”

You nod, “I can always call my therapist if I need her. And if I need someone, I’ll find someone. No need to worry, Sir.”

“Hotch,” He corrects. Your answer doesn’t satisfy him. “I’ve seen a pattern before, with agents that come back from trauma. They’re desperate for acceptance and approval, yet they have trouble trusting their coworkers. This team can’t function without trust. So do you?”

“Do I what?” You’re clenching your toes in your shoes, in order to hide the anger that the question fuels inside you. With every question, this feels more like an interrogation.

“Trust your fellow agents? Trust this team? Trust me?” He waves his hand around like it’s the simplest question he could ask you as if he hasn’t given you a million different reasons to be distrustful.

“I think trust is a fickle thing. Easy to lose, nearly impossible to gain back when lost. In addition, it takes time to build trust.” Your hands fidget a little at your sides and his eyes dart down to notice the behavior. “I don’t expect any of the other agents to trust me right away but I don’t plan on giving them any reason not to. I hope they’re just as understanding with me as I am with them.”

With the two of you, it’s never been about what is said, but always what goes unsaid, and this conversation, so much seems to be going unsaid.

“This team only works because we value cooperation and we respect one another,” He nods and looks back at the form in front of him, “I’ll be sure to tell Strauss how well you’re fitting in.” As he continues to talk, you gather up your things. “I’m impressed by how much you’ve accomplished these past few years in the bureau.”

“Thank you, Sir.” There’s so much more you want to say to him. There’s so much you want to ask. You want to yell and scream and curse him out, but you also want to throw it all in his face. How much you achieved without his help. You’re almost out the door but you can’t seem to bite your tongue any longer. When you look back at him, he’s standing, collecting his things, “How are you so… so okay?”

“I’m sorry?” His brows furrow into confusion.

“I can’t breathe around you. I can’t think straight. I can’t get my work done,” You let out, your voice tired and weak as you let the truth out, “I go home and I can’t get you off my mind. How are you just so professional and composed as if I’m just like any other employee? Did I really mean so little to you? Did I delude myself that much?”

Hotch pauses and clears his throat. He closes himself off to you by looking at his work, as if the answer he’s looking for is in one of those files, “That was… was a long time ago and I think it’s just best we focus on our responsibilities here as agents, rather than indulge the past.”

“Unbelievable,” You scoff, “It’s sad that you haven’t changed. You are still so opposed to letting yourself feel anything. I can barely get up each morning and bring myself into work to face you, but glad to know you’re doing great.” You wait a moment to see if he has anything to say, but he keeps that stern emotionless veil over his face. “Good night, Sir.” Just like a week ago, you’re almost out the door. Almost free.

“I’ve never stopped thinking about you,” Hotch calls out. You freeze.

“Bullshit,” You breathe out clenching your fists at your side, trying to take another step away from him.

“You were important to me. I cared about you.” He hesitates, like he’s weighing his next words, choosing them carefully, “You’re still important to me. I still care about you, now that you’re a member of the team.”

“Bull. Shit.” You grit out, take a few steps closer, forgetting how much taller he is than you, but you’re determined to stand your ground. “How many were there?”

“Excuse me?”

“How many other girls? How many before me?” You shake your head. You’re not sure that you even want the answer. It’s a question that’s stuck with you ever since that day outside of his office so many years ago. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t even bother saving you the heartbreak. He welcomed that girl into his office the same way he did to you without thinking twice.

“I–” He’s at a loss for words, pushing his focus down to the papers on his desk, trailing a finger over the edge of the wood, actively avoiding the question.

“It’s not a difficult question, Hotch,” You’re firm with him. Despite his position of authority over you, as he was before, you’re no longer intimidated by the repercussions of speaking out. You have too much dirt on him. Too many things you could throw in his face at this point. He can’t fire you for speaking your mind. You know he won’t. He can’t threaten your career. If he fires you, he has to explain himself to Strauss. What is he going to say? He can’t explain your history together.

“I don’t remember,” He stumbles over his words, “Three... no four. Definitely four.”

You pause. There’s still one question that has weighed on your mind every day for the past eight years, “And after me?” It’s a question you definitely don’t want the answer to, knowing that in all honesty, the answer doesn’t really matter. It won’t change much. You’ve considered every answer to the question. Every alternative hurts. If he did sleep with that student after you, it solidifies your unimportance in his life. If he didn’t, why would he hurt you the way he did?

It’s a question Hotch clearly never thought you’d actually ask. He finally meets your eye contact, “None.”

You scoff, “You’re a liar.”

“I couldn’t... go through with it with anyone else. I just saw you everywhere in that office. Everywhere I looked. I couldn’t erase the traces of you.” He shakes his head, “And I wanted to go through with it.” That stings, “Because I wanted to forget you. Get you out of my mind and I couldn’t.”

You gnaw at your bottom lip, “Clearly you were able to move on pretty easily,” You gesture to the pictures of the blonde women and the little boy on the bookshelf behind him.

That’s when he completely shuts down. Any sense of humanity you were starting to see in him slowly slips away from you. He’s back to that stonewall of a unit chief. You’ve hit a nerve. “That is not a topic up for discussion.”

“How old is your son? Five? Six?” You cross your arms against your chest, “Don’t act like I was important to you if it was that easy for you to move on. It’s funny, you seem to have everyone around here fooled into thinking you’re some morally just, decent man. I wonder if she knows the truth about you.”

Now you’ve really hit a nerve. “Don’t talk about things you know nothing about, Agent.” He gathers up the papers on his desk, shoving them into a file. “You’re dismissed. Evaluation is over.”

“Good night,” You pause, “Sir.” you snatch up your bag from the floor. Was that even a real evaluation? Or just an excuse to force you to finally sit down and talk to him? He was prying for personal answers. Do you have someone? Do you? Trust me? What he really meant was, Are you seeing someone? Are you still mad at me? Do you hate me? You made sure he didn’t get those answers. The answers being no and you don’t know. You feel like you don’t even know him. He barely even looks like the man you found yourself hopelessly falling for.

You text Reid that you’re just too tired to meet the team for drinks. Calling a car to take you to the train station.

Hotch has somehow managed to become a completely different person, yet still maintains some similarities to the person he was before. You still think of the same words to describe him, but for entirely different reasons.

He’s firm and stern. Now, in this position, he’s big on following protocol. Following the rules is what has to be done. Following rules and respecting the chain of authority is essential to keeping everyone safe. Before, he didn’t care about rules, but he had high standards of performance.

He’s cold. Before, he was cold to distance you from him. Now he’s cold as if letting someone in might break him. Like you might warm him from the inside out and he might not be able to withstand the heat. Letting someone in might lead to a complete meltdown.

Despite the icy exterior he puts on, you see small glimpses of warmth and care. Care for his team, especially. He’s patient with Garcia. He indulges her quirks. He’s firm with Reid because if not he gets sidetracked pretty quickly. But he’s also gentle with him. He doesn’t cut him off or guide him back on track in a rude manner. He knows when the job is overwhelming for JJ. She fields so many cases, being forced to decide which people most need the help. Every single day this week, you’ve seen them both hunched over his desk pouring over yet another armful of files. He reassures her that they’ve made the right decisions.

So you don’t know if you hate him. You don’t know him. That’s the problem.

By the time you get to your apartment, both the mental and physical exhaustion have finally caught up to you. You open your mailbox, pulling out the mail that’s been accumulating over the past few days. You sort through it quickly, most junk mail and bills. You get to the top of the stairs and unlock your door pushing through and you see a small envelope at the bottom of the handful. There’s no return address, just your name scrawled across the front in almost illegible handwriting.

You furrow your brows, dropping your bags by the door, kicking off your shoes, and walking into your kitchen as you tear at the envelope. As you do, a small square photograph falls out. You reach in for the other small slip of paper. Your heart sinks and you feel a sick sense growing in the pit of your stomach.

On the small paper, in the same scrawl as the front of the envelope: I’m still out there.

You bend down for the photograph that fell. It’s a picture of Hotch, his suit jacket blowing open slightly in the wind. He has his phone in his clutches, pressing it up to his ear. He’s got his briefcase under one arm and a tray of coffee in that hand. You look a little closer and notice the pattern on the tie he’s wearing in the photo… the photo was taken today. You flip over the photo, to see a second and final note.

This is between you and me. Break any of my rules, tell anyone about this, and he dies.

Chapter 14: II.III →

Tag list: @wanniiieeee @art-and-thoughts

#aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner x reader #wanna be yours fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #hotch x you #hotch x reader

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doublekrecs · 4 years

Text

More than Friends

Spencer Reid x Reader

Synopsis: You and Spencer have gotten closer after that night of studying, pizza, and a little more. But could there be more growing between the two of you than just sex?

Warnings: smut, oral sex (female receiving), p in v action, risky pictures, fluffy ending!

a/n: Uh oh the feelings train has arrived at the station. Nothing sad I promise. I'm glad you guys liked the first installment and I’m excited to be writing my first mini series. As alway enjoy!

Part 1

It was almost spring break, you and Spencer had been going at it like bunny rabbits since January. Speaking of which, that's what you were doing at the moment. You had helped him gain a little more confidence in himself through the ‘lessons’ which were more you both just trying new things you haven't done before and ruining every piece of furniture in your dorms.

Ever since you taught Spencer how to properly eat you out he’s been feasting on you like his last meal. He’s taken his time to learn what you like and dislike, paying attention to what moves have you gasping and moaning little louder. You were currently spread out on the bathroom counter. Flowy sundress scrunched around your waist as he was on his knees drinking you up like water in the desert.

One of your hands was tugging at his hair causing him to moan in your heat, bringing you more pleasure. His right hand was pumping two fingers inside you, curling to reach the spot that made you whimper. The other hand was holding your thigh open to stop it from closing around his head. Even though he’d love nothing more than to die between your legs.

“Fuck Spence I’m so close baby,” you mewled grinding your hips on his face. His lips wrapped around your clit and fingers sped up their pace, making your orgasm wash over you. He slowed down slightly to help bring you down slowly. Feeling too sensitive you stopped his hand and pulled him up for a deep kiss. Moaning at the taste of him and yourself on his lips.

He pulled away and you chased his slips slightly placing another quick kiss.

“Well that was one hell of a greeting,” you giggled, stepping down to fix yourself up in the mirror.

His arms instantly wrapped around you, chin resting on your head. “Yeah well I like dessert before dinner sometimes,” he said smirking.

You pushed him off before reaching for your makeup bag to add some finishing touches. “Well if you plan on actually going to dinner then leave me alone so I can get ready,” you said playfully scolding and pointing a mascara wand at him.

He raised his arms in surrender and turned to wait on the couch. Picking up one of the many spare books he left at your place.

To say you guys had gotten close was an understatement. He had honestly turned into your best friend and you guys spent a lot more time together. There were many sleepless nights spent at each other's dorms and not just for sexy times. You stayed up learning everything about one another. Childhood memories to favorite films and biggest fears. He told you about his mom and his life growing up. Then you told him about yours, both shedding a few tears. That night as you fell asleep wrapped in each other's arms you knew it was different.

There wasn’t much said about your growing closeness but it was mutually accepted and welcomed. Petnames grew outside of the bedroom. It was normal for you guys to slip a “babe” or “sweetheart” somewhere in conversation. Same with holding hands, Spencer had mentioned he had a thing with germs but he made an exception for you and always found comfort in holding your hand when walking down the street or being cuddled up on the couch.

Even your professor had noticed. Besides noticing the improvement in your grade due to the study sessions you'd been having with his trusty TA, the older man would smile when he saw you guys interacting. Either when you'd first enter class with two coffees in your hand, one for Spencer which would usually have post-it on the lid with a physics fact he obviously already knew. Or when you guys would leave together, he would hold your books in one arm and hold your hand with the other.

The outing for tonight was to some new restaurant that opened up downtown. He opened the door for you and walked with his hand on your lower back as the hostess led you to a table. Completely ignoring you she kept her gaze on Spencer, practically the embodiment of the heart eyes emoji. He didn't seem to notice as he kept a polite smile until she walked off to bring you some waters.

"I wonder if she noticed you're not dining alone?" you said looking up from your menu.

"What do you mean?" he said looking confused.

You sighed, "Spence she was practically giving you the 'fuck me' eyes in front of me."

His eyes widened at the realization before clearing his throat and leaning in to whisper, "Obviously I didn't notice they don't work as good as yours."

He comically winked which caused you to giggle just as the hostess was returning with the waters. Spencer took your hand in his rubbing this thumb over your knuckles before saying, "I think we're ready to order. Right babe?"

That sly dog. You nodded and proceded to set your orders with a now pissed off worker, biting your cheek not to laugh at the bitter look on her face. Conversation flowed like normal after a different server brought out your meals.

"So are you going to see your mom for spring break?"

He perked up at the thought before diving into his last conversation with his mother. He had told her a little about your relationship and sent her a polaroid of you he took while you guys went bowling. He mentioned she was doing really well this month and it was a perfect time for him to visit.

"She says she'd want to meet you someday," he said with a little tint of pink on his cheeks.

"From what I’ve heard she sounds so lovely. You better tell her that I'm expecting a book full of embarrassing baby pictures."

You both laughed at the thought before Spencer asked what your plans for the break were.

"I'm uh not going anywhere. My family is a lot more focused on my older siblings since they're married and have kids to take back home and visit," you said playing with the rice on your plate.

"Well there's a few days before break starts so I say we make the most of them together before I leave," he said with a large smile.

You nodded and carried on with dinner. Afterwards you guys went on a walk through the park across campus before picking up some ice cream and making your way back to his place.

Watching a movie on the couch quickly turned into a heated makeout session. Spencer now let his hands wander freely. Slipping under your dress to rub small circles on your ribs then running down to squeeze your behind. His lips traveled to your neck as he sucked faint marks and bit the skin. You let out moans at the feeling of his lips and growing erection grinding against your warm center.

Your hand was at the nape of his neck playing with the hair that had gotten longer giving slight tugs. He pulled away and pressed a quick kiss to your lips before sitting up on his knees.

You got up on your elbows before asking, "What's that big brain of yours thinking of?"

"I want to try something new."

"Alright I'm all ears Spence."

He took a deep breath before spilling what he was thinking, "Would it be weird to um take pictures.."

You looked at him confused since you were sure the flip phone he carried around didn't have the best quality. He reached for his bag and pulled out his polaroid camera before he continued, "I'm uh gonna miss you when I leave, even though it's just for a week. And you always look really pretty when we do stuff."

"I'm sure I look like a dream, all sweaty and gross," you snorted. "But thank you Spencer," you smiled, "I'm ok with it as long as they're for your eyes only."

He crossed his heart and leaned back in to kiss you before pushing down the straps of your sundress. He moved away so you could push it down your legs, leaving you braless with just a pair of back undies with a lace trim. You would have worn a better set had you known about the impromptu photoshoot.

He took a few pictures of you with your hands on your breasts. He had you sit in his lap while he shot some with one of his hands right on your ribs. And some of you spread out on the couch giving the camera lust filled eyes. That was until you both got antsy and sped into his bedroom. The camera was placed on his bedside counter and instantly forgotten with the new mission of him grabbing a condom. You laid back on the soft pillows as you watched him pump himself to hardness and slip it on.

He crawled on the bed and made his place between your legs. You then reached over and grabbed the camera to snap a picture of your own, "Keep going."

He aligned himself with your center and pushed in a little. The stretch always making both of you gasp. Just then he heard a *click*. Out came a tiny photograph of the place where you were both connected. Setting the camera down in its place, Spencer took it as a signal to start moving.

He leaned down so he was resting on his elbows. The close contact had you looking deep into each other's eyes. Big brown eyes were dark, just a ring of the color you loved so much visible. Your arms were wrapped under his clawing at his back. He hissed at the feeling and started to thrust into you quicker.

Your head fell back in pleasure as your moans got louder. He was buried into the crook of your neck, you could hear and feel his heavy breathing on your shoulder. Your arms untangled from behind him as you placed your hands on his face to bring his lips to yours. It was deep and rough but there was a hint of something more there. Need? Passion?

You pulled away for air but stayed close enough that you shared the same breath. He didn't let up on his pace. You could feel every inch inside of you hitting spots you'd never felt before. He could feel your walls clenching around him signaling your incoming release.

"I'm not gonna last much longer Y/n. I need you to cum for me sweetheart." His hand went down to rub quick circles on your clit.

"Ah Spence I'm cumming," you gasped out connecting your lips together.

His thrusts started faltering and you felt him spill into the condom. You disconnected from the kiss as he fell on the bed next to you. He went to discard the condom and came back to wrap you in his arms.

Your head was resting on his chest as you traced little shapes with your fingers. You both shared the comfortable silence before he spoke up.

"Hey I was thinking, what if you came with me to Vegas," his hand was rubbing comforting circles on your back but you stopped with your shapes.

"I.. Spencer are you sure?", you asked sitting up to look at him.

"Yeah why not. I don't want to leave you here alone. But maybe I can introduce you to my mom," he cleared his throat, "as my girlfriend."

You sat there in a little shock and he started to ramble, "Or maybe not. It was a dumb idea. Just ignore what I said-"

You cut him off by wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a huge kiss. "I'd love to go! And I'd love nothing more than to be your girlfriend, genius."

