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sixeyesonathiel · 3 months ago

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a guide to ditching the world’s most persistent nerd!

CH04 – case study: identifying gojo satoru's type

pairing - nerd!gojo x baddie!reader

summary : gojo satoru has been the bane of your existence since kindergarten. you invited him to play during recess? he chose studying instead. you tried to give him chocolates? he rejected them for the sake of your dental health. you called him boring and never looked back.

years later, you’re a party girl with daddy issues, and he's the smartest, richest, greenest green flag at your elite university. when you're paired up for a project worth 60% of your final grade, you think you can slack off—except gojo keeps finding you at every exclusive club, dragging you back to work like the menace he is.

you flirt to distract him, he humors you. you push, he pulls. you seduce, he tucks your hair behind your ear and looks at you like you're the most precious thing in the world.

oh no.

tags -> modern au, university au, tooth rooting fluff with a side of light angst, unresolved romantic tension, suggestive themes, gojo satoru is a green flag menace, reader has issues, power struggles but gojo is unaware he's in one, forced proximity via group project, reader tries to ditch gojo satoru and fails spectacularly, pining disguised as irritation, rich kids and their rich kid problems, the art of denial, humor (i hope), eventual happy ending

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chapter summary : step four in ditching the world's most persistent nerd: do not let him steal your food, do not let him drink from your straw like he owns it, and absolutely do not let him flip your own trap back on you until you're suddenly the one planning a date.

monday morning, and the world remembers exactly who you are.

the moment your heels click against the pavement, heads turn, conversations stall, and admiration thickens in the air like expensive perfume. they watch—of course they do. how could they not? in a city of polished legacies and wealth-drenched surnames, you are a spectacle, a masterpiece in motion. black silk drapes over your body, dipping scandalously at the back, every step deliberate, every glance stolen in your wake a testament to your control. the gold chain of your bag glints under the morning sun, nails skimming over the cool metal as you exhale—bored, detached, untouchable.

and yet, a hand—too rough, too desperate—for your own liking, ruins the perfection.

“please, baby—just one more night, i swear—”

a grip on your wrist. tight, pleading. naoya zenin, heir to an empire that means nothing to you. his breath is uneven, his jaw tight, that arrogance you once found mildly entertaining now crumbling into something pathetic. you barely remember him—was it months ago? weeks? a forgettable night, an indulgence with an expiration date. but naoya, poor fool, still thinks your attention is something he can buy back.

“don’t do this,” he murmurs, voice dropping lower as if he has the right to be intimate. “tell me what i did wrong. i can fix it.”

your sigh is soft, practiced. slow enough to be cutting. with an elegant tilt of your head, you look down at him, gaze laced with something almost pitying. naoya zen’in, who has never been denied, never been left wanting, now stands before you as nothing more than another name to forget.

“naoya.” his name falls from your lips like an afterthought, like you are already done with him. “stand up. you’re embarrassing yourself.”

but he doesn’t.

instead—he drops to his knees.

gasps ripple through the crowd, scandal blooming like wildfire in hushed voices. a zen’in heir, kneeling? in public? unheard of. his peers—other heirs, legacies wrapped in old money and colder expectations—watch with thinly veiled amusement, a few pulling out their phones, eager to immortalize his disgrace. but naoya doesn’t care, doesn’t see the way his reputation fractures with every second he lingers on the ground.

“please,” he tries again, his voice raw with something close to desperation.

and you—oh, you laugh.

a soft thing, delicate yet cruel, wrapping around him like silk before tightening into a noose.

“oh, sweetheart…” your voice dips, low and syrupy, cutting through the stunned silence like the clean edge of a knife. “you can’t fix being forgettable.”

the air shifts.

someone chokes on their drink. others whisper, murmur, revel in the spectacle of naoya zen’in being reduced to nothing in the span of a breath. he flinches, something ugly flashing behind his eyes, but it doesn’t matter. your wrist slips effortlessly from his grasp, heels clicking as you turn away, leaving him kneeling in his disgrace.

this is where you belong—wanted, envied, feared.

the crowd still hums with the aftermath of naoya’s disgrace, whispers laced with admiration and well-hidden fear. you don’t need to look back to know the scene you’ve left behind—naoya, still kneeling, his pride shattered in broad daylight. you don’t spare him another thought. this is your domain, your world, where attention bends at your will, where men crumble with a glance, a word, a perfectly timed smirk. your victory is absolute.

except one person, the only person who should be reacting, doesn’t even look up from his phone.

gojo satoru sits on the bench a few feet away, posture relaxed, scrolling through whatever holds his interest more than you. his glasses catch the light as he idly taps at the screen, face unreadable, completely disengaged from the spectacle. no flinch, no barely concealed admiration, not even a flicker of acknowledgment. he doesn’t glance up. he doesn’t care.

and that?

that makes your teeth grind, your jaw tighten, something hot curling in your stomach. because for all the eyes on you, for all the reverence in the air, he remains unmoved, unaffected, untouched. and somehow, that pisses you off more than anything.

lunch is exactly how it should be.

your table is a constellation of the university’s elite—wealth, beauty, and power seated in effortless poise, as if this gathering were inevitable. the girls at your side embody perfection in different flavors, each a masterpiece of influence. shoko lounges, long fingers idly stirring an untouched kale salad, amusement curling at the edges of her lips as she absorbs the latest gossip. heir to a medical empire, a legacy carved in scalpels and sterile white halls, yet she prefers her nights drowned in neon lights and laughter thick with alcohol. mei mei, the quiet storm, never glances up from her phone, her world a battlefield of investments and acquisitions, real power plays that make her father’s advisors shift in their seats. utahime, delicate and deadly, chews exactly one cherry tomato and a single plain almond with the calculated grace of someone who can slip past any barrier, velvet rope or otherwise, without so much as a second glance.

and the men? they hover.