You both laid back down but he quickly grabbed the camera and turned it around to face the two of you. You pressed your lips to his cheek and he put on a bright smile for the camera to capture. The little piece of film came out and you both looked like you were glowing, with more than just the fuzzy feeling after sex.

taglist

@addie5264

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid headcanon #spencer reid hc #mgg x reader #mgg smut #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds smut #matthew gray gubler x reader #matthew gray gubler smut #🧞‍♀️writes

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spacehologramcollection · 4 years

Text

Kombat Kast in lockdown:

Real talk, I could have continued writing this. But I’m easing myself back into writing. Some nice fluff with a dash of NSFW. I’m planning on doing a part two, because this is very long.

Warnings: Tooth rotting fluff, get your dentist on speed dial. Little bit of NSFW. Lockdown.

18+ under the cut guys.

I don’t own the GIFS.

· Kabal:

He’s ready for this. He’s prepared. He cannot wait to spend some quality time with you. Both pre and post burn would be so happy and stoked to spend time with you. Both pre and post burn Kabal, are going to be in their comfiest joggers, hair tied back and glasses on. Takes advantage of the time to catch up on some TV with you, play some videogames and also losing track of what day and time it is. Is 2am too early to make pancakes? No. Because you’re running on lockdown time. Awake at 3am trying to make Macrons because the video made it look so easy. Dancing around your shared apartment like idiots. Though, post burn Kabal would prefer just to hold you close and sway to the music. Lockdown pre-burn would be a dream come true for him. Lounging on the sofa, you’re laid flat against his chest, a hand in your hair. Bliss. Post-burn could be bad for his Mental Health. More time for him to think about his body and what he used to have. So, he may need a bit of TLC and a whole lot of body worship. He just needs to be reminded that he’s still the most handsome man on the planet. Also, reading comics at 3 in the morning. You’re sat crossed leg on the floor, surrounded by pillows, he’s super into comics and nerdy things. He’ll be sat eagerly watching you read his favourite issue, watching your reaction, he knows them off by heart so he’s waiting for you to react to his favourite scene. Debates to no end on who could kick who’s ass. Late nights, lazy mornings and afternoons. Post-Burn Kabal will refuse to put a shirt on. Just lounging around in his joggers. He will need a hand shaving his hair. He always needs a hand with the back. He will let it get a little longer during lockdown. Maybe, if you beg hard enough, he may let you spike it. Best lockdown buddy. Also, Ninja mime marathon, with a drinking game thrown in. Working from home is hard. Especially with his fine arse on your couch. Smiling as you’re on a zoom call. Screaming ‘TELL THEM I SAID HI’ Post-burn Kabal won’t want to appear on them as much. Often miming the action for a drink, bringing you lunch and also looking over your shoulder. Before kissing you softly on the cheek.

Cassie Cage:

She’s pretty sure her mum is going to flip her shit. But she doesn’t care. She doesn’t want to work-out or train to her absolute limits. You’re here with her and she wants to chill out with you and hang out with you. Like a normal fucking couple. So, she’s breaking a few rules for you. Don’t tell no one about that though. Your both in lockdown in her apartment. You’re both debating if the hallway should be neon orange or neon pink. You’re bored so you end up redecorating the place. Stained. Hair. A playful splat on the nose turns into a mini paint fight. You both also make handprints on the wall together. Because that’s one way to remember it… that and she saw it in Up and though it was cute. Getting wasted happens a few times too. She admits she wants you to be like the couple from UP, but she doesn’t want it to be as sad. She’s also on the floor sobbing because the brownies aren’t done yet. A lockdown with Cassie is fun every day. She ordered a bath bomb for you both to take a relaxing bath together. She also ordered you a few beers to enjoy whilst in there too. She gets pissed with how long her hair is getting. So, it’s time for the undercut to make a comeback. Queue Cassie bringing out the clippers and asking you to help her cut her hair shorter. Playfighting to no end. She’s let you pin her a few times, you’re pretty sure it’s sympathy, but you’ll take that victory. If you suggest a Ninja Mime marathon, she’s straight up refusing. This is a mini vacation from her parents. She doesn’t need to see a full feature length marathon of her dad. Weird food concoctions galore. You’re also dying each other’s hair stupid colours. She literally texts Jacqui ‘Pick a colour’ and then that’s it, you’ve dyed your hair. She’s so full of energy and it’s infectious. She’ll always make you smile. If you have to work from home, she’s going to try and be quite, but she wants to know what you’re doing. Everyone thinks she’s great in your work calls, she’s often requested to say hi. They love her.

· Smoke (Tomas Vrbada): Smoke is more on the introverted side. He’s got books picked out. He aims to read a book a day where possible. And he’s totally keeping a reading log, so he has something to look back on. If you’re cooped up in the Lin Kuei temple, he’s going to be more stressed. There’s something ever so slightly stressful about been stuck with Bi-Han who gets very restless. That, and he thinks you both have to be quite, because everyone there is a nosey bastard. The one-time Smoke called you his dove, Bi-Han teased him and took the piss for three weeks straight. He can’t be dealing with that. That and he will eventually give up getting dressed. He will walk around in his dragon onesie, attempting to get some food. Ignoring all of Kuai’s attempts for him to get dressed. He’s in lockdown mode. Which means, his comfy socks are on, the string lights are on, and he’s ready to cuddle up with you. You did, once walk into the kitchen to see Bi-Han and Tomas dancing terribly, an empty bottle of vodka on the table, Kuai face in his hands blocking out the terrible dancing. He’d also much prefer to be in lockdown in your apartment. In a mass of blankets, some ice-cream, lots of string lights and some good TV on. He’d take this opportunity to teach you a little Czech too. Also, in your apartment he can wear his dragon onesie and dance with you like an idiot. Without judgement and shaming the Lin Kuei. And embarrassing Kuai. A lot of terrible dancing, spinning, him picking you up and throwing you onto the sofa playfully. He becomes a little more extroverted around you. Don’t get me wrong he loves nothing more than comfy silence, reading in bed, whilst you’re drawing circles on his chest. But there’s something fun about eating brownie and pizza at 2 in the morning. Fucking wild. If you need to work from home, he respects your space and will sit silently reading, looking over and smiling as you work. He’ll bring you tea and sit crossed leg on the sofa with you. Your workmates think you’ve hit the jackpot.

Bi-Han:

He fucking hates lockdown. He doesn’t want to get sick. But he hates the same four walls. He starts irritating people on purpose. Not you though. Your precious and he loves you. But Kuai and Smoke are fair game. Queue hiding Smokes special shampoo, replacing Kuai’s uniform with one that’s too small for him. Winding people up to their limits. Because he’s bored and was born to be a little shit. At your apartment everything is different. He knows Kuai is more than capable of running things without him around. And is more than happy to do this for him. So, he’s off. He’s usually in his underwear, teasing the fuck out of you. Pray you don’t have to work from home, because he’s very distracting. Always stood behind the laptop when you’re on that zoom meeting, slowly slipping those joggers lower and lower. Lord have mercy on your soul. He does make appearances in your calls. On his best behaviour. Envy of everyone. He’ll cook for you when you’re working too. If you’re not working, he’ll always insist on cooking with you, he used to love cooking with Kuai when he was younger. But he’s grown up now and is grumpy all the time. He misses it. But he loves cooking with you. Queue you both dancing whilst waiting for the food to cook. Spinning you around. Maybe a quick make out session on the counter. He wants a bit of normality, and whilst the situation may not be normal, it’s sure as hell more normal than his usual schedule. He gets a little philosophical in the early hours of the morning. Talking about your future, if you want kids, what kind of dog you want, that sort of stuff. It’s times like this, where your both sat on your kitchen floor, sharing a drink, eating some good food, he’s glad he’s back to his usual self. You’re his everything and he doesn’t tell you that often enough. He loves been able to fall asleep with you and cuddle up with you. Loves waking up at a normal time and lounging in bed with you. Your lockdown time brings you closer together, to the point he probably would propose to you during lockdown. He hasn’t got a ring, but please accept his headband. Just till he can get you one.

· Kuai Liang (Sub Zero): Oho. Kuai is in for a rude awakening. He won’t want to leave Arktika. He cannot leave his clan. Bi-Han can be trusted, but he wants to remain with his clan. He’ll apologise that you’ve got to spend lockdown in the cold, but he’ll make sure you’re comfortable and have everything you may want and or need. He’s very curious when you’re working from home. He must admit he finds it interesting that you can still do your job, in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. When people ask where you are, you have to lie, and you’re not sure they buy that your boyfriend owns a castle. But hey fucking ho. It’ll do. You’ve caught him once or twice drifting past, tea in hand, trying not to glance at your screen, when you’re on a call. You end up dragging him into the call and introducing him. Luckily, he’s in some more normal clothes. So, no questions get dragged up. He’s always handing you tea and bringing you sweet snacks to keep you going. Soft kisses on the forehead when he knows no one is watching. You kind of feel easier been at the temple. It’s in the middle of nowhere, which actually makes you calm and keeps you chilled. Kuai will make sure the fire is stoked. He’ll also leave you to work and will keep checking on you. He’s busy with his brother and the Lin Kuei. But he makes a habit of you both having lunch together. He’ll bring you lunch and you’ll both sit and eat together. On an evening in his free time, he spends it all with you. Asking about your day, asking how it went and if you’re okay. A lot of catching up in bed, with you both laid there, his arms wrapped around you, whilst you rest on his chest. He’ll whisper sweet things to you, brush the hair from your face and remind you that you’re his everything. Lockdown with Kuai has a lot of structure. And it’s nice to spend time with him.

· Hanzo Hasashi (Scorpion):

He’s very similar to Kuai. He has a whole clan of ninja to run so he’s got to be out and about. So, if you need to work from home, he gets it… though he doesn’t need a laptop to do his work. Queue him leaving early and coming back late. He does make a habit of dropping in when you’re on lunch to take you for a walk through the gardens. He’ll also leave origami and notes for you to wake up to. He loves having you around, and very much like Kuai, he’d prefer you to be with the Shirai Ryu. You’re safe her and he does love waking up to you every morning. He loves it so much. He does actively avoid your zoom calls though. He’s a ninja so he’s pretty good at stealthy walking around, dipping and diving to avoid featuring on there. He just doesn’t like a lot of attention. He does end up one though. He had managed to secure a lie in. His bones were aching from training the night before. Takeda was entrusted with waking him… though he thought Grandmaster Grumpy face deserved a lie in. When he awakens, he lazily walks out of your shared room, wondering where you are, shirtless and only in some pants. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Only to softly say your name, open them, to see you’re smiling up at him awkwardly. You’re on a company wide call, and he’s stood there shirtless, hair tussled, and looking like sin incarnate. Queue a lot of people whistling so loudly, he can hear from the headphones you’re wearing. He mutters some swears in Japanese before moving on. You can’t help but giggle a lot, which makes him chuckle to himself. He’s stoic so there ain’t no teasing. But he does love folding the laptop down when you’re working over. Muttering how you can’t overwork yourself. Which is very hypocritical, but you’re not arguing. And you know you need a break, queue Hanzo suggesting a relaxing bath and cooking together. Slow dancing around his room is something he’s reluctant to do, but he does do it with you, because those eyes can’t get any bigger. He loves this lockdown period. And he grows used to having you around all the time. Soft kisses and romantic talks, Philosophical debates and him slightly complaining about training. Takeda loves that you’re here. Hanzo isn’t such a hard arse with you round.

· Johnny Cage:

Oh, fuck yes. Lockdown. He’s going to write a screenplay, arrange his awards, build that shelf for the Oscar he’s definitely winning this year. Reply to some fan mail… that was until you wake up and walk out in one of his shirts. His plan definitely changes. You end up trying on all his sunglasses, all his jackets and rings and pretending to be him. Which makes him laugh a lot. He’s sure he doesn’t actually walk and sound like that… does he? He hopes not. He’ll try and install a routine, but that goes out of the window the first night. You’re sat drinking smoothies at 1 in the morning. You’ll become nocturnal. So, it’s a good job he doesn’t have neighbours close by. Two-man parties, with you skyping Cassie, so you all can hang out together. Dancing around, playing those shitty games. Cassie and Johnny get competitive with trivial pursuit and monopoly. You’ve never seen anything like it. It’s insane. You both take the time to catch up on TV together, Johnny has a terrible habit of pointing out all the parts he could have had. But you know, turned down. He’s always got the best food in and best quarantine snacks. Whatever your heart desires he’s got it. Best internet too. So, working from home is so easy and so comfy. You’re the envy of your workmates. Who are very jealous you’re basically in quarantine in a mansion. Johnny does walk past your zoom call on purpose, pretending to act all coy about it. Just waiting to hear a squeal from someone who didn’t know you actually dated Johnny Cage. Que your sigh and inviting him over. He practically leaps onto the sofa. Arm around you. A smug smile as he introduces himself. Not like he’s been bicep curling his award behind you. He’ll also love doing facemasks with you. Nothing better than a pamper night on the couch, some crappy movie in the background (Not one of his though) and some good wine and food. He’s literally in heaven.

· Raiden:

He needs to consult the Elder Gods before he can spend time with you. Taking the piss obviously. He doesn’t get sick, so he offers to go into the outside world for you if need be. He doesn’t mind taking one for the team. He’s interesting to spend Lockdown with. He’s so fascinated by everything in your apartment. He’s so interested in what you do for work. When you reveal that you’re working from home, he’s watching you from the sofa, cup of tea in his hand. He’s got that face on him. The one where he wants to ask a question but he’s not sure if he’s allowed to. When he sees you’re in a meeting, he asks what you’re doing, so you may just joke ‘Consulting the Elder God Bob, God of financing and accounts’ He does chuckle at that. He does a lot of self-care and a lot of reminding you to look after yourself. As soon as it hits time to clock off, he’s tapping the clock, shaking his head before gently reminding you, that you need to rest and relax and that you’ve earned it. He’s brewed some fresh tea and he would like you to join him. He’s so good to you. He doesn’t do been on the zoom calls though. He has waved once or twice. But other than that, he kind of watches curiously. He’s read all the books in your apartment, if you’ve got a cat, he’s in fucking heaven. Like, you’re cat ain’t walking over your screen, because he’s snuggled up to Raiden. The man is a magnet for cats. If your apartment is a little disorganised, he may sort it out. That cupboard full of mismatched Tupperware and pans, all sorted, all with the correct lids. You could cry when you pull out a pan and it’s got the right lid on it. He’ll love baking with you too. He’s a sucker for freshly baked bread and he teaches you how to make it. Nothing nicer than him having him wrapping his arms around your waist whilst you’re baking. Lockdown equals privacy and he’s taking advantage of his rare opportunity. At night he’ll love to sit on your balcony, watching the stars and enjoying the fresh air. He’s so warm and he’s got a comforting smell to him. He’s literally bliss.

· Fujin: (Fujin could raw me after the trailer not going to lie)

Windy boi is happy he gets a break from all the bullshit. He does miss Raiden though. They don’t often spend a lot of time away from each other. So, he’s constantly communicating with him. But you make everything easier. That, and he wants to make sure you don’t get sick. By the Elder Gods he can’t have that. Likewise, if you have a cat, please let him hold and pet it. Nothing better than you looking up from your work call, seeing him stood there holding your cat, smiling away and scratching its chin. He appears often in your zoom call. Envy of all your colleagues, because who has hair that perfect and healthy. They ask for his stylist. He’s not sure how to respond to that. He got called a DILF and you had to explain that to him. You had to explain what a DILF was to the god of wind. Holy fuck it was awkward. He’ll let you braid his hair and he’ll also love it when you shower together. Because he loves been close and intimate with you. And the shower is a private place, so he feels he can open up and be more intimate with you without judgement. He’s still shy and new to this whole relationship thing. So, lockdown allows him to be close to you. You’ll also get to introduce him to pop culture. He’s not sure what to think about it. He’s got such a strange, dry sense of humour. When you’re watching Ninja Mime you hear him just say, ‘A clown in the movies, a clown in real life. Art imitates real life’ And you lose your shit. It’s the funniest thing to leave his mouth. He kind of loses it too. He gets really into Game of Thrones. He’s so into it. You don’t know how to tell him how the last season was shit. You don’t have the heart to break it to him. Teaching him to dance too. Oh god. Him getting a bit flustered and picking you up over his shoulder and spinning you around. Also, I can see lockdown running into summer, so you’ve got your own personal fan. At night, he’ll love to settle down in bed with you, whilst you talk absolute shit. You can bitch about anything, and he will listen, provide quips and make you feel better. He has no idea who Kate in Marketing is, but he knows, we don’t like her. I headcanon Fujin is pretty damn musically talented, so he’ll just randomly pick up that guitar or violin that’s there because A. Aesthetically pleasing and B. bought to try and discover a new hobby. And he’ll just start playing it. He loves seeing you smile too and he’s there for you if lockdown ever gets too much. He lives to make you smile.

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theodora3022 · 4 years

Text

Freaking Me Out

Pairing: Neito Monoma x F!reader (I’m not really good at this kind of stuff…)

Summary: What scares Neito Monoma more than death, is his irrational attraction to you. He was able to hide it behind his petty insults often, until one day he saw you injured, something in the blonde snapped.

Notes: Reader is a student in 1A. If you do not like it, the exit button is there for you. Otherwise, enjoy! I honeslty don’t like how this turns out, but there you have it.

Warning: Verbal abuse (It is Monoma come on, what’s the surprise), superiority complex (obviously), fluff?Insults?

“Now I hear sounds in the hallway,

rocking chairs are moving on their own,

I’m falling for you, so much so

It’s freaking me out.”

You’re a student of class 1A, that is a good enough reason for Neito to pick on you. Even though you have always been polite and friendly. His distain is towards 1A in general, you just got caught up in the wave.

He might still act like a bully towards you, but that doesn’t mean he hates you, in fact, he found you quite charming, it almost made him want to stop with his verbal abuses. Almost.

Ironic enough, Neito has a soft spot for sociable people. Most people would be appalled with his rude attitude, which is what he expected. But he never got any reaction out of you with the usual insults. You brush them off as if they were nothing and kept that friendly façade, keep treating him with kindness. You are too nice, abnormally so.

Neito is curious, what could make you lose your composure? You are always so calm and collected, it’s honestly irritating. How can he rip off that smiling mask off your face and see who you really are? Class 1A is full of idiots, so why are you any different. The way you act all welcoming, it’s all fake right? Inside, you must be just like those egotistic maniacs you called friends. Nothing had drawn the blonde’s attention this much in a long time, so when he caught a glimpse of your backside, walking towards the library, Neito followed.

You had a terrible day, you got a bad mark on a recent test, accidently slipped on a banana skin, and landed sideways. It’s only a minor injury, so you didn’t bother to visit the Nurse’s office.(They must have more pressing injuries to deal with then a small cut) Now you got a bandage on the left side of your chin. So, you decide to treat yourself some quality time to relax in the library, surely nothing worse can happen in that calming atmosphere?

Oh, how naïve you are.

Coincidentally, it happened to be a bad day for Neito too. What’s his favorite pastime these days? Read Franco-Belgian comics Make fun of someone he doesn’t like. You’re just sitting there, concentrated on a history book, as if inviting his insults. The library is nearly empty, and the table you’re sitting at is behind some shelves, far away from the Liberian’s prying eyes. Perfect.

Inviting himself to your table, Neito sits down across you with that arrogant smirk on his face. Then he starts to examine you. Oh, how adorable you look, so focused. Suddenly the book makes him feel jealous, how pathetic of him. He really got it bad. He wonders what you’re going to look like all angry, finally letting out your true self.

“What you’re reading there, (y/n)?”

You are now scowling; obviously not too happy he had interrupted your reading. “Good afternoon to you too, Monoma. Has anyone told you it’s rude to interrupt?” You were hoping to ignore him, that he would leave on his own. Well, that’s evidently not happening.

She seems annoyed. Never seen that before, interesting. Then Neito notices the small bandage on the side of your chin. It’s clearly not properly treated, as he can see blood leaking from its edges.

“You’re hurt?” That smirk is gone…Is that concerns you see on his face? You never imagined someone like him is capable of such compassion. “Oh this? I tripped and I cut it. No big deal though.” Avoiding his caring gaze, you’re starting to feel uncomfortable. He is acting so…nice? Who is he and what has he done with the real Neito Monoma?

No big deal? If it is not cleansed and closed properly, it could very well leave a scar on your flawless face! Monoma doesn’t know why this bothers him this much, what he does know is you need to get proper medical attention immediately. “None sense. Come, that’s get you to recovery girl.”

“I’m fine, really. Hey, let go of me, Monoma!” He took your left hand into his without permission? What the hell? The next thing you know he is dragging you out of the library.

“If you don’t want to cause a spectacle in the hallways, better stop being a brat and shut your trap.” Ah, there it is. The normal insults of Neito Monoma. You silenced yourself, nevertheless. Thankfully, it’s afterschool, so no one is in the hallways. You can just picture how rumors were going to spread if someone sees you and Monoma “holding hands” like this.

The Recovery girl is busy with someone’s training injury. Much to your surprise, after taking some antibiotics ointment and a couple of cotton swabs, he decides to tend to your wound himself.

Slim fingers carefully peeling the bandage off, the blonde’s brows knotted when you let out a hiss of pain. “It might hurt now, but it’s going to scar if you just leave it like this.” He is so focus on cleansing your cut that he missed your shock. After making sure the wound is hygienic, Neito starts applying the ointment with such attentiveness, making sure no corners are missed. His eyes are filled with worries, instead of the usual condescending attitude. It all looks too good to be real, so you stay quiet.

Neito used to be quite clumsy as a child, so he learned how to tend to minor wounds such as yours. Fortunately, your cut is not deep or long, with the correct care it would heal in no time.

It was not until he finishes up, after putting a new bandage over your treated wound, that Neito realizes what he has done. Not only he had literally dragged you here, but also tended your wound himself! If he does not know better, he would say he genuinely care for you. Biting his lower lip, the Blonde’s head start to spin, to think how he can excuse himself out of this awkward situation.

“Neito?” You are calling him by his first name now? That is new. Not that he hates it.

Then you just look at him with those innocent eyes, those beautiful eyes. And those lips, they look so tasty, he would not mind a tast-

Wait, where did all those obscene thoughts come from?

You two are standing in an empty hallway beside the nurse’s office, staring at each other in silence. “Thank you for that, Neito. I really appreciate your help. I wouldn’t want to have a scar.” Is that all you have to say? Normally that would be enough, but for Monoma?

“You got two options, (y/n). One, just walk away, pretend this never happened and carry on with your normal life.” He paces towards you, you realized how he had backed you into a corner. He is close, too close-you can feel his breaths gently brushes your cheeks. Up close, you noticed he is actually quite handsome, with that well-trimmed blonde hair and those crystal blue eyes. If he were not such a jerk, he would have been quite a charmer. Wait…is he trembling?

“What’s the other option?” You asked that out of pure curiosity. Childish, you know, but you cannot help but be amused at the blonde’s shacking form. It is not everyday you get to see so terrified and flustered, a major blush across those usually pale cheeks. A rare but delightful sight.

Don’t you get those hints? Your innocence, while cute, is driving Neito crazy. He is so done with playing subtle. Let his knuckles brush against the uninjured side of your face, touches so soft that can be mistaken as lover’s.

“Or” He whispers near your ear, almost towering over you; “You can show me how thankful you are for my care. I been thinking about kissing you for a while, you know.” He is buffing. Neito is screaming in his head, praying that you reciprocate his feelings. It is the least you can do after making him swoon over you for so long.

How dare you! How dare you making him feel attached? Like you are the only thing he wants in this world? Who gives you the right to make him obsess over you?

Neito is scared, terrified, even. This had never happened before. Due to his handsome appearance, there had been girls interested him before, but they all backed away once they learned about his personality.

You were too astounded to move. Neito Monoma, the infamous rude prick from Class 1B, has feelings for you? Someone pinch you on the arm, to make sure this was not just some lewd dream. “What, so shocked that you can’t even speak?” Forcing your chin up with his thumb and index fingers (but still careful not to touch your wound), his face begins to lean close. You shut your eyes, half-hoping for it to happen.

But you only felt a quick peck on your cheek. Of course he would not steal your first kiss here. Neito would want to make it a moment he could treasure forever, after a date. Not in this little dark hallway.

“You, me, tomorrow at noon, in front of the gate.” Then he left without saying a word, almost stumbling. Only his faint cologne still lingering around you, reminding this is all real.

#bnha x reader #bnha #bnha neito monoma #neito monoma #neito x reader #neito monoma x reader #bnha self insert

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cornfarm · 3 years

Note

isjeishwish plz tell us more about anzai-chi

like her relationship with the another characters

also ur drawingstyle is 🥺🥺🥺

OMG i'm so happy you asked!!! i'm so happy people care abt her, and thank you!!!! :DD

i'll give some fun facts about her and then talk a bit abt her relationships! i wrote a LOT so i put most of it under a cut! i'll give anyone who reads it all a cookie lol

her planets name is mezpria! she calls herself a mezprian.

anzai is usually seen carrying around a mop. she usually has it slung across her shoulders carrying bags. shes very skilled in spearsmanship, so she sometimes swings around her mop for fun, and people with keen eyes for fighting recognize her precision with her strokes.

that being said, she does have a spear! i mentioned that she could channel thunder to strike, this spear is what allows her to do so. when she swings it and a certain speed, it creates a line of static, and lightning will strike whatever connects, or is closest to that line. because of how dangerous it is to be put in the wrong hands, she keeps it under her bed in her apartment.

her extensive use of it during the war is what caused her hearing problems. she's not entirely deaf, but she does miss things if people speak too quietly. she does know sign language! she teaches the yorozuya some so they can gossip about people across the room.

this does mean though, that she fights frequently with simply a mop. it's a similar gag to gintoki's wooden sword, but when people say she's holding a mop, she just tilts her head and says "this is a spear?".

this is her and her spear:

sougo thinks she's funny because hijikata HATES her. he's always pissed off about how she's skirting perfectly around the law, and manages to avoid being arrested. he even hates her more because he really likes a certain type of cigarette she sells. she sells them in packs of 20, and they're made from a type of fermented, then dried wheat from her home planet.

he'll come into the shop yelling about he's "gonna arrest her and she better watch out" while buying cigarettes. the only quality he'll ever admit to liking about her is that she never comments on his hypocrisy, and that she doesn't (outwardly) judge him for his food choices.

other than hijikata, the rest of the shinsengumi is relatively neutral about her. sougo does find her antics very amusing. he definitely comes to her shop like "miss anzai will you please teach me how to roll cigarettes <3" and then puts cyanide in one for hijikata. then when it's the one she picks up to smoke he punches her so that she doesn't. maybe he hangs around because he can sense how mischevous she is.

she's always eager to teach people things about her culture and how she runs her shop! as much as she's eager to teach sougo, she also ends up teaching shinpachi and kagura lots of stuff as well. she would never say she's maternal, or a mother figure, but there's something about the way she explains things, and brings them food, and gives advice that get a "thanks mom".

sometimes she gets it from gintoki too, but when he says it she looks at him very sadly. she HATES being called mom and scolds them for it.

speaking of gintoki, i'm tired of a harem, so he likes her! it's entirely unclear to everyone if she reciprocates. she shows just enough interest to suggest she might have feelings, but she's so distant it's hard to tell. even though his kids tease him by saying shit like "please don't lower your standards to someone as low as him," to her, theyre all secretly rooting for him.

she initially met them because she needed some people to help her move and decorate her shop. they asked her why she didn't hire a moving company instead. she says there wasn't a particular reason, but she had been lingering outside their shop for a solid week before talking to them. they definitely noticed and were like "whats with this chick", especially cause she would just stand there and stare up at the sign trying to muster the courage. she really wanted to meet people and try to make some friends!

she pays them so well they actually do an okay job! anzai thanks them, and tells them they're allowed to come by anytime, and she'll give them a discount for anything they'd like. they come by very often, gintoki particularly likes the alcohol she sells, as a lot of it is very sweet, so they frequently drink together at night.

she also brings them food often. it's an easy way for her to express gratitude and affection. she's pretty poor at cooking japanese food at first, but she learns quickly!

her and gintoki have a lot in common, the biggest aspect of their relationship being their sense of humor! she's always amused by the things he says, and it's very reciprocated. he likes that her humor is so similar- they end up bonding really quick. they do banter a bit, but a lot of their interactions are enabling each other. he teases her a lot.

kagura and shinpachi don't like the way they talk to each other. kagura says their weirdness rubs off on each other too much, whereas shinpachi is simply baffled about how there's someone who can match his energy so well.

heres a silly comic i made:

anzai does give him these judgemental looks sometimes, but they're done playfully. when he does cross a line and piss her off, she just disappears, always managing to be away when he looks for her. when they fight it's miserable to watch because gintoki's too stubborn to talk to her, and she's too freaked out by emotional confrontation.

they're all very thankful anzai is a little bit responsible and always makes up with them. gintoki frequents her shop and is like, "hey, i'm not here for you. give me 5 of those little bread things, three of them strawberry and the other two peach. that's what i'm here for, not for you. are you free later?" and then lingers around way too long.

she tries to give otae cooking lessons, masked by a "let me teach you how to make a classic mezprian dish ^__^" in an attempt to alleviate shinpachi from his despair. she manages to screw up even simple recipes so she just shrugs at him.

one time katsura's ronin try to assassinate her because they heard crazy rumors about her war crimes and exploits and she just looks at him like "can you stop trying to kill me please." eventually he's like "my bad lol we heard a bunch of crazy rumors about you" and she's like "those are all true :)"

she gets very silly and happy when drunk, so her and gintoki have a lot of fun drinking together. although sometimes she tries to tackle him, she doesn't have the arm strength when she's drunk, so he always ends up just swinging her around. she's definitely gotten a concussion at some point.

she also tends to crash with him, so when shinpachi sees her sneaking out in the early morning she always gaslights him into thinking he was seeing things.

hasegawa, gintoki, and her gamble often! she's pretty well off so she's not too worried about money, so she just thinks its fun. when they tell her to start stripping so they can continue gambling something away and she's like "absolutely not" and then takes her apron off.

i feel like i've spoken really only highly of her, but despite how she's generally liked and beloved by many, she's painfully distant. she's always a few steps out of reach from everyone, and because of that she feels like an outsider. heres another drawing of her:

most people call her anzai(-san), but otae and hasegawa call her yae, while kagura calls her yae-chan. sougo commonly calls her boss, and gintoki calls her a slew of shitty nicknames, most commonly with her lastname, since it uses the kanji for "toki". she calls almost everyone by their first name with no honorifics.

AND THATS IT!!! i can definitely think of a hundred more scenarios with her and different cast members but i've already written so much ;__;

if you've read this far i'm giving u ur cookie of choice

#i guess technically all her relationships could be /p but you can pair her up with anyone i dont care #i just like gintoki #<3 #OHH BTW I LOVE YOUR OC TOO SHES SO CUTE #i'm on my adhd meds im sorry for going crazy #gintama oc #anzai yae #gintama #corn art #corn asks

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irrelevantwriter · 4 years

Text

Three’s Company

Pairing: Negan x Female Reader/You, Jim Hopper x Female Reader/You

Rating: Explicit, NSFW

Warnings: threesome dynamics (M/F/M), language, daddy kink (majorly), oral sex (female and male receiving), unprotected vaginal sex, anal sex (female receiving), mention of bodily fluids, female ejaculation, Jim Hopper and Negan in the same room (its explosive), just lots of smut…like a lot

Word Count: 6.9K

Summary: Your coworkers decide to pop in for a late night visit.

A/N: This is a request fulfillment for the lovely @spacenerd96! Thank you for being so patient! I was blown away by this request bc I knew it had the potential to send us all to hell in a blaze of flames, lol. I wanted you all to ring in the new year with two of our favorite men. I really wanted to stay true to their individual characters while playing off each other, which was entertaining and interesting for two alpha men like Hopper and Negan. I hope I didn’t disappoint. The length is absurd, but I didn’t think you guys would mind. Plus, the smut is so ridiculously filthy that I think it more than makes up for it. Enjoy and share with your friends!

*Masterlist in bio.

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

You wake with a start, wondering what it was that pulled you from sleep. Your room is dark still, nothing appearing to be out of place. A knock on your door alerts you to the source of the interruption. Your bleary eyes look to the clock on your nightstand, noting the late hour. It’s after midnight and the thought of someone at your door makes your body tense and the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

You very slowly make your way out of the comfort of your bed and pad softly to the front door. You listen closely, waiting for the person on the other side to suddenly barge through the wood and demand all your money.

It doesn’t happen.

Another knock reverberates throughout the apartment and you jump, startled by the sound. You quietly press yourself against the door and look through the peephole, careful to not let your accelerated breathing give you away. Two hulking male figures barely fit into the visible space. You can’t make out their faces that well, though you can tell one is dark haired and the other has lighter strands. They appear to be arguing, but you can’t make out the specifics of what they’re saying.

Suddenly, the darker haired man is looking right into the peephole, his impossibly white-toothed grin making you jump back.

“Doll? You in there?”

You roll your eyes, the identity of the men suddenly very apparent.

“Fuck off.” You call through the door, knowing that nothing good was going to come from this little late night visit.

“Not fucking likely.” Negan drawls, his voice making your skin simultaneously tingle and crawl. He often had that dual effect on you and you despised it. You really wish your body would catch up to your mind and hate the fucking guy.

“Come on, sweetheart...” This voice is different, but causes the same reaction as the first.

The two men outside your door couldn’t be more dissimilar, and yet they possess qualities that make you hate both of them equally. Working with them was a nightmare and you tried to limit those interactions as much as possible, but with your partner still being out on medical leave, you’d been teamed with the asshole detective squad of the department. It was turning out to be a real joy.

“What the fuck are you two idiots doing at my place so late?” You question harshly, hoping to avoid casual chit-chat.

“Bathroom.” Jim Hopper responds, but you can hear the laughter in his voice. You swear you could hear Negan snicker in response.

It dawns on you why they’re there…why they’re acting so fucking strange. You pull the door open with the chain still in place. The only part of you that’s visible is your face as you shoot daggers at your unwelcomed visitors slash dickhead coworkers.

“Are you drunk?”