their attention drapes over your table like expensive silk, their gazes flickering between you and the girls beside you, waiting—hoping—for something as simple as a look, a word, a fleeting acknowledgment. every laugh you let slip makes them lean closer, every shift of your wrist brushing against your glass sends ripples through their restraint. they hang on to the edges of your presence like moths circling the glow of a flame, waiting for the inevitable moment they get too close. this is control. this is power. and you let it linger, basking in the unspoken reverence, the silent competition for a moment of your favor.

until gojo satoru stands up from his table.

you don’t need to look. you feel it.

a ripple in the air, subtle yet undeniable, as the world around you shifts focus. because it’s never just you watching him—it’s everyone else. conversations falter, stolen glances turn to blatant stares, admirers pause mid-breath as the inevitability of his presence overtakes the room. he doesn’t need to command attention; it bends toward him naturally, effortlessly, as if even gravity itself is subject to his whims. and the worst part? he doesn’t care. doesn’t chase it, doesn’t acknowledge it—just exists in it, a force of nature too accustomed to its own magnitude to be impressed.

but what’s worse? he’s walking toward you.

a breath of tension hovers over the cafeteria, unspoken yet deafening. the men around your table stiffen, pride twisting into something wary, something reluctant. the girls exchange glances, subtle but pointed, as if calculating the implications of this approach. gojo satoru does not come to you. he does not seek, he does not chase, he does not follow. and yet, here he is, weaving through the crowd with infuriating ease, steps unhurried, gaze sharp behind the glint of his glasses.

why is he here?

before you can even question him—he swaps the trays.

no hesitation, no explanation. just takes yours, sets his own down in front of you, and steals your croissant like it was never yours to begin with. the motion is so fluid, so casual, that for a second, you almost think you imagined it. but then he has the audacity to inspect it, like he’s judging the nutritional value of your choices, and something tight coils in your chest. around you, the air shifts—utahime’s fork pauses midair, shoko lowers her coffee like she’s bracing for impact, and mei mei hums, mildly entertained. the men around your table stiffen, their expressions flickering between confusion and outrage, because they don’t understand what just happened.

but you do.

“eat real food.” satoru says smoothly, tapping his fingers against the edge of his tray.

he doesn’t sit. instead, he leans against the table, weight shifted onto one foot, perfectly composed. like he’s just passing through. like he hasn’t just disrupted the delicate balance of power at your table. your world operates on control, on effortless admiration and quiet desperation, on men who trip over themselves for a single moment of your time. but satoru? satoru doesn’t just take—he decides. and this time, he’s decided that your daily diet of a croissant and iced coffee is unacceptable.

you blink. “did you just steal my croissant?”

“i traded it.” he corrects, lifting your iced latte and taking a sip—like it’s his.

pause.

your iced latte. your straw.

utahime’s eyes widen, shoko’s brows shoot up, and mei mei exhales an amused chuckle. someone further down the table chokes, and from the corner of your eye, you catch a girl whispering a scandalized, “indirect kiss?!” the men around you bristle, their thinly veiled adoration now edged with frustration, because not only did gojo satoru approached your table uninvited—he just touched something that was yours. the fact that you let him—or rather, haven’t ripped his throat out yet—only fuels their disbelief.

but you? you are seething.

not because it means anything. because it doesn’t. not because you care. because you don’t. but because of the pure, unfiltered audacity.

your fingers tighten around the fork, nails pressing into your palm, but your expression remains pristine, carefully schooled into something neutral. your gaze flicks over him, assessing, cataloging every infuriating detail—the smug curve of his lips, the relaxed set of his shoulders, the absolute nerve of him to act like this is normal. “that’s not what trading means.”

satoru, completely unbothered, takes another slow sip, like he’s savoring it. finally, he slides into the seat beside you, effortless, natural, like this was inevitable. his presence shifts the air again, disrupts the ecosystem of your table, sends a ripple of tension through the men still hovering. you know it. he knows it. but his gaze—sharp, assessing, cutting through the layers of performance—lingers just a second too long on you before he finally speaks.

“it is now.”

you exhale, slow and measured, fingers flexing against the table, resisting the very real urge to stab him with your fork. this is fine. totally fine. except—the cafeteria is still buzzing, the weight of too many stares pressing against your skin. naoya looks like he’s about to combust, the men around you are barely restraining their irritation, and the balance of power has tilted so effortlessly in satoru’s favor that you don’t even know how it happened.

satoru just smirks, fingers still tapping against your latte, fully aware that he’s just put himself at the center of your world—and isn’t planning to leave.

and while you’re still processing the sheer audacity of what just happened. satoru, completely unaffected began to speak.

“by the way, we got feedback from our professor about our introduction. we need to go over it later. you have no classes after lunch, right?” his tone is infuriatingly casual, as if this is a normal conversation, as if he didn’t just hijack your meal, steal your drink, and make himself comfortable at your table. he taps his fingers against your latte like he has every right to it, sipping lazily, his entire demeanor oozing ease. you barely hear him, too focused on the way his lips press against the straw, the way your name is still written neatly on the cup—small details that shouldn’t matter, that don’t matter, except they do. because no one does this to you. no one dares.

but satoru gojo is not just anyone.

your friends are watching.

because they have seen you work miracles. they have watched you break men with a smile, unravel them with the tilt of your head, reduce them to nervous, stammering fools with a single touch. they have witnessed ceos, heirs, trust fund babies practically trip over themselves for a shred of your attention, for the privilege of being acknowledged by you. and yet—satoru is still standing. still smirking. still entirely composed.

shoko’s nails tap against the table, slow and deliberate, as she exhales through her nose. utahime crosses her arms, frowning, unimpressed with the way this situation is unfolding. mei mei takes a slow sip of her drink, not looking up, but you know her well enough to recognize the calculated amusement in her stillness. the men at your table are watching too, stiff, visibly unsettled, because for the first time, you are not the one in control. and the worst part? satoru knows it.

“…gojo,” you deadpan, expression unreadable. “do you even like coffee?”

he hums, unfazed, taking another sip—mocking, infuriating. “i like messing with you.”

yor nails dig into your palm, but your expression does not waver. you cannot—will not—spend another few hours being academically held hostage at his condo, forced to endure his insufferable presence under the guise of productivity. you need an out, a way to tilt the power back in your favor, to make it clear that he does not get to do this. but your friends? they need a win.

so, you do what you do best. you deflect.

lean in. tilt your head. let your voice slip into something smooth, teasing, dangerous. a distraction, a trap—one you’ve set a hundred times before, one that always works. but beneath it, a thread of unease coils tight in your chest, a what if you refuse to acknowledge. because satoru is not like the others. he doesn’t stutter, doesn’t falter, doesn’t trip over himself to impress you. and after the way he’s effortlessly brushed off your advances before—gliding past them with practiced ease, like he’s untouchable—you know you need something bigger, something that will finally make him react.

so you go for the last resort.

“gojo,” you purr, voice light, teasing, perfectly crafted. “why do you always have time for me? shouldn’t a man like you be busy with… oh, i don’t know… a girlfriend?”

there. checkmate.

because for all his effortless charm, for all the attention he gets, gojo satoru has never publicly dated anyone. no rumors, no scandals, no fleeting relationships for the gossip circles to tear apart. which means, logically, this should throw him off. this should make him hesitate. this should, finally, be the moment where you have the upper hand.

your girls relax, smug, expectant. because this is it. this is where he’ll fold. where he’ll stammer, avert his eyes, get thrown off his game—like every other man before him. shoko takes a slow sip of coffee, already anticipating his fumble. utahime leans back in her seat, satisfied. mei mei, ever unreadable, watches with mild interest. the men at your table straighten, subtly hopeful, waiting for satoru’s inevitable failure.

but his lips simply quirk.

not flustered. interested. amused. a slow, deliberate shift, the corners of his mouth tilting upward like he’s savoring this, like he’s already decided how this is going to play out. the movement is lazy, almost imperceptible, but you catch the flicker of something sharp behind the glint of his glasses. pale blue eyes, keen and calculating, linger on you for a second too long—watching. waiting. you know that look. the same one he wears when he’s two moves ahead, when he knows he’s already won but wants to drag it out just to see you squirm.

“what, are you applying?” his voice is smooth, effortless, like the answer genuinely doesn’t matter to him. like this is just fun.

your breath hitches. so, so small, a sharp inhale barely masked by the background hum of the cafeteria—so subtle that no one else catches it. no one except him.

his head tilts slightly, gaze dipping lower, amused. his fingers, still wrapped around your stolen latte, tap against the cup in a slow, rhythmic pattern, as if counting down the exact number of seconds it will take for you to recover. you feel the weight of his attention pressing against your skin, feel the way the air between you shifts, charged and dangerous.

he’s waiting. for you to slip first.

your table freezes.

shoko actually chokes, coughing into her hand. utahime’s fork clatters against her plate. mei mei hesitates mid-sip, something flickering behind her sharp gaze. the men surrounding you look betrayed. because this isn’t how it’s supposed to go. satoru isn’t supposed to keep up. he’s supposed to stumble. he’s supposed to break.

but instead, he wins.

still, you don’t miss a beat. your expression remains perfectly schooled, your lips curling like you expected this, like you aren’t mildly panicking beneath the surface. “that depends,” you counter smoothly, voice light, playful. “are you hiring?”

there. you’re back in control.

your girls exhale, tension dissolving, the balance tipping in your favor once more. you’ve realigned the narrative, settled back into your element. a beat passes. satoru hums, adjusting his glasses, pale blue eyes flickering behind the lenses—assessing. considering.

“sure.”

you freeze.

your fingers curl against your lap, nails digging into your palm as you keep your expression pristine. not even a flicker of hesitation. but inside? your thoughts are a blur of static.

“…wait, what?” you blurt out, incredulous.

he tilts his head, completely unbothered, lifting your latte to his lips once more. “you wanted an out,” he says, as if this is the simplest thing in the world. another sip, another stolen moment of control. “so now you have a date. hope you pick a good place.”

your stomach drops.

this was not the plan.

shoko stares at you like you’ve personally wronged her. utahime’s mouth is actually open. mei mei is already calculating the implications of this disaster. the men around your table are reeling, the balance of power shifted so violently that they don’t know how to recover.

satoru simply turns to leave—far too satisfied with himself.

his stride is slow, unhurried, completely at ease as if he hadn’t just shattered the natural order of your world with a few simple words. he doesn’t even glance back, doesn’t check to see the damage he’s left behind, because he knows. he knows the cafeteria is still buzzing, voices hushed yet urgent, disbelief thick in the air.

“did she just—”

“—with gojo satoru?”

“—what just happened??”

your admirers? devastated.

naoya, still licking his wounds from earlier, looks like he wants to throw something. his jaw tightens, fingers curling into a fist, tension radiating off him in waves, but even he doesn’t dare speak. the men who once hung onto your every word are stiff, their carefully maintained composure cracking under the weight of what they just witnessed. because it wasn’t just that gojo satoru didn’t fall for you—it’s that he played you. and worst of all? he won.

your girls, however? silent.

calculating. reeling. this is wrong. this is not how this was supposed to go. they have seen you reduce men to nothing with a smile, leave them speechless, fumbling, desperate. you should be the one walking away victorious, leaving him dazed and ruined in your wake. but satoru? satoru strolled in, stole your drink, stole your time, stole a whole damn date—and left completely unscathed.

your fingers curl into your lap, nails pressing against your palm as you glare at his retreating figure. his glasses catch the light as he raises your latte to his lips, taking one final slow sip, knowing damn well you’re watching. your jaw clenches, blood simmering beneath your skin, irritation winding tight in your chest. this is not over. not by a long shot.