Both men are clearly relaxed, a rare sight for the two homicide detectives. Negan is grinning, though he seems to do that a lot. It’s a tactic he likes to use with suspects and women alike. The cocky bastard. Jim is smiling, but his isn’t as grandiose as Negan’s. His face is more tranquil than you’ve ever seen it. His brow isn’t furrowed and there’s no trace of the frown lines that make him so recognizable around the station.

“We aren’t drunk. Relax.” Jim replies with a wave of his hand. He’s brushing off your question and the action makes you seethe with anger.

“But you’ve been drinking?” You try again, not concealing the irritation in your voice.

“We went to the pub just down the street. What the fuck is the name of it again?” Negan stops and looks to Jim for help. Jim rolls his eyes as if he’s had to remind Negan of the name on multiple occasions throughout the evening.

“Astor’s.” He supplies flatly.

“Right, we went there and decided to come visit our other partner in this fucked up threesome we got going on.”

You fought against the need to roll your eyes, legitimately afraid that they would get stuck that way. “For what reason?”

“A cup of coffee?” Jim asks, a pleading lilt oozing from his words. It’s a bizarre sound coming from his bearded lips.

They’re both looking at you with some distorted version of puppy dog eyes. Its comical, but also starting to have the desired effect. The men are handsome and the alcohol does nothing to dampen that. Jim is dressed casually in a brown jacket, a blue flannel, and dark jeans. His notorious hat is perched on his head, the accessory a staple of his. Next to him, Negan is encased in black. He’s sporting his infamous leather jacket, along with a black t-shirt and black jeans. They’re both dressed how you’ve seen them a million times, but the late hour and casualness of their visit makes you appreciate the attire in an entirely different way.

You sigh, pressing the bridge of your nose with your fingers. You can feel a headache coming on and you know you aren’t going to get rid of them. So in hopes of making them disappear faster, you acquiesce.

You shut the door and undo the chain, opening it once again without the barrier. You stand back and allow both men to enter, their massive frames making the space feel significantly smaller. You usher them into the living room while you start a pot of coffee, eager to get them out and on their way.

“Nice place you got here, doll.” Negan compliments with a wink. The action makes a bashful warmth coat your body, but you do your best to hide it.

“Thanks.” You reply blankly, watching as the two roam your place. Jim is quiet, but he usually is. Negan is the appointed mouthpiece of the duo and the man takes his part seriously. He never seems to shut the fuck up. Meanwhile, Jim walks around the station with a permanent scowl on his face. You aren’t sure how they play the “good cop, bad cop” routine because they’re both fucking dicks a majority of the time.

“You live alone, right?” Jim asks from his spot near the window. He’s looking down at the street, but his eyes find yours quickly. You nod, recognizing his careful scan of the surroundings. It was what every person of the law did when in a new place and you expected nothing less from the brooding giant.

“Kinda dangerous, isn’t it?” Negan questions, though the taunt in his tone is apparent. He’s smiling like a wolf who’d just laid eyes on Little Red Riding Hood. You watch as he licks his lips, ogling your body with a noticeable hunger. You shiver under his fiery gaze, belatedly realizing your attire. You wore a tank top with tiny shorts, your breasts free from the confines of a bra. Your nipples are peaked against the thin material, both from the chill in the air and the intense stare of each man.

You cross your arms and move to cover yourself with the blanket lying across your couch when Negan stops you. His arm is out and preventing you from moving forward. You stare up at him, your annoyance apparent.

“You come here just to make my life a living hell?” You ask, an eyebrow arched in demand.

Negan chuckles, clearly enjoying your fury. He’s in your personal space and you swallow thickly against the onslaught of emotions that follow. He’s so close you can feel his body heat, smell his scent. It makes your head suddenly fuzzy with desire and want. He throws Jim a look that clearly says a thousand things, but you understand none of it. Movement at your back makes you tense before you realize its Jim, his enormous body lining up with yours just as closely. You tense as they box you in, sucking the air from the room.

“What are you guys doing?” You ask breathlessly. You’d intended the question to come out harsher, but their proximities to your scantily clad body have you jumbled.

“Just taking a closer look, doll.” Negan rasps, his hand drifting to your cheek.

You tense at the feel of him on your skin, but soon relax when he cradles your face. A delicate trace of fingertips against your naked shoulders makes you shiver. Words fail you. Your protests die in your throat as they surround you with warmth and sensuality.

“Nothing to say to that, sweetheart?” Jim teases into your ear. His baritone voice lights a fire in your veins. His chest rumbles against your back and you lean into him slightly, yearning for more.

“I think we finally got her to shut the fuck up.” Negan chuckles, his fingertips now dancing along your collarbone.

“Fuck you.” You grit out, unable to remain quiet against their taunts.

Their combined laughter makes your lower body hum. The sound should irritate you. Instead, it makes your restrained lust soar to untamable heights. But you were going to fight them every step of the way.

“We gotta break you in. That mouth is far too uncontrolled, baby girl.” Jim murmurs against your hair.

You close your eyes against the many sensations, succumbing to whatever the fuck they were intent on doing. It felt entirely too good to stop.

“Yeah, bet that pussy needs to be broken in too? Right, doll?” Negan’s words make a moan sail past your lips, your brain too muddled in desire to catch it. Your thighs clench and your pussy literally weeps. His fingers are now tracing over your clothed covered breasts, teasing your nipples into almost painful peaks. You arch your chest into his touch while trying to push your ass against Jim’s crotch.

“You sure are needy all the sudden.” Jim growls as his hands now fully palm your ass.

Negan chooses that moment to grasp your breasts, sending your body into ecstasy. You whimper as their hands caress your body in tandem, pulling sounds you didn’t even know were possible from your lips. You can feel the dampness of your shorts between your legs, their teasing not a necessity in that moment.

“Please…” You beg, head thrown back against Jim’s chest. They both feel sturdy against your pliable form, manipulating your body how they pleased. They’re your puppet masters and you’re their willing participant.

“Please what?” Negan prods, fingers now playing with the delicate straps of your shirt. Jim’s heavy hands are still massaging your ass through your shorts, his exploratory movements taking him just inside, his flesh skimming the underside of your ass.

You aren’t exactly sure what it is you’re begging for, but you know it’s more…more of them. More of them touching you. More of them using you.

“Sweetheart, the man asked you a question. Fucking answer it.” Jim demands into your neck, his whiskers prickling your skin. His touch becomes harsh, matching the tone in his words as he gropes you.

You flinch at the sudden shift, but your pussy prays for more, your life’s blood manically pumping to the lower half of your body. You feel the throbbing and swelling of your lips, your clothing doing little to conceal your frenzied state. Their touch is pulsing with an electrical charge you can’t ignore. It pulls you in, entrapping you in a web of unrecognized desire. They’ve joined forces to make your starved body beg them for more. Beg them for something you weren’t even aware you wanted so damn badly.

“Please, touch me.” You whisper. Your chest is pushed out, urging Negan to continue touching you. Both men had eased their assault when you’d refused to answer. Without it you’re struggling to stand still, body thrumming with pent up energy.

“Touch you where?” Negan asks against your lips. You look into his penetrating gaze, getting lost in a trance. Your rational mind is no longer present. Your primal instincts are taking over, the desperate need to be taken and filled by two alpha men striking a chord with your femininity. You know its basic and animalistic, and you want nothing more than to submit yourself to it and them.

So you do.

“Everywhere.” You respond breathily, enjoying the way Negan’s eyes devour you, as if you’re the answer to all his prayers. And while they hold the authority in the room, you hold the power. Every ounce of it belongs to you. And its centered between your thighs.

“Does it hurt, doll?” Negan’s whiskey-tinged breath fans across your face as his fingers trail down your chest and hover over the place you need them the most.

Jim is back to torturing you with his thick fingers, the digits getting braver with each pass as he barely makes contact with your aching lips. You know he can feel the wetness there. There’s no way he hasn’t. The mess has already started to trail down your thighs.

“Yes.” You dutifully reply.

“Need your Daddies to soothe that ache for you?” Negan provokes, stoking the fire that burned intensely within.

Your walls clamped around nothing at his words, your body fully aroused by the idea of both men dominating you. You hear Jim chuckle darkly at Negan’s statement, his fingers now tracing over your clothed-covered slit from behind. The material is soaked and becoming trapped between your swollen lips. You try to grind against him, needing to be filled by something.

“Use your words, sweetheart.” Jim warns. His hand pulls at your shorts, sending the fabric up and into your slit. The friction against your clit causes you to cry out in what sounds like pain, but is actually feverish pleasure.

“Yes, yes…fuck, yes…” You chant as masculine hands begin to strip your clothes off. You move with them as they tear your tank top off, exposing your breasts to the charged air. You step out of your shorts as they pull them down your hips and thighs, the breeze of their movements making goosebumps appear on your skin.

You’re bare to them. You don’t shrink back in fear or nerves. You simply do what your body screams at you to do. You grab at Negan’s leather jacket and pull his mouth to yours. Your lips are forceful against his, inviting him to savor all of you. You taste the whiskey on his tongue and a hint of mint, the flavor unique but addicting.

Suddenly, a hand at the back of your head makes you wince as they pull, ripping you away from his warmth. You blink several times and are surprised to find it’s Negan who’s stopped you. There’s an evil glint to his eyes as they move from you, to the man at your back. Another silent conversation you aren’t privy to.

“You don’t listen for shit, do you?” Negan sneers, the cruelty in his tone making your pussy throb. His hand is still attached to your hair, tugging at the roots so that it burns. You mask the pain, biting your bottom lip to keep from calling out.

“We’re the ones in charge here, doll. We’re the ones calling the shots. Not you.”

If it was possible, your walls literally flood. You feel a small tremor pulse through your body, the sheer indication of what was about to take place enough to make you almost cum. You wordlessly nod and relax slightly when he releases his hold. A hand grips your upper arm, not hard enough to cause pain, but enough to remind you whose game this was.

“Bedroom. Now.” Jim orders gruffly, yanking at your arm in the process. You’re shoved towards the hall where they expect your bedroom to be. You obey, bare feet walking carefully as two predators stalk you from behind.

Your bed is disheveled from your movements only minutes before; when you were expecting an intruder and not two men who you’d be calling Daddy by the next morning. You turn to face them and watch as they enter, their intimidating stares making you feel like a goldfish behind glass. You wait as Negan inches closer, removing his leather jacket in the process. It lands with a heavy thud near your nightstand, his tattooed arms now visible and calling out to you.

“Hop says I can have you first. You good with that, baby girl?”

It’s a demand masked as a question. For fear that they’d put a stop to your fun, you nod in response.

“What was that?” Negan asks with a hand to his ear. Even in your overwhelmingly aroused state, you have to fight to roll your eyes at his theatrics. But you’d also be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy it somewhat.

“Yes…” You wait a beat, eyeing the two men. Negan is almost to you, his body ready to pounce in case you decide to disobey. Jim watches silently from his perch near the door, his arms crossed and eyes hooded.

“Daddy.”

The word causes an instantaneous reaction from both men. Negan smiles wide, licking his lips like the cat who ate the canary. Jim’s own mouth twitches as he sucks in a breath, his eyes never shifting but approving of your obedience. You inwardly gloat.

“I cannot wait to break that pussy in.” Negan closes the distance between you, fingers brushing the uncomfortable ache that has settled between your thighs.

You whimper and do your best to silently beg him for more. You jut out your bottom lip in a pout. You look at him through your lashes while almost imperceptibly edging your lower body closer to his.

“You need it bad, don’t you?”

“Yes, Daddy.” You reply without hesitation, hoping you’re going to be rewarded for your good behavior.

“On your back.” He gestures with his chin to the bed behind you.

You step backwards until you feel the mattress at your legs. You sit and gracefully slide up the bed, propping yourself up on your elbows. In this position, they have a clear visual of your nude form.

“Open those beautiful thighs, doll.”

You do so slowly, enjoying the way they’re tracking your movements. You fight against the instinctual pull to close them and surge ahead. You shift against the sheets beneath you, craving any sort of friction. The action is not lost on either man.

“Would you look at that. Nice and wet. Just like I like ‘em.” Negan says, a mixture of mischief and awe laced within his words. He’s stalking towards you, the prominent outline of his cock pressing against the zipper of his denim. He rubs himself absentmindedly and you close your legs immediately, rubbing them together.

“Keep ‘em open, sweetheart.” Jim orders from his spot near the door.

You comply, teeth gnawing into your bottom lip. Your fingers grip the sheets, struggling to keep control. Your skin is already peppered with sweat, the force of your resistance taking its toll.

“Bet you’re tight as fuck too. Aren’t you, doll?”

Negan’s knee hits the mattress as he hovers over you. His hand makes contact with your knee, spreading you open wider and displaying your glistening lips to the room.

“Yes, Daddy.” You moan out, pleased to feel his body heat again.

He leans down between your thighs, inhaling you as his fingers spread you open. “Fucking perfect.”

His mouth is on you before you can comprehend it. His tongue dives into your entrance immediately, tasting your slickened walls. You cry out and arch up into him, fingers tangling in his thick hair. You pull at the roots as he sucks harshly at your clit, making you yelp.

“Want me to stop?”

His beard is already smeared with your juices, his lips wet as he licks you from them.

“No. Please don’t.” You unabashedly beg, trying not to push his head back down.

“Didn’t think so.”

Your limbs contort around his head, fighting to catch that fleeting sensation and ride it. His fingers probe you, teasing as he circles your clit before burying two knuckle deep. He’s massaging your inner walls as your hips follow his thrusts. You can feel the end already near and you almost hate that it built so fast. You start to move faster on his fingers, ready to give yourself over.

“You close, sweetheart?” Jim asks, his voice tethering you back to reality.

You nod frantically, breaths coming out in quick pants as Negan continues to orally assault you.

“I don’t think she should cum yet.” Jim suggests to his counterpart, face still a mask of stoicism.

You whine aloud at his words, unable to fathom the thought of not getting the release you so desperately crave.

Negan only laughs darkly against you, his beard and lips glistening with your slick. “I agree. She’s still got some fight left in her.” He breathes out, gaze daring you to protest.

“No, no…I’ll behave, please.” You plea to your sexual tormentors. Your elbows are starting to ache from your position and your lower half thrums with barely contained energy. You feel like you’re in some sort of fever dream, your mind only consumed by one thing…getting off.

Negan says nothing as he goes back to fucking you with his long fingers. He tests your allegiance by bringing you to the edge over and over again, but never allowing you to crest that mountain. It continues to build inside of you; it’s practically an entity now it’s so overpowering. Your forehead is slick with sweat and your entire body aches, but you beg for more.

A caress to your cheek makes you open your eyes against the onslaught of overstimulation to your clit. Blue eyes are staring down at you, a glint of self-satisfaction radiating in them. You lean into Jim’s touch, praying he’d have sympathy. His lips lift into a smirk as he runs a calloused finger over your mouth, your lips immediately taking him in. You swirl the appendage against your tongue, mimicking the motions of Negan’s own deathly tongue on your pussy.

“On your knees. Face down, ass up.” Negan suddenly orders, breaking away from you. You blink away some of the delirium, forcing your limbs to comply.

You move slowly, all of your blood seemingly seeped from your brain and limbs and pumping to your swollen cunt. You hear the clinks of belt buckles and your turn to see Negan undoing his pants, his hazel eyes fixed on your ass. You lean down and arch your back, letting him see inside of you, letting him see what awaits him.

“Fuck, doll.” He growls in response, tugging at his impressive cock. The stiff muscle is veiny and practically pulsing in his hand, precum already dotting the head. His size should make you hesitate, but you’re too far gone to care.

You feel Negan’s shirt at your back, the heated flesh of his cock now rubbing deliciously up and down your slit. You can feel your walls nearly reaching out to grab him, desperate to be filled to the brim and then some. A hand pulls at your hair, angling your face up. Jim is standing at the edge of the bed, his own cock out and bobbing dangerously close to your lips. He’s thicker than Negan and just as remarkable. His meaty hand is pumping at himself, pulling cum to the tip so that it wets your lips.

“Open up, baby girl. Let us in.” Jim finally says, a nod passing between the two men.

Your mouth opens the moment Negan thrusts inside, the strangled sound leaving you as Jim’s cock enters. You try to focus on sucking his cock, but the one splitting you in half makes it difficult. Negan doesn’t go slow or let you get used to the burn that spreads through your inner walls. He’s aggressive and hard, and so very deep.

“Goddam that is a tight fucking pussy. She’s sucking me in.” Negan groans, his hips slapping hard against your ass. You can hear the sound of the flood coating him between your legs, the feel of it running down your thighs and soaking the bed.

“No slacking, sweetheart. Lemme fuck that mouth.” Jim demands, not letting you have a moment. He holds the back of your head as you hum around him, loosening your throat to make room. He tastes salty. And you want more of it.

Saliva falls down your chin as you let him thrust deeper. You concentrate on breathing through your nose. The brutal pounding on your pussy makes it hard to focus on anything else and you can feel the ecstasy escalating, careening you to the forbidden.

“Can I cum, Daddy?” You ask the room, not caring who decides to answer you. Jim’s cock is poised at your lips, running along the seam of them as you look up with pleading eyes.

Jim’s eyes cut to Negan behind you. He’s stopped thrusting, but he’s still stretching you, swelling with each second. A harsh slap to your ass makes you jump.