and so, with pure, unfiltered spite, you take an aggressive bite of the lunch he forced onto you. and the moment satoru exits the door, your girls close in like a board of directors preparing for crisis control.

they move fast—shoko nudging her coffee aside, utahime crossing her legs, mei mei setting her phone down with a deliberate click against the table. their attention is singular, sharp, trained on you as if you’re the breaking news headline of the hour. the air tightens, charged with a purpose too serious for something as ridiculous as gojo satoru just agreed to a date. they gather like a corporate crisis team—efficient, ruthless, ready to dissect every second of the disaster that just unfolded. but before the debrief can begin, before the first strike can be made, a more pressing matter demands their attention.

shoko straightens, lashes lowering, voice syrupy sweet. “gentlemen.”

every man within a five-meter radius stiffens.

the shift is immediate—conversations falter, movements still, a collective tension settling over the table like a held breath. you don’t have to look to know what’s coming. shoko only ever uses that tone when she’s about to drop a guillotine, and right now, her smile is all sharp edges and impending doom.

“we need you to leave.”

a pause. then—mutters, exchanged glances. confusion. indignation. hesitation.

“excuse me?” naoya scoffs first, ever the entitled one. his shoulders square, head tilting as if that might make him any less disposable. “i was here first—”

“cute,” utahime cuts in, tone sharp as the gleam of her manicured nails, casually popping a cherry tomato into her mouth. “but irrelevant.”

mei mei leans back, swirling her sugar-free oat latte, gaze barely flicking up. “it’s a ladies-only meeting. private.”

naoya glares. “we’re literally having lunch—”

“not anymore,” shoko chirps, lashes fluttering, voice light, effortless. “you can relocate. for her sake, of course.”

and at that—all eyes flicker to you.

the tension shifts. the resistance falters. because of course it does.

these men—heirs to empires, sons of political giants—wield more power than most people could dream of. but you? you are a different kind of untouchable. your presence alone shifts dynamics, commands rooms without effort, without force, without needing to demand anything at all. and when your chin tilts just slightly, when your eyes lower in disinterest, when your fingers tap idly against the table—they listen.

begrudgingly. bitterly. but they listen.

“fine.” one mutters, pushing back his chair.

“whatever.” another sighs, grabbing his untouched drink.

one by one, they leave. chairs scrape against the floor, conversations shift, the last remnants of male indignation hanging in the air like a bitter aftertaste. naoya lingers for a moment longer than necessary, like he’s considering some final act of defiance, but even he knows when he’s outnumbered. with a sharp exhale and a glare that could curdle milk, he turns on his heel and stalks off, tension rolling off him in waves. the cafeteria hums around you, but at your table? silence—heavy, expectant.

shoko clasps her hands together, satisfied. “excellent.”

she turns back, eyes gleaming, posture shifting as she slides effortlessly into the seat beside you. her gaze is sharp, cutting straight through your carefully maintained composure. “now—” she leans in, elbows resting against the table, voice a conspiratorial hush. “what the hell was that?”

utahime follows, practically vibrating with barely contained energy. “you have been keeping secrets. start talking.”

you sigh—long, dramatic, exhausted, like this entire conversation is beneath you. your fingers trail idly against the rim of your tray, gaze lowering just enough to feign disinterest. “it’s nothing.”

chaos. disbelief. outright rejection of your statement.

“NOTHING??” utahime gapes, gripping her fork like she’s about to stab something. “he just drank from your straw. in front of everyone.”

“naoya looked like he was going to cry,” shoko adds, deeply amused.

mei mei, ever the voice of calm devastation, swirls her latte, voice dripping with indulgent amusement. “sweetheart,” she muses, watching you over the rim of her cup, “do you understand what just happened? men would literally commit fraud for a chance to buy you a drink, and gojo just—”

you cut her off with a sharp flick of your wrist. “enough.”

a beat of silence. they all lean in further.

you exhale, slow and measured, like you’re about to gift them the rarest of treasures—your honesty. fingers tapping idly against the table, gaze flicking toward the exit where satoru disappeared moments ago.

finally, you meet their expectant stares, shoulders rolling back.

“fine.” you exhale, exasperated. “i’ll tell you.”

the entire table is locked in.

they lean forward as one, like sharks scenting blood in the water, their gazes sharp, expectant, ravenous for information. tension thrums between you, an unspoken understanding that whatever you say next will change everything. and so, with great reluctance, with an exhale meant to feign nonchalance but edged with something far too weighted—you finally tell them about your history with gojo satoru.

shoko is losing her mind.

“you mean to tell me—” she inhales sharply, hands slamming onto the table, rattling plates and silverware as she glares daggers at you “—that you have been fighting for your life against that man for years and you NEVER mentioned it?!”

utahime gasps, hands flying to her mouth as the realization clicks all at once. “you two have history?”

and then, chaos.

“this makes so much sense—”

“oh my god, that explains the way he looked at you like he knows—”

“wait, wait, wait—why does it feel like he’s been winning?”

you bristle. “he is not winning.”

the silence that follows is too long. too heavy.

mei mei squints, utterly unreadable, but her voice is smooth, calm—calculated. “are you sure?”

because that’s the thing, isn’t it?

satoru has been slipping through your fingers for years. since kindergarten, when he chose a math book over playing with you. since high school, when he sat at the top of the class, untouched, while you spiraled through the mess of your family, your reputation, your life. and now—now, at university, he still walks through your world like he owns it, like he belongs there, like you were the one who had to catch up.

he doesn’t fall. he doesn’t trip. he doesn’t crumble beneath the weight of your charm like every other man does.

and today?

he stole your drink.

he stole your time.

he stole a whole damn date.

and he walked away completely unscathed.

your jaw tightens, lips pressing into a thin line. you know what they’re thinking. you know the weight of their stares, the way your friends—your witnesses—are trying to figure out if you have been losing this entire time. you straighten, shoulders rolling back, chin tilting higher as you meet their gazes with an expression pristine enough to rival polished glass.