“Fuck yourself on my cock. Make yourself cum.” Negan orders. He remains unmoving as you begin to slide yourself along him. You let your head hang, focusing on building that addictive sensation up again, the one you’d been denied.

“Shit, just like that…” Negan moans, hands spreading your ass to watch. “You’ve creamed all over my cock.”

You moan loudly at his words, your hips starting to move faster. You can still feel Jim nearby, but he’s no longer holding his cock towards you. Instead, he’s running his own hand over himself, eyes glued to your writhing body as you got yourself off.

“Fuck, baby girl.” You hear Jim curse lowly.

It’s amazing what just their voices can do to you. They propel you further into space, making your walls flutter and your limbs tense. You don’t even have to touch your clit, your body beyond ready to release. You move with everything that you have, each sensation pushing you closer. There’s a powerful difference in what’s rushing through your body. It’s something you’ve never felt before and you aren’t quite sure what it means. But something tells you to ride it out. Something tells you to keep going, despite the small twinge of discomfort. And you do. You move until that coil snaps.

Warmth. That’s all you feel as you cry out and spasm, your limbs going weightless as you convulse around Negan’s cock. You feel a large amount of wetness splash your skin and Negan’s. There’s multicolored lights firing off behind your eyelids as your spine twists in almost impossible angles. And it feels like it’ll never end. Each wave crashes harder than the one before, nearly making you lose consciousness.

“Fuck,” Negan curses as he hurriedly removes himself from your quivering pussy. “You almost made me cum.”

You feel the heaviness of his cock between your lips as you start to come down, your arms finally giving out. Your ass is still up in the air, pussy sensitive but ready for more.

“You didn’t tell Daddy you were a squirter, doll.” Negan’s hands smooth over your ass, his thumb circling your puckered hole occasionally. You tense at the feel of it.

“I-I didn’t know.” You heave out, lungs still trying to take in air.

“That was a mistake.” He continues, leaning over you to press his mouth to your ear. “Because now we’re gonna need you to soak both of our cocks.”

You whimper as an aftershock of pleasure rocks through you, brought on by his filthy words. You pull at the sheets beneath you, feeling his fingers now sliding across your opening.

“Understand?”

“Yes, Daddy.” You dutifully reply, too tired to fight them anymore.

“On your back.”

Before you can even move, Negan’s already flipping you over and thrusting into you. You dig your nails into his shirt-covered back, moans and whimpers penetrating the air. He’s intent on finishing, you can feel it in the way his hips stutter. He fucks you so hard, your body shifts up the bed. And despite the pain, your cunt reacts to his punishing rhythm.

“I want you to cum again. Squirt so fucking hard that you fuck up these sheets, doll.” Negan grunts into your neck.

“I don’t know if I can.”

“You can and you fucking will.” Negan retorts sadistically, hand going to your throat. He applies pressure, the feel of it making your head spin.

He releases you and trails his hand down your chest and to your clit, determined to make you cum again. You tense when a severe slap lands there, forcing your pussy to heat with pain. It dissipates almost immediately, intense arousal now taking its place. You clench around him, choking his cock with your walls.

“I knew you’d like that. A real whore.”

Your body is beginning to shudder again, the impossible now within reach. You’d lost sight of Jim, but at the feel of hands on your breasts, you know its him. He sits near your head on the bed, fingers pinching your nipples. He bends down to mouth at them while Negan continues to fuck you into the mattress.

“This pussy is a masterpiece, Hop.” Negan’s fingers dig into your thighs as he thrusts, hitting your cervix repeatedly.

You arch off the bed at the myriad of sensations soaring through your body. You latch onto Jim’s forearms, his talented finger still attacking your breasts. You plant your feet, preparing for the storm you knew was coming.

And it doesn’t disappoint.

Your orgasm comes fast, your body tensing as it hits. Jim shifts back to watch you, eyes pinned on your contorting form as he grasps himself. Negan pulls his cock from you and lets you coat him, his approval taking form in breathless words of praise. You let those guide you as you ride wave after wave, your whole body, from the top of your head to the tips of your toes, reeling in euphoria.

Jim forces you to take his cock again, the unexpected shots of cum down your throat making you swallow to catch it all. He grunts and groans above you, his release taking him to another dimension. His eyes are focused on you, trained on the bulge in your throat and the white liquid seeping from the corners of your mouth. He tastes salty and of-the-earth, but it’s a combination that speaks to your delicate femininity. You swallow him, making it a point to consume every drop. You take from him as if you were starved for it, as if you’d been denied for years.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum.” Negan suddenly confesses through clenched teeth between your legs. He doubles his efforts, giving you no choice in the matter. His frantic pace falters as he begins to empty himself inside of you, a fullness like no other settling in your womb.

“Oh, shit…Daddy.” You moan as he continues to release, adding to the mess between you.

“Christ on a fucking cross.” Negan collapses on top of you, clothed body sticking to yours.

You welcome the added weight. He shifts, removing his now softened cock from you. You wince at the loss, already feeling his seed seep from you. He looks down, catching the sight.

“She’s full, Hop. Don’t know if there’s any room for you.” Negan says with a chuckle, sitting up. He gestures to your fucked raw pussy, pulling your attention to Jim.

Jim stands at the end of the bed, Negan now off of you and fisting his cock back to life. You make a move to close your legs, but the lighter haired man stops you.

“We aren’t done, sweetheart. Keep ‘em open.” He orders, the men switching places.

You do as he says, watching as he stalks towards you. A shiver runs through your weary body at the way he studies you. He runs a hand up your calf, trailing it to your spread thighs. He lines himself up with your entrance, but lets a finger linger on your untouched hole.

“Anyone ever had you here before?”

“No.” You reply with a shake of your head, meeting Negan’s eyes as he takes Jim’s previous spot near your head.

“Virgin ass. Merry Christmas to us.” Negan says crudely, licking his lips in the process. Some of his hair has shifted into his face, the once slicked back strands now making him look all the more menacing.

“You gonna let me try?” Jim asks gently, his cock rubbing sensuously over your soaked lips.

You want to say no. You want to deny them both. You’re already sore and the thought of taking him in a place no one has ever been makes you nervous. His size alone makes you think twice and you tense when he edges a finger along the rim.

“He’ll go easy, doll.” Negan offers in a surprisingly soothing one. His fingers caress your cheek, already making your reservations disappear.

Another finger strums at your clit, though with much more tenderness than times before. Your limbs begin to uncoil as the strokes put you at ease, pleasure once again finding its way to the surface. You know what they’re doing. You know what they want. And even though you’d been ready to tell them to go to hell, you let them play you like a fiddle.

You feel the pressure of something much larger at your untouched entrance and you momentarily panic. But Jim stops you, hand on your stomach as he eases in slowly. You don’t fight it, feeling the burn of the stretched muscles as they struggle to accommodate his cock.

“Fuck, baby…such a good girl.” He praises as you squirm, the feeling of fullness making you momentarily uncomfortable. His words make you warm, coating you like a blanket. They make you relax. He continues to push in slowly, letting himself bottom out.

Negan’s hands find your breasts, adding pleasure to your pain. You whimper as he slowly massages them, his pace a stark difference to the rate at which he’d just been fucking you. The cock buried in your ass is pulsing while the hand on your clit continues to revitalize your pussy.

“Yes,” You finally say, edging your hips closer to Jim’s. The sprinklings of ecstasy start to ease the burn and you find yourself sliding against him.

“Yes what, sweetheart?” Jim goads, halting the movements of his hips.

“Yes, Daddy.”

He nods in approval as he begins to move once again. You throw your head back as a level of stimulation you’ve never known before starts to take hold. Hands are everywhere and they leave a trail of destruction in its wake.

“Fuck, you feel good.” Jim grunts.

Negan’s hands disappear from your chest, making you feel cold without them. He settles onto his knees as he feeds you his cock, shallowly fucking your mouth. You once again feel the overwhelming fullness of desire. Your overindulgence in the flesh making you delirious. You’re utterly and truly helpless…the lethargy settling into your bones. And yet, even despite your physical limitations, your mind is ready to propel itself further into this black hole.

Your mouth continues working over Negan as Jim fucks your ass. You feel the prickle of life come back into your limbs as a mixture of discomfort and barely concealed neediness takes hold. You begin gyrating your hips in time with Jim’s cock, feeling him hit deep at a place you hadn’t even known existed. The shock of it makes you pull away from Negan and moan, preparing for what would hopefully be your last orgasm.

“You gonna cum again, doll?” Negan asks, hand still wrapped tightly around himself. He looks down at you with a sort of reverence that makes you tremble, his gaze following your curves closely.

You nod in response, using your own hands to knead your neglected breasts. You meet Jim’s focused stare, his eyes holding the same wonderment in them that Negan’s had. The fact that you had the full attention of both men had made you more than a little aroused. The fact that they were so enthralled by you…by your ability as a woman to please them made that fire inside burn brighter, blazing your skin.

“Goddamn, your ass is tight. I’m not gonna be able to last.” Jim manages to breathe out, cock pumping faster.

You reach for his forearm, his hand connected to the inside of your thigh as he spreads you. You grip the muscled limb, anchoring yourself for the whirlwind about to take place. Your pussy begins to spasm as he works your clit at the same time he thrusts, the duality of the sensations causing the abyss to pull you under. Liquid pours from your pussy and down to cover Jim’s cock, your quaking walls ricocheting onto his hardened flesh.

“Holy hell, baby girl.” Jim groans in mild fascination as you nearly break him off inside of you, your body showing him about as much mercy as he’s shown you.

You close your eyes and ride the high, the low grunts of the two men filling your ears. You tangle yourself further into the sheets as they murmur words of praise and compliments, showering you with filthy adoration. You preen at their words of acknowledgment, falling prey to their charms once again.

They both cum unexpectedly and without warning. Cum fills your ass while it also covers your breasts, announcing to the room who you belong to. You bask in the feel of it, the feeling of momentary ownership making a small satisfied smile pull at your lips.

“Shit…” Jim curses as he pulls himself from you, taking an immense interest in the mess that lay between your legs. Even though they’d both cum twice, Negan and Jim move with a quickness that surprises you. They are off the bed and adjusting their clothes, silently eyeing you the entire time. Meanwhile, you were still trying to get feeling to return to you entire body, the buzz still coursing through your veins.

“We should really take a fucking picture. That’s a sight I don’t wanna forget.” Negan says with a wicked smile, motioning to your still spread legs.

Jim only chuckles in response, his solid form walking towards you once again. He scoops you into his arms, gesturing with his head to the bed.

“Get those off , will ya?” He asks Negan. You clutch his shirt, knowing he won’t drop you but still feeling unsteady. You see his lips smirk at your reaction, his arms holding you tighter to him.

Negan moves to the bed and strips the sheets, balling them into a pile on your floor. You try to watch, interested in what they were doing, but your eyes are heavy and your body is ready to recuperate, lulled by Jim’s heartbeat across his broad chest. You burrow into his form, taking comfort in the warmth. You don’t register anything after that. The voices, the jostling of your body as Jim moves you. None of it awakens you.

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

Your bleary eyes open against the stream of sunlight, your mouth feeling strangely thick and dry. You roll over, but hiss whenever aches and a deep soreness penetrates your muscles. You feel it all over, the epicenter of it all right between your thighs. Flashes of memories fire off in your mind, reminding you of just how you got to be in so much pain. The faces of the two men responsible for your current state register in your lagging brain. You groan, already aware that this was going to be bad for your working relationship, or what was left of it.

You move to get out of bed, noting the large blanket you were wrapped in. Your sheets were stripped off the bed, the reason making you embarrassed and slightly accomplished. Your eyes find the clock, doing a double-take when you realize its after ten in the morning, an unusual occurrence for you. A full glass of water and a piece of paper pulls your attention to the surface of the nightstand, large writing decorating the sheet of white.

“Doll, left you a glass of water and two Tylenol. You’re gonna need it. We had fun. Call if you need anything. See you at work. P.S. look through your photos.”

An obnoxious smiley face next to the initials N and J makes you cringe. You’re confused by the last sentence until you spot your phone on the nightstand next to the glass of water. You reach for it and unlock it, immediately opening your collection of photos. There’s a series of new pictures that you hadn’t taken and they were all from last night. You scroll through them wide eyed as they capture you in various positions, a cock in one or both ends. Your face is always hidden from view, your body being the main subject point.

The last photo makes you warm, both from arousal and irritation. It’s your spent body after both men ravaged you. Your legs are spread and the cum of each of them coats your flesh, from pussy to ass. It’s a shockingly explicit photo, but you can’t help the rush of delight that shoots through you at the sight.

“Fuckers,” You curse, surprised and at the same time not surprised that they pulled such a stunt. And even though they snapped pictures of you without your knowledge, you know they aren’t stupid enough to do so on their phones. They’re cops, and there’s laws against shit like this. They were smart and left them in your hands, knowing you most likely aren’t going to get rid of them right away.

And they were absolutely right. The pictures and your residual soreness would be the only remaining evidence of that night, never to be repeated.

Maybe.

#negan x reader x jim hopper #negan x you x jim hopper #negan x reader #negan x female reader #negan x you #negan the walking dead #negan fanfiction #negan #negan fic #jim hopper x reader #jim hopper x female reader #jim hopper x you #jim hopper stranger things #jim hopper fanfiction #jim hopper fanfic #jim hopper

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lemonz-and-limez · 4 years

Text

The Flash Determination

Prompt: Amy and Sheldon watch The Flash together

Note: spoilers ahead for The Flash

Amy knocked on his door, all dressed up and ready for date night. In her sensible dress and low heels, she was rather excited for another night with her boyfriend. Ever since they got back together, Sheldon was very adamant on two dates a month as opposed to one. He had told her that they had to make up for the ones they had lost while they were broken up. But they had already met that quota, and the amendment had been made to their new relationship agreement.

The apartment door to 4A swung open, and she was met with a very despondent Sheldon Cooper. Normally he was happy to see her when she arrived for their dates, but there was something off with him. "Hello, Sheldon," she greeted.

"Hello, Amy," he muttered and stepped aside to let her in. He was hardly dressed. Missing his tie and suit jacket, and his shirt appeared to be buttoned incorrectly.

"Sheldon, what's wrong?" Amy asked softly. "You seem upset.

Her boyfriend pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yes, everything is fine; it's just been a long week," Sheldon responded, low and obviously tired.

Amy knew what that was like; she'd been there many times. She took pity on him knowing full well that he did not handle stress well. Nobody did, but especially when they were tired.

"I'm sorry, Sheldon," Amy sympathized. She shut the front door behind her. "What if, instead of going out, we stay here? We can order takeout, watch some TV. Whatever you like," she suggested, hoping her offer would cheer him up a little.

"Really? You're ok with that?" He asked, obviously reluctant to show excitement.

She briefly ran her hand down his bicep, not missing how his muscles had filled in his shirts. "I want whatever is going to make you most comfortable," Amy told him. "If that involves staying home and eating take out, yes, I am perfectly fine with that."

Sheldon's eyes lit up, and a smile brightened his face. "Thank you, Amy!" he exclaimed. She giggled at his excitement. He turned his back to her and bounded towards the hallway, but he stopped just short of the step up. "Do you mind if I go change? This shirt itches."

Amy shook her head. "Of course not."

Shooting her a grateful smile, he disappeared down the hallway, leaving her alone in the living room. Amy shrugged her cardigan off and kicked her shoes off by the door. She was glad she decided to forgo her usual tights for the evening, making things a lot more comfortable.

Sitting down on the middle cushion, she waited for Sheldon to reappear. And when he did, Amy had to gulp to hope Sheldon didn't notice the blush in her cheeks. He was wearing his black Flash shirt with a white undershirt. Sheldon in black was always a good thing in Amy's book.

Sheldon stopped in front of the couch when he noticed Amy staring. "What? Is there something wrong with this shirt?" He asked, looking down to inspect it as if he would find a spot or something. As if his laundry routine was impeccable.

Amy waved her hand. "No, it's just… you look good in that shirt, that's all," Amy responded honestly. No need to hide something she had no reason to be embarrassed about.

"Oh," Sheldon blushed. "Well, thank you."

It was awkward now. He just stood in front of the couch, looking at his feet, and Amy was biting her bottom lip.

"Well, uh, I should get dinner ordered," Sheldon announced, breaking the silence between them. She nodded her approval but watched him still as he walked over to his desk drawer to pull out the takeout menu. "Would you like your usual order?" He asked, already dialing the number on his phone.

"Yes, please," Amy smiled at him. She knew his eidetic memory had something to do with it, but the fact that he saved space in that beautiful brain of his for her Thai food order touched her deeply.

As Sheldon ordered their meal, Amy waited patiently for him, scrolling through Netflix looking for something to watch. Unsurprisingly, Sheldon had already watched all the good content. Maybe he would want to rewatch something, she would have to ask him.

When he wrapped up with the person on the phone, he came back over to the couch. This time sitting down in his spot next to her. "The food should be here in about 25 minutes," he informed her, shoving his phone back into his pocket.

"Alright," she said. "Well, what do you feel like watching?" She asked, pointing at the TV.

Sheldon shrugged. "I don't know. I'm already caught up on all of my shows."

Amy didn't look at him as she was now looking through the guide for something they could put on. "There's gotta be something," she pushed. "Game of Thrones, Doctor Who, The Flash…"

"I never started The Flash," Sheldon confessed quietly, interrupting her before she could spew off any more names.