“he is not winning,” you repeat, slower this time, voice smooth, unwavering. the words land, heavy, thick with certainty. but beneath the table, your fingers curl into the fabric of your skirt, grip just a little too tight.

shoko’s nails tap against the table, slow and deliberate, each click a metronome to the quiet tension curling between the four of you. her expression is thoughtful, the kind of slow-burning intrigue that means nothing good. finally, after what feels like an eternity, she exhales through her nose, tilting her head slightly before delivering her next words with the weight of a courtroom ruling. “okay. important question.”

your eyes narrow. “what.”

shoko leans in, deadly serious, as if she’s about to discuss classified information, voice dipping into a conspiratorial hush. “do you think he might be into vanilla girls?”

the table goes silent.

even utahime stops pretending to be full off one cherry tomato.

you blink, caught between exasperation and the slow horror of realizing exactly where this conversation is going. your fork stills against your plate, the air thick with anticipation as three pairs of eyes zero in on you. “...yeah, actually,” you say after a beat, flipping the utensil between your fingers before spearing a piece of grilled chicken. “that would make sense.”

a collective gasp.

shoko physically recoils like you’ve committed some great betrayal. “you’re just going to agree?”

“i mean, think about it.” you gesture vaguely, the glint of your bracelet catching in the light as you settle back against your chair. “he’s rich. disgustingly smart. irritatingly responsible. maybe he does like his women a little… soft.”

mei mei hums, finally acknowledging the conversation, swirling her spoon in the same small pool of yogurt she’s been nursing for the past thirty minutes. “subtle.”

utahime, deadpan, chews her almond with the weight of someone chewing through a revelation. “you mean boring?”

your frown is immediate. “i didn’t say boring.”

shoko raises a brow. “what did you say, then?”

your mouth opens, but the words stick, because the truth is, you don’t actually have a good answer. you stab at your plate again, suddenly annoyed with the way their collective amusement lingers between you like a loaded gun. “i said… non-threatening.”

they all exchange glances.

“so, boring.” utahime concludes.

you exhale, pushing a grilled tomato across your plate with the edge of your fork. “okay, but like,” you start, irritation curling at the back of your throat, “am i wrong?”

the silence that follows is too long.

utahime, after a painstaking moment of slicing her cucumber into even smaller pieces, exhales sharply. “...no,” she admits, her voice tinged with reluctant horror.

“unfortunately, no,” shoko echoes, sipping her black coffee like it’s the only thing keeping her tethered to life.

“probably not,” mei mei adds, frowning at her yogurt like it personally offended her.

you lean back in your chair, arms crossed, resisting the urge to click your tongue again. “see?” your fork twirls idly between your fingers before tapping against your plate. “i knew something was off. my usual strategy should’ve worked by now.” the words come out sharper than intended, irritation settling deep in your chest. “but if he’s immune, it’s because i’m not his type.”

and for some reason? that pisses you off.

shoko hums, contemplative, her nails drumming lazily against her coffee cup. “it also means—” she pauses, then tilts her head. “you’re not a threat.”

you blink.

“excuse me??”

shoko shrugs. “think about it. men like him? powerful, old-money, from some ridiculous bloodline? they don’t go for girls like us.”

there’s something so casual about the way she says it, but it sends something unpleasant curling at the base of your spine.

“girls like us?” you laugh, but there’s an edge to it, sharp enough to draw blood.

shoko, unbothered, lifts a shoulder in a loose shrug. “relax, i’m not saying we’re undateable. i’m saying they marry vanilla girls.” her voice lilts, mocking, as she counts off on her fingers. “the perfect, soft-spoken, high-society wives. the ones who smile and wave at charity galas. the ones who bake cookies and apologize for existing.”

“the ones who will never cause a scandal,” mei mei adds, swirling her spoon in her yogurt like she’s mixing something far more bitter.

utahime gestures dramatically with her fork. “the ones who know how to be a trophy wife.”

you scoff, flicking your hair back, an automatic response. “my last name is just as heavy as his.”

the table pauses.

“okay, true,” utahime concedes, wiping condensation off her untouched green juice, her tone begrudging. “but you act like you don’t give a fuck about it.”

you don’t. or—you want to believe you don’t. you’ve spent years rolling your eyes at your parents’ business dinners, at the delicate, soft-spoken women with their perfectly practiced smiles, at the unspoken rules of the elite social scene. but you know them. you understand them, the way chess players understand the board, the way predators understand prey. your indifference isn’t ignorance—it’s strategy.

“but that doesn’t mean i don’t know how to play the game,” you say smoothly, twirling your fork between your fingers before spearing a stray cherry tomato.

shoko sighs, finally abandoning her coffee with a resigned shake of her head. “yeah, but do the gojos know that?”

your jaw locks. irritation flares in your chest, curling tight at the edges, because—okay. fine. maybe you aren’t the type to whisper apologies at business dinners, to bat your lashes and smile politely while some old-money heir with fragile masculinity talks down to you about investments. but that doesn’t mean you’re less. it doesn’t mean you don’t belong in the same rooms, the same circles, the same league.

but there is no way that gojo satoru, as impish as he could be, would be the type to marry a girl simply because she is conveniently meek.

...right?

before the thought can settle, utahime snaps her fingers, the sharp sound cutting through the air like a declaration.

“i got it.”

all eyes shift to her, curiosity piqued, waiting. she doesn’t make them wait long, smirking as she pulls out her phone with the ease of someone holding a loaded gun. “if you’re gonna test it, you need the right setting,” she announces, thumbs flying over the screen. “and i know just the place.”

the phone slides across the table with a quiet clink, the screen glowing with an image of a cozy, quiet café.

neutral tones, warm lighting, private rooms meant for undisturbed concentration—exactly the kind of place a certain nerd would gravitate toward. utahime rests her chin on her palm, grinning like she’s just handed over a winning lottery ticket. “perfect for studying,” she says innocently. “or, in your case, proving your theory.”

your eyes narrow. “why does this sound suspiciously like you’ve used it before?”

utahime shrugs, all nonchalance, all carefully curated innocence. “just saying,” she drawls, inspecting her nails, “brought the nerd i was sucking up to in there—folded in fifteen minutes. let me suck him off, let me cheat off him. i passed prelims with high scores, remember??”

mei mei chokes on her plain yogurt, slapping a hand against her chest like she’s been personally betrayed. the reaction is so visceral, so immediate, that it sends a ripple effect across the table. shoko gasps, a sharp inhale cutting through the air, her coffee cup freezing midway to her lips as if the sheer audacity of utahime’s words has momentarily suspended time itself. the moment could be framed in slow motion, complete with dramatic background music. you don’t even blink.

“utahime.”

utahime, utterly shameless, only grins wider, the picture of unrepentant mischief. “relax. i’m just saying—it’s tested. proven to work on nerds.”

you exhale, long and slow, tapping your nails against your plate before crossing one leg over the other. the weight of the situation settles, thick and undeniable, pressing against the edges of your mind. you don’t like to lose. you don’t like unanswered questions. and most of all, you don’t like the fact that this ridiculous theory is starting to sound a little too plausible.

“fine.”

mei mei perks up immediately, leaning forward with a newfound, almost predatory curiosity. “test it how?”

a slow, dangerous smirk curves on your lips, the kind that sends a quiet shiver down the table. “on our date, of course.”

the reaction is instantaneous.

shoko recoils as if you’ve committed a crime against her very soul. “you’re going to act vanilla???”

you shrug, twirling your fork between your fingers, the perfect picture of nonchalance. “just for the night. just to see if he reacts. if he does, even if just a small tic, we’ll know.”

before anyone can say another word, your phone vibrates, the quiet buzz slicing through the tension like a finishing move. with a smug little tilt of her head, utahime turns the screen toward you, the message is already typed out, the address neatly displayed, as if she had been waiting for this moment all along.

you click your tongue, equal parts annoyed and resigned, copy the address, and paste it into a message for satoru.

six pm. don’t be late.

utahime leans back, victorious, arms crossed, satisfaction practically radiating off her. “and now we wait.”

a few seconds later—read.

the pit of your stomach tightens, but you ignore it. this is a terrible idea. this is also the only possible course of actionable.

tag list : @s4ikooo1 @gojoswaterbottle

comment to be added on the tag list! xx

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sunnyknight-original · 5 months ago

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What Kind Of Monster Was He?

A @forgettable-au fan (colored) animatic

MINOR BLOOD WARNING!

*Was he the kind to do too much, or not enough?

…OK, SO WHAT HAD HAPPENED WAS-

I had planned to finish this into a full fledged animation, but a lot of the parts I did end up finishing just didnt live up to what I imagined…I waited for more motivation to happen, but it just didnt so HERES THE COLORED ANIMATIC CAUSE IM REALLLY HAPPY WITH WHAT I HAVE and ive sat on posting this for like a 2 weeks 😭 which is an eternity in my time

Im gonna post the unfinished “finished” part on my side account @o-sunny-day though! and probably have people yell at me cause it actually isnt that bad AND IT TOTALLY ISNT I just… art. You get it. ENOUGH YAPPING! ITS TIME TO YAP!

except not yet, MORE BACKGROUND INFO HUCDHUC- but its background info on explaining the lore…

The explaining is much less expansive than in Dear My Dear just because I didnt work on it long enough to think every bit of it through. This is just a clean, nicer looking, and colored version of the very first storyboard.

I usually think about and put more effort into the little stuff while making the FINISHED bits since ive had so much more time to think about that in all the preppin n sketching.

BUT I liked the explaining format I did for Dear My Dear so im sticking with it!

The main idea for this was to do a study of Wingdings’ character from what we’ve been given, mainly focusing in on the expectations he puts on himself because holy shit the lyrics for this works so stupidly well it makes me mad LOOK AT THIS???

its ridiculous. i love it. I didnt know Jack Stauber helped write Forgettable AU???? woww!!! ANYWHO thats the gist of it, not much context is needed past that. Onto the sillies!!!! (per usual excuse the shitty quality of the pngs idk why Tumblr does that-)

Did you know love? Will you rest in peace?

Wingdings and Sans holding hands as kids, before turning to a casket like appearance for adult WD. The flowers hes holding are pretty important too, Marigolds to represent grief, Lilys, new life, and Forget Me Nots for this lovely little line I found when looking up good flowers to use-

“a promise to always remember” ….stop that.

That actually also has a double meaning in this case too. 1, ofc the forgetting of Wingdings. But ALSO Wingdings forgetting something himself. Forgetting who he is. Almost like a Zuko ATLA situation.

Did you have a family?

Who knows where theyre parents are, but this is HAPPY TIME and we’re gonna assume they were so awesome and very kind but had to leave or went to a farm in the sky for whatever reason.

The colors here I had a lot of fun with. Their parents had warm colors but the boys have cold, still with warm accents. Its said they more or less raised each other being very independent as shown in the second part with them running out the door by themselves.

How was the view from the shelf? Did you ever believe in yourself?

Before, we started with the beginnings. The good things, the only thing Wingdings cares to even recall. Now we’re seeing his life really start to turn upside down- making first contact with The Player :D

He’s hesitant to reach out, but is intrigued, before getting a rushing revelation of his reality and how it isnt “real”

Rather than feeling crushing existential dread, he more feels pressured to be BETTER, to figure a solution, to do something. Thats what white represents here

WHAT KIND OF MILK WERE YOU?

We then switch to more examples of how Wingdings is taking this pressure (not well) The soft tones of yellow that were shown before, turn to way brighter, intensifying that feeling that he should be fine, he should be happy, drowning in success of being the Royal Scientist.

But he just desperately wants to just go back to a time of nice coldness.