Her brow furrowed, and she snapped her head to look at him. "Really? Why?"

He looked upset again. "I don't know," he whispered. "I just couldn't after what it did to us, I guess."

"I know… do you think I should start watching The Flash TV show?" is what he had asked her that night before she broke up with him. That comment was the straw that broke the camel's back. It wasn't the show itself that broke them up, though. It was Sheldon's obvious commitment issues at the time, that had since been disproven by his MeeMaw, that ultimately tore them apart for six months. Surely, Sheldon must have known that.

"Sheldon," Amy started carefully. "You know it's not the show that broke us up, right?" she asked gently, not wanting to cause him undue pain.

"I do. It was my hesitation to commit to you that led you to leave me." Amy's heart splintered at that. Sheldon continued quickly. "I know it was justified, and that the break up was a good thing for us, but I could never bring myself to start watching The Flash. Every time I thought about it, I was just reminded of what I did wrong and how I hurt you with it."

Amy set the remote down on the coffee table in front of her. She turned to face her boyfriend entirely. She placed her hand on his knee. "I wouldn't have been upset if you started watching it, Sheldon," she told him.

"Really? Even with everything it represents between us?"

"The show doesn't represent anything," Amy sighed. "I didn't break up with you because I was mad at you for asking about a TV show. We've talked about what split us up and are trying to move past it. I knew you were going to ask me at some point if you should start watching it. I just would have preferred it not have been during our anniversary."

Sheldon lowered his head guiltily. Amy hadn't realized that the issue over the TV show bothered him this much. He deprived himself of something he would probably enjoy because he was afraid it would upset her. Even if they were broken up. Maybe she should show him that it was ok if he decided to watch The Flash.

Amy gave his knee a squeeze. "Hey, why don't you and I watch it together?"

"You want to do that?" Sheldon asked her suspiciously.

She opened up Netflix again and started the pilot episode. "Of course! I quite like the Flash, maybe I'll enjoy the series too." Amy shrugged and relaxed back into the couch, her hands resting on her knees like they always do.

However, Sheldon did something wildly out of character and grabbed her left hand. Just like he did when Howard went to space. She usually had to beg him to hold her hand, but he did it without hesitation as the show began playing in the background. "Thank you, Amy."

"You're welcome," she said softly and turned her attention back to the screen as the main character began speaking.

"To understand what I'm about to tell you, you need to do something first. You need to believe in the impossible."

As the third episode was wrapping up, Amy's alarm went off, indicating that date night was over.

She pleasantly surprised to find that she actually enjoyed the show. Amy could understand if the show was anything like the comics, why Sheldon enjoyed the Flash so much. Maybe they could make this a regular occurrence, watching The Flash together.

"Well, what do you think, Sheldon?" Amy asked as she turned towards him. "You think you're going to keep watching?"

Sheldon looked absolutely giddy, completely overjoyed. He had seemed so invested when they were watching the episodes. He didn't even mind when Amy made commentary on what was happening. "I rather enjoyed it," he said. "I find myself relating to Barry Allen in many ways."

"Really? How so?"

"His mother died at a young age, which caused an upheaval in his life. He's rather smart, but he's constantly running from things. But most of all, he uses his abilities to do good. I hope someday that is what I can do with science." Sheldon explained.

Amy smiled at him gently. "Sheldon, you're already doing that. You hope to change the world someday with your knowledge of physics, just as Barry Allen hopes he can with his ability to run. He wants to save people through running, you want to through knowledge."

Sheldon laughed a little. "I do… but I don't give people much credit, do I? Barry Allen credits those around him."

"You do, though," Amy protested. "You have faith that humanity will do good things with the knowledge you give them. That is giving people credit."

"Alright," Sheldon said, looking down at his hands. "I suppose now I am into this show for the long run," he guessed with a little chuckle.

"Well, if you enjoyed it, I don't think that's so bad," Amy stated.

"I suppose you're right," Sheldon nodded. He looked as though he was thinking about something before he started talking again. "I do wish I would have started it sooner, though."

Once again, Amy felt bad for him. It hurt her that he thought he couldn't watch some quality TV for her sake. Or to not be filled with guilt because he thought that the Flash was the reason they broke up. Whatever his logic was, it was probably an extension of grief from the breakup.

"Better late than never, right?" Amy asked with a tight-lipped smile.

"Right," Sheldon muttered. "What about you? Did you enjoy it?"

"I did!" she delighted. "I found the plot rather captivating. Maybe we can start watching it together." She paused for a moment. Did she dare tell him? "I must admit, though, that Harrison Wells character is quite attractive." She smirked, enjoying the way Sheldon's eyebrows shot up his forehead.

"Do you now?"

Amy nodded. "I did… you know how I have a thing for smart men, Sheldon," she flirted, her voice dropping slightly.

Sheldon decided to play along. "Well, with that logic, you should also have a thing for Cisco and Barry." He folded his arms over his chest, and his arms bulged a little. Amy found herself taken in by the way the muscles flexed under his shirt.

"Who said I didn't?" Amy winked at him in response.

"That's it," Sheldon exclaimed, throwing his hands up. "No more Flash for you!"

"What?" Amy asked with a mock pout.

Sheldon stood up from the couch and gathered some of the plates they had dirtied with dinner. "Now, now, I can't have you lusting over men who aren't me, Amy," he explained, walking over to the kitchen.

Getting up to follow him, she came to stand behind him as he cleaned one of the plates at the sink. She wrapped her arms around him and stood on her tiptoes so she could rest her chin against his shoulder. The smell of talc overwhelmed her senses. "Sheldon, there's only one man with a lightning bolt across his chest that catches my eye," she whispered in his ear.

He stopped scrubbing and turned off the water, drying his hands quickly with a kitchen towel. As he turned to face her, she lowered her feet back down to the ground. He was giving her that look that always made her go weak in the knees. "Well, that's good, Amy, because we have a legally binding contract that says you can only have romantic feelings towards me." He said as he wrapped his arms around her.

"Always," she breathed, kissing him softly. Their kissing changed when they got back together. Sheldon always seemed more at ease around her now, but especially when they were kissing. It was yet another positive thing to come from their time apart.

When Amy pulled away, she stayed close to him and kept her voice quiet. "Consider that my kiss for the night."

"Proposal," he said, his thumb rubbing tiny circles on her hip. "Tonight, we suspend the date night parameters again, and you spend the night."

Amy traced the lightning bolt across his chest as she considered his proposition. She would love more than anything to sleep next to him again. She had never felt safer than when she did with him next to her. And if he was offering it to her…

"I'd love to stay with you, Sheldon." His face lit up, and he bent down to kiss her once more. "On one condition," she said after he had pulled away.

"What's that?"

She gripped the fabric of his shirt in her fist and smirked up at him. "I get to wear your flash shirt," she whispered in his ear.

Not even waiting to hear his response, she skipped down the hallway to get ready for bed. Right before she closed the bathroom door, Amy heard Sheldon mutter: "That vixen."

Amy grinned. The Flash was no longer the straw that broke the camel's back. Instead, it served as a means to bring them closer.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this little thing I couldn't get out of my head. I myself recently started watching The Flash and it got me wondering if Sheldon ever watched it. Then this was born. I will admit I do have a crush on the actor who plays Harrison Wells, so Amy's attraction is really all me :p

Anyway... thank you so much for reading, it means the world to me. Really. Your responses make me cry.

#shamy #shamy fanfic

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huilian · 3 years

Link

for @lulaypp

Jason wakes up to a cacophony of noises coming from all around him. He doesn’t open his eyes, all the training for not letting them know he’s up kicking in, and lets the voices wash over him, trying to figure out what is going on.

“What do you mean-,” someone says, only to be interrupted by another person.

“-violate the conservation of energy-”

“-instantaneously? Without-”

Jason resists the urge to frown. What are they talking about? The chatter is a very different one than the usual criminal-trying-to-kidnap-Red-Hood chatter. They never talk about membrane potential, or conservation of energy, or chemical reactions.

Well, okay. Some of them, particularly Scarecrow’s or Ivy’s people, might talk about chemical reactions, but never like this.

Before he can piece out what is going one, a voice calls out. “Ah, Mister Todd. Good. You’re awake,” someone above him says. “We can proceed with all the halted experiments.”

The voices stop for a while, before erupting in a thousand different ways.

“Can I-”

“-the effects on-”

“-no! My array requires him-”

What? Experiments?

Jason opens his eyes. No use in pretending to be asleep, now that they (he decides to call the person announcing his wakefulness person-number-one) have announced that he’s awake. He is greeted with the sight of googled eyes, masked faces, gloved hands, and, more importantly, white lab coats.

Shit.

What are they doing to him?

He tries lifting his arms, only to find that it’s strapped to the bed. A cursory look downwards tells him that there are straps around his chest, abdomen, and around his legs too. He looks up, and finds himself making eye contact with one of the researchers? Lab tech? Mad scientist? She holds the eye contact, unfearing of him.

And why should she? He’s stripped and strapped to the bed, unable to move, all his weapons gone. He doesn’t even know why he’s here.

“A change in eye color, Doctor,” she says, still looking into his eyes. “I believe the procedure causes his stroma to change, making the reflection appear green.”

“Yes, Mitchell,” person-number-one says. It seems that Jason is right. He is the leader of this group? Pack? Companion? What does one call a collection of scientists? “That has been recorded from the preliminary tests. Step your game up.”

The woman, Mitchell, although that’s probably her last name, considering the group holding him right now, grumbles, but doesn’t say anything outright. She grabs a syringe next to her, and jabs them precisely, but not gently, on Jason’s bare arms.

What are they doing? What do they want from him?

“What the fuck is going on?” Jason growls, frustrated. He sees a few of the scientists? Lab tech?-He still doesn’t know precisely who they are- flinch, but for the most part, they ignored him.

Weird. He is sure he went out as the Red Hood tonight, and the Red Hood doesn’t really have a reputation for being harmless. Even they should know that, if they’re operating in Gotham.

Shit. Is he still in Gotham?

Wait. They called him Mister Todd. He’s unmasked, though that alone shouldn’t tell them anything. Jason Todd doesn’t really have photos, or any presence, legal or otherwise, whatsoever.

Who is he dealing with? How do they know about him?

“Tell me what the fuck is going on,” Jason growls again, “or I swear-”

“Now, Mister Todd, no need for threats,” person-number-one says. “I assure you I went through the proper channels to acquire you. All is above board.” He gives Jason a small smile, the kind you give to misbehaving children that you find amusing but cannot afford to let continue.

“Proper channels?” Jason asks, stalling for time. When person-number-one is talking, the rest of the scientists?-what are they?- stops what they are doing, so Jason is trying to get him to talk as long as he can. The straps are, unfortunately, made of good quality. He’s been spoiled with Gotham’s cesspit of underpaid and poorly supplied criminals.

“Oh yes, proper channels. I am a researcher, after all, and we do things the right way in my lab. Unfortunately for you, being legally dead means that you do not have the power to sign a consent form,” he smiles again, less like humoring misbehaving children and more like a shark that has smelled blood, “and thus we do not need to obtain your consent.”

A second pass. And then two, while Jason is mulling over what he said. But before the full implication of it can hit him, person-number-one claps his hands and says, “Alright, enough dithering! I want that data on my desk by lunch, Bilakopic, and Kim! Don’t forget to run the gel analysis!”

“Yes, Professor,” a woman, Bilakopic, going by her features, mutters. Another man, whom Jason guesses is Kim, nods tersely.

“Do not worry, Mister Todd,” person-number-one, whom Jason still hasn’t caught the name of, says. “Your contributions will be highly valued by the scientific community. Of course, you won’t be named,” a tilt of his head, “but I will know.”

Jason opens his mouth to tell him to fuck off, but before he can say anything, a man puts a swab of cotton inside his mouth and scrapes what feels like the inside of his throat. He watches as person-number-one saunters off the room, and looks around to the collection of dead-faced scientists around him.

His hands are still not free. The straps hold throughout his attempts at escape.

Shit.

***

The… experiments, if Jason can call it that, goes on and on for hours. One of them would come with one type of test tube or another in their hands and draw various things from his body. Ranging from blood to skin to hair to urine, all the way to cerebrospinal fluid from his spine. It hurts, but not excessively so. Person-number-one, whom Jason still hasn’t caught the name of, was right.

They are professionals.

Normally, that would make Jason be a bit calmer. There is nothing worse than getting kidnapped by an amateur, especially a desperate amateur. Amateurs are more likely to either mess up or hurt him accidentally. A professional hit, even though that might sound terrifying to people not used to their line of work, is really one of the better things that can happen to them.

But this time? This time it terrifies Jason.

Because professional means that they won’t think of you as a person. Professional means that there is no way for Jason to persuade one of them, or to make them lower their guard so that he can escape.

Professional means that there is nothing for him to exploit.

So he lies there, watching as they run their experiments on him. Not literally, of course. They come to gather their samples and then leave immediately, presumably to run it somewhere else. Jason watches as they pull blood from him with meticulous, efficient moves; as they open his mouth without any fanfare to swab his throat; as they measure his heartbeat, his breathing, his oxygen levels, and everything and anything you can monitor in a body.

It went on for hours. Jason is just lying there, unable to move and unwilling to talk, because he knows that nothing that is coming out of his mouth will convince them.

They are professionals.

Slowly, the number of people coming back for more samples dwindles. Do mad-scientists work normal hours? What time is it?

Hell, what day is it? From the expression on person-number-one’s face when he woke up, Jason can tell that they have been doing this for a while now.

How long have they had him?

“Asif, no!” Jason hears someone shouts from somewhere outside his room. What now?

“He’s not going to let us go before that data hits his table and you know it, Kris!”

“You can’t be serious! I’m not going in there with just the two of us!”

Are they… talking about him? Huh. Okay. Jason can work with this.

But before he can think about what he is going to say to them, they come in, face as expressionless as everyone's been throughout the day (Jason decides to call the time he’s been awake until now a day. He doesn’t have any other method of determining time, not with this closed up room and his fucked internal clock.). They go directly to the table full of equipment and wastes no time nor movement in getting what they want.

Efficient. Meticulous. Exact.

Professionals.

All traces of humanity, glimpsed from that snippet of conversation outside the room, is gone. In its place is the cool, detached mask of a scientist observing their object of study.

Jason closes his open mouth, swallowing down all the words he wanted to say, and then he closes his eyes. What’s the point in resisting? They don’t even see him as human.

It’s not that bad anyway. Just a couple of pricks from the needle, and the uncomfortable feeling of a cotton swab being put into his throat. It’s nothing worse than being in the Cave, getting patched up by Alfred, or even the check-ups with Leslie back when Bruce still cared enough for him to get him to do check-ups.

Does Bruce still care enough for him to search for him? Or are they going to just brush off his disappearance, relieved that this particular burden is gone?

Jason breathes out as the cotton swab is being pulled out of his mouth. It’s not that bad. It’s not that bad.

***

He was wrong. It is that bad.

He spent a few more sessions being poked and prodded and taken samples of, nothing worse than the things they did to him in the first session. But then, one day, person-number-one, whom Jason hadn’t seen in his room from that first session, comes in, with several of his scientists in tow.

“Doctor, you can’t be serious,” the one walking in right behind person-number-one says. “We can still make do with what we have.”

“Make do?” person-number-one says. “We don’t make do in the Greber Lab, Segal. We excel.” Person-number-one, whose name is probably Greber, considering everything, takes a scalpel from the table full of equipment and hands it over to Segal. “Now do it, or I am going to reject all of your proposals. It’s clear that you do not have what it takes to succeed in this field.”

A hush comes and engulfs the room. The rest of the scientists, everyone except for Greber and Segal, are standing close to the door, posture all ready to bolt. Jason tenses. This is not good.

He sees Segal gulps, looking down to the scalpel in Greber’s hands. She doesn’t raise her hand to take it.

Greber scoffs. “I see. You are always welcome to leave my team, Segal,” he says, before walking towards Jason with the scalpel in tow.

Oh, this is not good. This is not good at all.

Greber presses down on Jason’s chest, the scalpel still in his hands. Jason has never felt the lack of clothing on his chest as acutely as he does now, looking at the scalpel glinting under the fluorescent light.

But before Greber can do anything, Segal shouts, “I’ll do it!”

The scalpel stops in its descent. Jason lets out a small breath of relief, only to stop again when he realizes what she was saying.

She’ll do it. What is she going to do to him?

Another blood-smelling shark smile blooms on Greber’s face. “Good,” he says. “I always know you could do it, Segal.” He flips the scalpel in his hands and offers it to Segal, handle first. “After you.”

“At least give him anesthetics, Doctor,” someone calls out from the crowd near the door.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. What are they going to do to him that requires anesthetics?

Or, perhaps even more worryingly, what are they going to do to him that should require anesthetics, but they won’t give it to him?

“No,” Greber answers promptly. “All of our anesthetics are going to interact with his receptor proteins, distorting the result we are looking for. No anesthetics.”

Shit. This is going to hurt, isn’t it?

Jason breathes out, trying to get to the meditation mindset both Bruce and Talia tried to teach him. In, and out, calm your heart rate, get your mind somewhere else.