The warm vs cold tones in this I had so much fun with, coldness is supposed to represent hostility usually, while warm is nice and happy. (same with Black and white. Scary, relieving,) But these points often contradict each other, its hard to tell what you’re feeling vs what you’re supposed to be feeling. Just like Wingdings!

WHAT KIND OF LIFE DID YOU LIVE THROUGH?

The white lab coats, the expectations, theyre on all of them. But Wingdings has essentially become his expectations.

He questions what life he wants to live, one being himself and alone (speaking in wingdings) or not himself and with company (speaking in a “normal” font) Still, he frames it in past tense as he believes theres no going back now, based on what he knows.

“One of the last happy moments they had together” stop that. (i cant find a link to when that was said but I know it was once, about them taking a photo together….)

DID YOUR LIFE RUN RICH WITH CALCIUM?

Calcium….bonesss :3 Hehehehdhehfhehehheheheh still dont know why he has holes in his hands so we’re movin on

DID THEY LAUGH AT YOU OR DID YOU LAUGH AT THEM?

Compared to the childhood Wingdings remembered, heres the sadder, bleaker, more realistic version. He always thought they were laughing at him but… maybe they werent.

DAIRY BELOVED. YOUR DAYS ARE GONE,

It doesnt matter now though. Because in the NOW, Wingdings has become consumed by his expectations of himself, seeing this has the “only option” to do the only thing that he feels will give his life meaning and purpose, establishing connection with THE PLAYER

But the grocery list goes on…

And yet life continues on without him, and his room is transformed into a more livable space now that someone is…living in it. Always hurts so much making the differences between Wingdings and Papyrus’ room. It feels like making something out of the man Wingdings COULD HAVE been. Because honestly thats just what Papyrus is,

Thank you to my bestie @fruitytrip for helping me with all of my art in general but especially the storyboarding on this :3 <3

#Milk by Jack Stauber #undertale animatic #Wingdings why #Hes a sad sad little man #ohhh who you could have been #if you didnt have a self destructive arc #sometimes i think about him being religiously obsessed with The Player #and then he comes to find out the player (me in this case) is religiously obsessed with him #like oh damn this is awkward #uhhh #wanna get coffee?#I love using cold colors for comfort and warm for terror #I was very spesifically proud of the shot with the white turning into a spotlight #then him turning into just a silly kid looking at a softer glow #o and happy new year gang :D #late #but #happy new year gang :D

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targaryenluvs · 6 months ago

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PERMISSION TO SHOOT?

pairing: photographer!ex!jeon jungkook (non-idol au) x fem!bride!reader

summary: turns out allowing your soon to be husband to book your photographer can go sideways. especially when it ends up being your psycho ex! then again, you never had much willpower.

warnings: bridezilla you, annoyingly smug jungkook, teasing, cursing, obsession, jealousy 😣

wordcount: about 500 idk

a/n: got a surge of motivation with my free time :P

bridezilla, god if you hadn’t heard that word everywhere when it came to weddings. not that you’d be one, of course not!

but as you sat pinching your nose over your wedding plans sheer stupidity over forgetting to book in a photographer or videographer? the word seemed to resonate in your soul.

“if it’s a bit too much on you, i’m sure my assistant could look into it.” your husband kenji piped up from the side. his presence was honestly forgettable sometimes with how still he was. like a statue. but don’t ever think he isn’t listening. you sighed as you turned to him, “on such short notice? it’s only a week away.” marion, your planner got up from her seat with a tight lipped smile, eager to give the pair of you privacy and save her own ass.

he sighed, closing his eyes, “it’s not a problem baby, just go get some rest.” you should’ve asked more questions, but who were you to doubt his ability? it’s not like there’s a lack of photographers.

and out of all the ones in existence he had to book him?

jungkooks smile used to be one of your favourite things, in the morning and night. the wide smile on his face could solve a lot of problems in your opinion. but when it was mixed with the smug expression as he stood by your husband? a shot to the face would be favourable now.

“sweetie, meet jungkook.” he beckoned you towards him as jungkook smiled softly, “hi.” your lips pressed into a tight smile as you shook his hand. “you look absolutely stunning.” the compliments fell from his lips easily since it was true. the dress you wore was not only expensive, but worth it.

your husband grinned in agreement, “she does, doesn’t she? i’ll let you two discuss.” the reception was in full swing now, laughter and smiles galore. how hadn’t you noticed him beforehand?

“what are you doing here?” you hissed as he guided you to a quieter area, his hand on your back as you shrugged it off angrily. “the camera in my hand doesn’t explain it?” you rolled your eyes, “i can see it asshole, but why would you take this job?”

jungkook leaned against the wall, letting out a hefty laugh, “why wouldn’t i be here? hurts yknow? i didn’t get an invitation.” your hands curled into your dress to help refrain from touching him. somehow he looked even younger than before, his skin practically shone in the sun.

“why would you? you’re halfway insane. if you ruin this i swear to god—,” the words wouldn’t come out anymore, not when he stood in front of you, staring down into your eyes. “if what baby?” the dress had to be shrinking with how difficult it was to breathe now.

his hand trailed your jaw, “not much makeup, all natural. i love you like this.” jungkook bent down to whisper into your ear. squeezing your eyes shut, you shook your head as if to wake yourself back up. “shut up it’s not for you.” his fingers found their way to your collarbone, “this dress is cute, but i think you’re much cuter y/n.”

taking a step back your hands wrapped around the balcony. the beach villa overlooked the water, the setting sun glistened. another step forward, he ended up behind you. “did you miss me? tell me you missed me, please.” his large hands found their usual place on your shoulders.

“just tell me and ill go.”

and the thing was, you did miss him. your husband was a nice man, but he never remembers. not once did he ever order the right food, the right size, none of it. and you thought you’d be able to put up with it, but it sucked when he could remember a random woman’s and not your own.

and the nice big home was amazing, but it didn’t mean much when the only voice that echoed through it was your own.