Jason sees Segal take the scalpel. He sees Greber move back, out of reach. He sees the hesitation, the pity on Segal’s face, before it is quickly removed underneath the detached mask all of them always wear around him.

Jason closes his eyes, trying to will his mind to bring him to other places. Happier places. Training with Bruce. Cooking with Alfred. The small, pleased smile on Talia’s face when he completed a hard training.

Flying on the rooftops of Gotham. Feeling the fluter of his cape behind him. Feeling the weight of Bruce’s cape all around him.

It doesn’t work.

He still screams as the scalpel makes its way around him, on top of him, and finally, inside of him. He screams until the group of scientists near the door put their hands on their ears; he screams until Segal, who is still holding the scalpel, asks for someone to help her restrain him; he screams until his throat constricts and his lungs collapse.

But still, the scalpel moves on, cutting pieces of him with surgeon-like precision, uncaring of the amount of pain it gives him.

***

Jason doesn’t even twitch as he hears someone thundering into the room. What’s the point? It’s going to happen either way.

“I don’t care why you haven’t done it,” he hears Greber’s voice, the first time since a few days ago, when the man told his subordinates to cut him open and then watched. They have done worse things than just cutting him open since then, but never with Greber present.

They have cut out a piece of bone from his leg, stuck a needle in to take a sample of the marrow, and then breaks the leg, and Jason is more nervous now with Greber in front of him than he was on that day.

His leg is splinted now, probably in another experiment to see how long it would take him to heal a broken bone. These people do not do anything to him without a hypothesis and a list of ingredients and methods.

“I want it done. Now,” Greber finishes, looming in front of Jason, a power saw in his hand.

What else are they going to do to him? They have cut him open, taken pieces of skin and muscle, taken samples of various liquids from his abdomen, and broken his bone and took the marrow underneath. What else can they do to him?

“Doctor,” a woman Jason distantly recognizes says, “this procedure is too risky. Especially if you insist on not using anesthesia.”

“Oh, do shut up, Bilakopic.” Ah. That’s her name. But then, what difference would knowing her name give for Jason? It’s not like they see him as human.

It’s not like he can see them as human, after all they had done to him.

“We haven’t had any progress with any of his other cells, so obviously what causes him to spontaneously resurrect is not that. That leaves his central nervous system, the only place we haven’t taken a sample of yet,” Greber says.

“Doctor,” Bilakopic says, “have you considered that it’s going to give permanent damage to the subject?”

“Who do you think I am?” Greber snaps, for once showing something other than amusement or irritation. He’s desperate, and Jason can feel it.

It scares Jason even more. Desperate is not good. Desperate means they’re going to be careless, and careless, in a situation like this, can very well spell death for him.

Jason doesn’t want to die yet. Again. He has stared death in the face many, many times before, has even died, but never like this. Never strapped down, feeling his body getting weaker and weaker as they took more and more pieces from him, and unable to do anything.

Where is Bruce? He’s going to come, right? But it’s been, at the very least, weeks since they have him, and still, no one has come to rescue him.

Are they searching for him? They are, right? They keep saying about how family don’t leave anyone behind.

But is Jason still part of the family?

Maybe not. Maybe they see that he is gone and is congratulating each other, a thorn in their side finally removed.

No. They’re going to come get him. They will. Bruce promised, didn’t he?

“Get the headrest,” Greber barks out. A clanging noise from somewhere behind Jason tells him that one of the scientists always following in Greber’s wake is doing just that.

Wait. Headrest. Power saw. Central nervous system.

Jason feels all of his breath come out of his lungs in one fell swoop. Are they going to operate on his brain?

No. No. Nonononono. They can’t do that to him. They can’t do that.

Jason starts to pull on his restraints, doing so for the first time in days. He has to get out. Whatever he does, he has to get out.

He can feel the atmosphere in the room tensing. Greber, however, is not concerned. “Get more restraints, while you’re at it,” he says, clicking his tongue.

No. No. They can’t do that. They can’t do that.

They can, however. Hands hold him down, manhandling him to a sitting position. The first time in weeks that Jason is sitting up, and he can’t even savour it.

He can’t get out of their grip. They’re careful, always tying a new strap to hold him in place before removing another one. Besides, he hasn’t eaten in days--they had him on an IV drip-- and he can feel that he’s not even at half strength.

Soon enough, Jason is sitting up, head tied in place on top of an aluminium headrest, the rest of his body tied down either to the bed or the bars just above his bed.

This is happening.

This can’t be happening.

This is happening.

“Gloved, masked, and gowned, everyone?” Jason hears someone ask, and then he hears the chorus of agreements afterwards. He hears the thrum of a power tool being turned on, and it hits him, right then and there.

This is happening. This is really happening. He can’t get out.

He closes his eyes, swearing to himself that he is not going to scream this time.

The resolve lasts only until the saw makes contact with his head.

***

Jason swears he can feel the piece of skull moving. It shouldn’t. It was sutured close, and he felt every single one of those sutures coming in and out of his skull. It shouldn’t move.

But he feels it moving.

His head is elevated now, and wrapped with sterilized gauze. Say what you want about these people, and Jason can say a lot after weeks of being here, but they know how to properly do brain surgery.

Even though they did it to him without anesthesia.

Jason hadn’t bothered being cognizant since then. It’s better this way. They can do what they want to him, and he doesn’t have to be aware about them doing it.

It’s better this way.

Days, if he can even call it that, blur together. They keep coming back for more samples, though thankfully never reopening the hole in his skull.

He has a hole in his skull. The thought makes him want to laugh, because the other alternative is to cry.

And he refuses to cry here. They have taken his blood, they have taken his organs, they have even taken brain matter from him, but they would not have his tears. He refuses to give them his tears.

People keep coming and going and coming again, faces morphing together into a single, amorphous and emotionless face. He doesn’t bother trying to keep track of who is who.

White coats. Blue gloves. Green mask.

Black cowl.

Wait.

Black cowl?

No. It’s just a fragment of his imagination. It’s his abused brain, dreaming up of scenarios in which he gets to get out of here.

But he hears voices. Panicked voices. Voices that don't sound like a tape recorder, saying everything in a monotone.

“Jay?” the voice says. “Jaylad, can you open your eyes?”

No, dad. He doesn’t want to.

“Jay, I know it’s painful, but I need you to open your eyes for me,” the voice says again, deeper and warmer than anything he has heard here. It’s most likely a hallucination. Bruce has given up on him, that he knows. But still, he wants to bury himself in the voice that reminds him so much of home.

Home. He just wants to go home, dad. Please.

“Can you do that?” the voice asks, rumbling all around Jason’s ears. It reminds him of late-night patrols, of being bundled up in the cape, of being safe.

Jason opens his eyes, and is greeted by a sight as familiar to him as his own name. Bruce’s face in a cowl.

“Good job, Jay,” Bruce murmurs, still maintaining that soft voice. “Now, I need you to stay awake for me, yeah? We’re going to get you out of here,”- Bruce raises his hand, moving towards Jason’s exposed face, but then drops them back down again. Jason strangely misses the touch. - “but I need you to stay awake, okay?”

Jason wants to say something, wants to nod his acquiesce, but the only thing that came out of him is a whine.

Bruce understands anyway.

“Good lad,” he says, brushing his hand to Jason’s own. Jason leans to the touch, feeling sad that the one from before, the one headed to his face, didn’t make contact.

It is a blur, then. He’s pretty sure the rest of the family was there. There was a flash of blue, a hint of green, and flickers of red, yellow, and purple. But throughout it all, he keeps his eyes on the black in front of him, the black that never left his side.

It stayed with him, up until they were out, until they hooked up various machines to him, and until the voice says again, “You can go to sleep, now.”

And with that voice, and that warmth right beside him, and that hand softly drawing patterns on his hand, Jason… sleeps.

#dc #jason todd #bruce wayne #whumptober 2020 #no. 31 #experimentation #fic #lian writes #medical procedures #surgery without anesthesia #brain surgery #unethical experimentations #bodily fluids #please mind the tags and happy halloween!

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letsgofoletsgo · 3 years

Text

Nightlife of Scilica

“Okay, got it. Thanks love, bye.”

“So, what did she say?”

“Belle says she and Masa will meet us at 6:00.” Morgan said as she slid her phone into her pocket.

“Alright, that leaves us a couple hours.” Lamar stated.

“So what do you guys want to do in the meantime?” Sofia asked.

“Well, I guess we could wander around and see what we can find.” He suggested.

“Wait a sec… Isn’t Anime Reach just around the corner?” Morgan realized.

“Anime Reach? Wasn’t that that one store you guys accidentally shoplifted from?” Sofia said.

“I thought we weren’t gonna speak of that again!” Lamar retorted.

“Hey, no one got arrested, so no shade from me.” Sofia teased.

“That being said, you haven’t been there before, have you Sof?” Morgan said.

“Nope, can’t say I have.”

“In that case, you and I have a duty toward our friend here Lamar.” Morgan said confidently

“Oh yeah! As proud Otakus, we’ll guide you through one of the most prestigious anime merch stores in all of Silica!” Lamar boasted. “Er, if that’s cool with you.” “Sounds good to me!” Sofia smiled.

“Then onward we go MD-5!” Morgan exclaimed.

The three proceeded through the bustling streets of Silica City. The multitude of neon signs mounted around the buildings illuminated the city in a brilliant shower of light, sparking a sense of wonder and excitement of of the nightlife scene. Indistinct chatter coming from the crowds that populated the sidewalks perpetuated the buzzing atmosphere of the night; The signature vibe of the city that MD-5 felt truly at home in.

“We should be coming up to it now.” Lamar noted.

“Yo, look! There’s that one gaming equipment store we looked in.” Morgan pointed to a neighboring store that looked worse for wear, complete with being decked out with glaring yellow and white neon signs that appeared to be on their last legs.

“Oh yeah, Nyla Co., was it? Let me tell you, all it took was one look for us to decide to high tail it out of there- leave their shoddy products for the next poor fool to stumble upon.” He commented.

“Huh. Don’t need to tell me twice,” Sofia said as she eyed the place dubiously.

“Forget Nyla- I can see Anime Reach from here!” Morgan said.

“Let’s get a move on then!” Lamar said.

The trio made their way across the street, and they approached a large store with anime merchandise posters plastered all over the large glass windows. As they came closer, Sofia’s eyes lit up in wonder.

“Woah… I had no idea it was so big!” She marveled.

“Just wait ‘till you see it from the inside! Morgan said excitedly.

The sliding doors in front of them parted, and the entered the building. Before them was a sprawling otaku paradise; for seemingly miles the shelves were stocked with figurines, posters, cardboard cutouts, art books, disc and manga sets, anything a lover of anime could want.

“Wow, I can see why you like it here so much.” Sofia remarked as she took it all in.

“Indeed, welcome to our little slice of heaven my friend.” Lamar beamed.

“Lamar’s been here more times than I’ll have, so I’ll give him the main honors of showing you around.” Morgan noted.

“An honor it shall be! If you ladies would follow me, I’ve got the best bits of the store practically memorized.”

“I would expect nothing less.” She giggled.

Lamar led the two down the main isle, where several groups of fellow otakus were browsing the shelves. He then took a turn a little ways down, where the shelves displayed hordes of figures. The colorful figures all had a unique charm to them, and they were usually grouped with others from the same source material. While most of them were packaged in flashy but efficient boxes, there was a certain section where the figures were out in the open, and seemed to be mismatched between animes.

“Now, I like going into this aisle because you can actually find some good figures here, and they’re usually pretty hard to come by otherwise.” Lamar explained. “But there’s also a section of figures that I think are second-handed, so they go for lower than they normally would.” “Yeah, didn’t you find a decently-made Sastsuki-Chan figure here once?” Morgan asked as they overlooked the displays.

“That I did, little bud. I’m pretty sure I still got it in my room... Somewhere.”

“Hey, isn’t that Nova-Chan in there?” Sofia pointed to a figure in the bunch.

“What? Nova-Chan?? Don’t worry baby! I’ll save you!”

In a rather comical endeavor, Lamar dramatically reached for the figure Sofia identified. He grabbed the blue-haired figure and cradled it gently in his hands.

“What did they do to you, Nova-Chan?”

As Lamar expressed his lament, Sofia and Morgan just looked at each other, not quite knowing what to make at this display of weebness.

“Um… Is uh, is she okay?” Sofia asked after a moment.

“Luckily, yeah, but it ain’t right for a figure that’s so high quality to end up in a pit like that.” He stated.

“Looks like Nova-Chan wasn’t alone at least.” Morgan dug into the pile and pulled out a figure that looked similar to Nova-Chan, but had a different design scheme.

Lamar gasped. “Comet-Chan! Not you too!”

“Don’t worry, she’s a little chipped around the edges but seems alright as well.” Morgan said as she examined it.

“As much as I like this store, I wish they’d treat some of their stuff a little better.” Lamar expressed.

“You know, this actually got me thinking of that one episode near season one’s finale.” Morgan said. “Remember how the Galactica arc started?”

“Oh yeah! The Nova explorers had to fight in Galactica’s tournament to save their galaxy, and she put Comet up against Nova for the first match!” “You see, it was a really big plot point because this was where Comet-Chan’s jealousy towards Nova-Chan started to boil over, and we get to see what their friendship was like before the formation of the Nova Explorers.” Morgan described.

“Then after Nova wins, we get a moment of character development where they re-learn what it means to be apart of the Nova Explorers, and made amends to their friendship.”

“A bit cliche, but I personally think it was well done, and it solidified their friendship for the coming seasons.”

“Well now, you two are certainly well-versed in Nova Explorers lore.” Sofia joked.

“What can we say, we binged watched the first couple seasons last week.” She admitted. “Anyway, Lamar, how about I show Sofia and I look around the rest of the place, while you scour the other end for any rare merch you might have missed?”

“Sounds like a plan, little man.”

The two shared a triumphant fist-bump, then briefly parted ways. Lamar went to searching the shelves in great detail, using his keen eye to detect anything worth noting. Morgan and Sofia went about in a more casual manner, however the former continued on about Nova Explorers lore and how it all connected to the central plot. Sofia didn’t quite understand it all, but eagerly listened nonetheless. It was fun wandering around in the store, it felt like so long since they all just let loose and had a good time. The trio almost felt as though they were kids once again running about the toy store.

It may have been for that reason that they nearly lost track of time; Morgan was dramatically acting out a pivotal moment in one of the latter seasons with a couple of figurines, when she abruptly remembered the schedule they were on.

“Hold on, Sofia!” she said, realization hitting like a brick. “What time is it?”

“Uh- five fifty.” She stated, checking her phone.

“Shit! We need to find Lamar and get going!”

She nodded in agreement, and the two set off to find their Otaku friend. It took a few minutes, but they managed to spot him rummaging deeply in a shelf.

“Lamar! There you are!”

“Huh- Ack!” He cried as he banged his head on the upper shelf as he came out.

“Dude, come on, we’re meeting the others in ten minutes!” Morgan said. “Oh damn, we better get a move on!”

With that, the trio hurried out of the store back onto the streets. After briefly arguing which would be the quickest path to take, MD-5 ended up cutting through a nearby alley way and out onto a major commercial lane. Despite nearly running into several people and maybe a lamppost or two, the friends eventually made it to where they agreed to meet. “Finally! Good thing we got here in time.” Sofia said slightly out of breath, looking intently at Lamar.

“Hey, I was on a good lead towards a limited edition, so sorry if I lost track of time a bit.” Lamar defended. “Besides, we weren’t held up too badly now, were we?”

“I’ll say. Now where-” Morgan was interrupted by a ping from her phone. After reading it over, she looked around for a moment before spotting a couple of familiar faces.

“Guys, there they are!” She exclaimed. “Masa! Belle! Over here!”

The other two members of MD-5 turned to face the rest of their friends.

“Hey there, it’s about time you all showed up.” Masa said.

“Sorry, we spent some time at Anime Reach and got a little distracted.” Morgan smirked at Lamar.

“Look, a fan’s gotta do what a fan’s gotta do, okay?” He said proudly.

“Well, what are we all standing around for? I’m dying for some food over here.” Morgan said.

“Yeah! Besides, we still haven’t covered the Quazar arc from the fourth season of Nova Explorers!” Lamar said.

“Oh boy, here we go again.” Belle said in a half exasperated tone.

“Hey, that’s what you sign up for when your girlfriend and her best friend are anime fans.” Morgan said playfully.

“Regrettably so.” She nudged her a bit before putting an arm around her.

“So as I was saying to Sofia, the Quazar arc really threw the fandom for a loop as it turned one of the main concepts of the series on it’s head-”

And thus she would nerd on, with only one other member of the group intently listening.

#meta runner #selfship #md squad #scorched feathers #scorched feathers AU #ready player two 💞#self shipper #self shipping #s/i #f/o #I swear to god my adhd ass has been sitting on this damn thing for months

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yoon-kooks · 4 years

Text

Witch Hazel- Pt.5

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: FanficWriter!Jungkook, Idol!Reader, College!AU, Angst, Fluff

Summary: There are two students in your art class with a secret: you and the quiet Jeon Jungkook. You’re a problematic idol singer, infamous for your ice cold reputation and perpetual resting bitch face; he’s the artist and author behind the viral comic series based on a certain ice queen idol. After a blowup of destructive rumors, lost motivation and inevitable solitude, you stumble upon Jungkook’s comic and find a new and unexpected light.

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: none

Parts: 1 // 2 // 3 // 4 // 5 // 6 // ?

“So are you in, Jimin?”

“I’m in,” he chuckles at your little proposal. His laugh retains its charm, even through the phone. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little jealous of that charming quality of his. “But can I ask you something, Snow?”

“Go for it.”

“Why me?”

“To prove a point,” you say. “You also have something to prove, right? Otherwise you wouldn’t have shown up at my concert that night despite being well aware of how the public and media would react.”

“Right… Sorry about that, by the way.” You hear the sorrow still beating him up in his lowered voice. It makes sense that he feels the need to blame himself for all the backlash you received, but he shouldn’t have to feel guilty when all he wanted was a little freedom as a normal human being and not as the perfect idol the world makes him out to be.

“It’s fine, Jimin. We may be glorified idols at the top of the industry, but there are a lot of things we have no control over.”

“True… Sometimes it seems like the only way to escape the judgment of the public eye is to hide behind a mask, huh.” Jimin sighs. “But we can’t always live like that either.”

“Exactly.”

After hanging up, you toss your phone aside and pick up your guitar.

On your way to class, you’ve made a habit of checking jk.seagull’s blog for any updates on Witch Hazel, and you’re delighted when you find this new text post:

“it’s not done yet, but I’m planning on posting a new chapter this afternoon after class!”

To celebrate the occasion, you stop by your local coffee shop to pick up a special mocha with extra whipped cream. You’re already late for class after failing to hear your five alarms this morning anyway. And besides, maybe you deserve a little pick-me-up after all the writing you’d done the night before. For once, you feel pretty good about the direction you’re headed in.

Not even a scolding by your professor could ruin your mood.

“Oh, Y/N. How nice of you to join us,” your professor motions for you to take your seat as soon as you step foot into the art room. “I was just talking about how certain students have not been taking this class seriously as of late.”

She glances directly at you, along with your tablemates, Taehyung and Jungkook. “Sorry,” you mouth with a lack of sincerity, before taking a long sip of your mocha.

“And because of that,” the professor continues, “I’ve decided to move up the due date of our portrait project to tomorrow.”

A collective groan fills the room from the entire class, with the exception of those few lucky bastards who’ve already completed their project early. Once the class is dismissed, the scramble to actually get shit done begins. Even Taehyung opts to stick around as opposed to his usual obligations, and that speaks volumes.

As soon as your team relocates to one of the empty art studios nearby, however, it’s apparent that no one is really vibing with this project.

“So… what’s the assignment again?” Taehyung scratches his head. As much as you’d love to scold the boy for his lack of awareness of anything happening in art class, you haven’t been in the proper mindset to give the project any thought either.

“Something about drawing ourselves based on how others perceive us?” Jungkook yawns. “Or was it drawing each other’s portrait?”

“The first one, I think,” you say. “It doesn’t really make a difference when Jungkook’s gonna end up drawing Taehyung’s portion anyway.”

“True,” the boys say together. If there’s one thing you’ve learned from your art class shenanigans, it’s that the more you get to know someone, the easier it is to understand them and their actions—even if they’re completely different from you like Taehyung.

“If that’s the case, let’s hurry up and let each other know how we perceive one another. I have a doubleheader later on that I’d really hate to miss,” Taehyung nods in satisfaction at his clever wording for what you presume to be back-to-back one night stands. “I’ll start: Y/N, there’s not much I know about you besides the fact that you’re unfriendly, but I think that’s intentional. Like you’re hiding a dark secret or something. Jungkook, if you weren’t so shy, I’m sure you’d get laid more often.”

“Let’s not sugarcoat anything,” you roll your eyes. “I would say you, Taehyung, abuse your charm to get what you want. You use sleeping around as an excuse to avoid responsibility. And you embrace it because you fear that that’s the only thing people will ever acknowledge you for.”

“I’m not usually a masochist, but I kind of like it when you roast me like that, Y/N,” Taehyung shrugs it off, though you know you’ve hit the mark. Everyone has a poker face, and Kim Taehyung is no exception. To take the attention off of himself, he throws an arm around his favorite art buddy. “Roast this guy next.”

You glance over at Jungkook who’s in the midst of adding to your roast on Taehyung. It’s interesting to see how differently he acts with Taehyung, with you, and with everyone else. The more he knows someone, the less he withholds. If he knew you more, you wonder what he’d tell you. “I agree that if Jungkook weren’t so shy, there’d be more potential for a lot of things, but-”

Buzz! Taehyung looks down at his phone. “Well, that’s my cue. Jungkook, Y/N, you know what to do~”

“Have fun at your doubleheader,” you wave off your incompetent teammate until he’s out of sight. “Should we be enabling him like this?”

“Probably not. But even I can’t say no to that charm of his.” Jungkook sighs as he pulls out a blank sheet of bristol paper. In what feels like an instant, several dots and lines transform into a general outline of Taehyung’s face. “I’m surprised you haven’t fallen for his charm yet… unless…?”

“Look, I get the appeal of a smoothtalker who walks with confidence, but Taehyung really isn’t my type,” you laugh.

“Still, I’m a little envious of him.” Jungkook draws Taehyung a nice and natural wink. “Because he isn’t afraid to chase after what he wants.”

You want to tell the boy that he should chase after whatever it is he wants, but you know that’s easier said than done. After all, you know exactly how it feels to take that leap of faith, only to fall short before reaching the dream you so desired. So all you can do is nod and start working on your own portrait.

For about five whole minutes, you try to sketch out a decent upside-down egg shape for your head, but it always comes out a little lopsided or rough around the edges. Once you’ve got a little mountain of eraser shaving piling up, you decide it’s time to sneak a peek at Jungkook’s sketch to get an idea of how a well-seasoned artist draws a proper face.

What you see instead, however, is the boy staring back at your mountain of eraser shavings. You swear you hear a little pft come out of his mouth. The nerve.

“Hold your pencil like this,” he says, holding his own pencil with his pinky sticking out.

You replicate his grip, wiggling the pinky. “Is this some sort of weird pinky promise that artists do?”

Before Jungkook can even respond, your pinky is already linked to his. Funny how his finger curled around yours as if it were the most normal thing to do, but his burning cheeks say otherwise. You might’ve jumped the gun on this one.

After blinking at the empty pinky promise for a good three seconds, the boy finally lets go. “Use that pinky to steady your hand as you sketch.”

“Oh… right…” You feel a wildfire spreading across your own cheeks. Your dumbass somehow misinterpreted a drawing technique for something as childish as a pinky promise! Whether it’s because you’re flustered or just shitty at art, you fumble around to get your pencil on the paper. “…How do I do it again?”

Rather than trying to explain or demonstrate it to you, Jungkook motions for you to come closer. So you do. He takes your hand and individually sets each finger onto your pencil like a guitar teacher helping their student find the right chord position.

You’re pleasantly surprised by how gentle his touch is. Rather than forcing your fingers to conform to the conventional ways of an artist, he gives them the little push they need to find their own place along the length of the pencil—wherever is most comfortable for you.

Once you’ve got a good grip, Jungkook guides your pencil back to the canvas with your pinky just barely touching the drawing surface. “Now try drawing the outline of your face again.”

You do as you’re told and see immediate results. Although it’s not a perfect egg, your lines are noticeably smoother as if your skin had just been cleared. Jungkook gives you and your improved egg a thumbs-up, which you return with a thumbs-up of your own.

As you both resume your portraits, you can’t help but wonder if it was the tiny adjustment of how you held your pencil that made the difference. Or if it was Jeon Jungkook himself. You suppose only time will tell.

Several hours later, Jungkook has finished Taehyung’s portrait, you still need to color yours in, and an announcement goes off through the intercom.

“Due to the art auction charity event tonight, this building will be closing in ten minutes. Thank you.”

You groan. This is the worst case scenario for your damn group project. Because if you’re kicked out of the studio, you won’t have access to all of the necessary art supplies.

Unless…?

You exchange glances with the most devoted artist you know.

Jungkook’s apartment is not exactly how you imagined a weeby Snow stan’s habitat to look. There’s not a trace of Snow, nor is there a hint of magic anime girls floating around. But the one thing you did correctly predict is the amount of art scattered across the boy’s room.

Everywhere you look, you’re blown away by something different from the last. A painted city landscape detailed enough to be mistaken for an actual photo, a busy abstract pattern that makes the little wheels in your head spin, the familiar animation booklet of the flower in the snow, and an interesting little doodle that doesn't seem to scream “college art project”.

You try to make sense of what appears to be the chaos that ensues when the worlds of mathematics and music collide. Half of the basic times tables chart is replaced with values represented by music notes. The math nerd in you laughs when you see that a sixteenth note is correctly placed where two quarter notes align. Similarly, the music sheet on the other side of the doodle has a time signature of “75%” aka ¾ time aka the rhythm of a waltz.

“How old were you when you drew this one?” You point to the artwork titled Math Musician written in tiny font at the bottom corner next to the boy’s initials.

Jungkook chuckles, probably out of embarrassment. “I think I was ten.”

“Imagine being a talented artist at age ten. Can’t relate,” you clown yourself as you pull out your unfinished portrait from your art bag. In addition to looking “unfriendly”, your drawn face is rather lifeless and more so demonic for some reason. Hopefully some color will bring more dimension and life back into your flesh.

Just then, you realize you’ve made a fatal mistake.

“Umm, Jungkook?” you continue to stare down at your mistake. “I forgot to factor in your opinion of me into my portrait and now I just look unfriendly like Taehyung said.”

Jungkook tilts his head to get a better look at your monstrosity. His reaction could go one of three ways: he could laugh and give you a hard time about it, he could help you find a solution, or he could do both.

“You definitely nailed the ‘unfriendly’ part,” he snickers. “The RBF is strong with this one.”

“So you agree that I’m unfriendly?” On one hand, that would be good because you won’t have to revise your portrait if Jungkook shares the same opinion as Taehyung. On the other hand, you don’t want Jungkook to have that opinion of you.

“Not necessarily,” he says. “I think if people looked beyond your unfriendly demeanor, they’d find someone very different.”

Before you can ask the boy to elaborate, he has already left and come back with the solution to your problem: fancy coloring markers.

“Since you already drew your appearance based on Taehyung’s opinion, you can color it in based on my opinion, if that makes it easier.” Jungkook hands you an assortment of markers, though a large portion of them are just different shades of one color in particular. Yellow.

Yellow was the last color you were expecting. You expected cooler and darker tones like blues or greys to match your ice queen personality. But yellow? Yellow, to you, has always meant bright and happy.

“Yellow is a happy color, isn’t it?” You start swatching each shade of yellow to see how they translate onto a white canvas. Your favorite shade out of the bunch is the soft pale one called Banana Milk, but that still doesn’t mean it suits you. To prove your point, you hold up your unfriendly demon portrait to your actual face and pout. “Do either of these faces look happy to you, Jungkook?”

“No, but they do look silly.” The boy cracks a smile at your humor. “In a good way.” The way he smiles so brightly plants a dangerous little seed in your head. Maybe the yellow is meant to represent not how he perceives your feelings, but rather, how he perceives his own feelings for you.

By the time evening comes, you’ve shaded in every inch of your canvas, completing your portion of the portrait project. You were right—the bright colors really did help bring life back into your face, and there’s less of a demonic aura about it now.

It also looks like one big contradiction: an unfriendly-looking face with a cheerful brightness around it. But that’s probably what Jungkook was referring to when he said you were very different beneath your unfriendly mask.

As you stretch out your arms and yawn, you peek over at the boy’s progress with his portrait. He stares down at his markers scattered across the floor, pushing his long locks out of his eyes, in search of his next color. From the small portion that he has colored so far, you notice a big difference between his portrait and yours. While your color scheme is bright and flashy like a star, Jungkook’s is soft and subtle to mimic his shy and lowkey personality.

“Use this,” you toss him the Banana Milk marker and pull a scrunchie off your wrist, “and this too.”

Jungkook places the pale yellow marker down right on the area he’ll color next. He doesn’t, however, know what to do with the foreign hair accessory in his palm. He just blinks at it.

With a dramatic sigh, you join the boy on the floor and take back the scrunchie. Like a puppy with long bangs poking its eyes, he lets you comb your fingers through his hair before tying a tiny sprout on top of his head.

“So this is what the world looks like,” he nods, as if his long hair had greatly hindered his view of the world in front of him. At the same time, he spots the finished product of your portrait. “Your self-portrait is a lot different from how I would draw you.”

“I would’ve appreciated a compliment for my hard work, but go ahead and insult me, Jeon.” You square up.

“Oh sorry. You did a phenomenal job, Y/N.” He doesn’t even try to put effort into masking his sarcasm as pity praise. But that’s expected in how he hasn’t missed a single opportunity to tease you and your shitty art. “It’s just interesting how differently others interpret us from how we interpret ourselves.”

Now you’re curious. “How would you draw me then?”

“You want to see?” Jungkook pushes his own portrait aside and starts digging around for a sketchbook with a blank page to spare. What possesses him to prioritize a drawing of you before his own portrait that’s due in less than 24 hours? You won’t allow that.

“I want to see it after our project is finished, please,” you pull his unfinished portrait back in front of him before making yourself comfy on the boy’s bed. “In the meantime, I’ll be reading you-know-what.”

“Smut?” The boy has a dirty mind, it seems.

“Unless Witch Hazel plans on getting a little smutty, no, I will not be reading smut.” With a hmph, you scroll through jk.seagull’s blog. “I wonder if the new chapter is posted yet.”

Jungkook, too, picks up his phone with wide eyes when he hears you say “new chapter”. Your hype and excitement around the fanfic must be rubbing off on him.

But unfortunately for you, there is no new post since the one you saw before class. You make a sad booboo face, but it isn’t the end of the world either. You’ll just have to reread the series from the beginning as you wait for either Witch Hazel to be updated or Jungkook to finish the project. Whichever happens first.

“Wait, I think the seagull guy just posted something.”

You’ve never jumped onto your phone so quick when Jungkook mentions the seagull guy. It isn’t a new chapter of Witch Hazel, but instead another small text post.

“sorry for not updating witch hazel today like i said i would!! i was bombarded with an unexpected art assignment;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;”

Your sad booboo face disappears. It seems you’re not the only one struggling to find balance between the arts and the need to satisfy others. “Isn’t it funny that he’s an art student too?”

“Haha, yeah…” Jungkook’s voice fades as he returns to his portrait.

“Maybe that’s why I like his work so much,” you say, clicking back to the very first chapter of Witch Hazel where Snow is helping out those who she had unintentionally scared away with her witchcraft. “He just gets it.”

“He gets what?”

With the biggest yawn, you shrug because you don’t really know how to put it into words. It just feels as though you and him think alike. And the thought of that is comforting enough to put you to rest until Jungkook finishes up the project.

“Y/N.” You hear things shuffling around in your half-asleep state. When you rise from mysterious pile of blankets on top of you, you see Jungkook putting his art supplies away and clearing space on the floor for him to camp out since you’ve apparently claimed his bed.

“Did you finish?” You check the time in the dimly lit room, and you’re shocked to see it’s past midnight.

“Yeah.” He pulls your scrunchie out of his hair and drops it into your palm. “Thank you for your service.”

“Keep it.” You slide the hair tie onto the boy’s wrist when you notice he looks a little different somehow. The hoodie he was wearing earlier is replaced with a plain white tee, and his torn jeans have become grey sweatpants. The unspoken reality of you stay over at the boy’s apartment is slowly becoming realized. “In exchange, I’d like to see how you’d draw me.”

“Already done,” he says, jogging to his desk and back to you with a page from his sketchbook in hand. “I drew you as a superhero.”

“What kind of superhero?” You kick the blankets off of you and reach for the drawing, but of fucking course, Jungkook pulls it back real quick just when you were about to snatch it. “Let me see!”

He keeps it hidden behind his back for a while until he gets a little too cocky and dangles it above where you’re sitting on the bed. It would be too predictable for you to reach for the hand with drawing in it, so you decide to aim for the other arm to trap him in.

But rather than latching onto his arm, you catch only a piece of the scrunchie around his wrist, causing you both to lose balance. Your back hits the soft bedding as you stare up into the eyes of the boy who just so happened to land on top of you. Aha, you finally figure out why he looked a little different after you woke up. No glasses, just his handsome brown eyes.

You’d give yourself a pat on the back for figuring that out if you weren’t distracted by the drawing of you as a “superhero”. You were expecting something tough like the Avengers or Sailor Moon or even Izuku Midoriya. But instead you see someone who looks very much like yourself with a guitar and yellow flower crown.

“That’s not a superhero,” you say quietly.

“There are people who would feel otherwise.” Jungkook plops down next to you on his stomach.

“Like who?”

“Like people you share your music with.”

You bite your lip before rolling off the bed to run and get something. When you hop back onto the bed, you drop a pencil into Jungkook’s hand make him hold it with his pinky out like he had shown you earlier. You do the same with another pencil and link your pinky to his once more.

“Promise me you won’t tell anyone what I’m about to tell you.”

#bts scenarios #bts fanfic #bts imagines #jungkook x reader #btsboulangerie #jungkook fanfic #bts angst #bts fluff #jungkook #bts #bangtan #witch hazel

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