“when he reached out to me, i couldn’t believe it yknow? but i knew it was a sign. you came back to me. and you can still be with me, he doesn’t have to know.”

perhaps now the house would echo twice over.

#jeon jungkook x reader #yandere jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader #kpop x reader #bts fanfic #yandere bts x reader #bts x reader #yandere bts #jungkook #jungkook fic #bts fic #bts au

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xomakara · 9 months ago

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Kindergarten Love Story

SUMMARY | Attending elementary functions as a single mom with other pretty, attention-starved, flirtatious moms is a struggle. Especially since the new kindergarten teacher is Hongjoong, an old friend of yours that you haven't seen since your university days. You're torn between telling Hongjoong that he's your daughter's father or keeping everything a secret. PAIRINGS | Hongjoong x Reader RATING | SFW, Implied suggestive GENRE | KindergartenTeacher!Hongjoong, Dad!Hongjoong, PoliceOfficer!Reader, non-idol au, fluff, slight angst CONTENT/WARNINGS | nothing really?? mentions of implied sex, one night stand LENGTH | 4,358 words TAGLIST | @jjoongstar NETWORKS | @illusionnet @atzhouse @cromernet @wonderlandnet @k-vanity @othersideoutlawsnetwork AUTHOR’S NOTE | Hi there. Linda here. I hope you all like this! Don’t forget to like, comment, reblog and show some support. Love you all 💚

ATEEZ Main Masterlist

"You must be Hanbyul's mom."

You thought you wouldn't have seen him after so long. After so many years. But here he was again, back in your life like it was no big deal at all. He hadn't changed much, still handsome, and if anything he looked even better now than when you last saw him during your college days. Your heart fluttered just by looking at him, and seeing him smile felt like someone opened up a box full of butterflies and let them loose on your insides.

"It's nice to finally meet you. Hanbyul has been telling me nonstop that you're a detective." He says, holding out his hand. You look at his face for a second before grabbing his hand and shaking it.

Did he recognize you? Were you that forgettable? Did he forget all those times back in college where you'd hang out together, the way he looked at you whenever he got the chance?

"Thank you for taking care of my Hanbyul." You smiled warmly at him. You turned to look at your daughter, who was playing with Seonghwa, your partner on the force and your longtime friend. She always wanted to play detective when you and Seonghwa picked her up from school. It was adorable.

"She's a great kid. She learns fast too." He says, nodding with the brightest smile on his face. Lord, his smile made you weak. You could only stare at him for a while longer, trying not to lose yourself to thoughts about the things he could do to you.

"Y/N, shouldn't we be heading home soon?" Seonghwa walked up to you, his hand on your shoulder. Your daughter, Hanbyul, was holding onto Seonghwa's hand, smiling brightly. Seonghwa looked at the man that you were conversing with, eyes wide with recognition. "No way! Is that you, Kim Hongjoong?!"

Hongjoong looked at you and at Seonghwa with a confused look on his face. He blinked several times, before his face was filled with recognition. "Seonghwa? Park Seonghwa? And Y/N? I can't believe...wow, you're parents now!"

You could see the look of confusion on Seonghwa's face clear as day. "Oh no, Hongjoong. You got it all wrong. I'm not a parent. I'm just an uncle. Y/N and I aren't even dating. We are just friends."

"I'm just a single mom." You corrected him. "Seonghwa is my partner on the police force."

Hongjoong nodded. "Oh yeah, that makes sense. Well I'm sorry to have mistaken you guys." He gave you another one of his dazzling smiles. You had forgotten how his smile made you feel all tingly inside.

"That's okay. No need to apologize. I guess we'll be heading home soon then. Hanbyul, tell your teacher goodbye." You told your daughter, smiling at her as she ran over to her teacher and waved goodbye.

You never imagined Hongjoong to be a kindergarten teacher. Back in college, you would've never pictured him teaching kids. But now, standing in front of him, you couldn't help but think that he was perfect for the job. He really did make children feel comfortable and safe around him. They seemed to love him more than anyone else in their lives. You could only imagine how he made a difference in their lives. It made you smile knowing that he had found his calling in life.

Moments later, you were in the car with Hanbyul dozing off in the backseat and Seonghwa in the driver's seat. You looked at Seonghwa as he kept his attention on the road. A silence fell between you two, both lost in your own thoughts.

"I'm surprised you haven't told him yet." Seonghwa said suddenly, breaking the silence.

"And what would I tell him? That he's her father?" You looked at Seonghwa with a raised eyebrow. "I didn't even know he was Hanbyul's teacher. The last time I saw him was five years ago."

"But don't you think you should tell him before Hanbyul grows older? Don't you think he deserves to know that he's teaching his own daughter? He might want to know." Seonghwa said softly. You sighed, looking out the window. There was no point denying that Seonghwa was right.

"Alright. Maybe I will. If I get the chance to meet him. And if he's willing to listen." You say. "If he knew about Hanbyul, I'm sure he'd be happy."

"Let's hope so." Seonghwa smiled.

Your mind drifted back to when you first met Hongjoong. How cute he was back then. How his shy smile could make you fall for him immediately. You reminisced on all the fun times you had with him back then, how you loved his company so much that you almost forgot that he was a player. His charm was irresistible. His ability to pull women towards him was incredible. Women wanted to be with him, men wanted to be like him. Everyone loved him. Even your closest girlfriends were jealous of your friendship with him.

Then that one night at the frat party changed everything. You remembered clearly the expression on his face when he saw you walking into the party. You also remembered the way he looked at you afterwards, the softness in his voice when he asked you to go home with him. You remembered the hours spent with him, the laughter, the touches, the words he whispered into your ears. You remember every inch of his body. Every little detail. And you remembered the way he treated you. So sweet. So gentle. You remembered how you never wanted him to stop touching you. How you wanted to spend every minute with him. You remember waking up the next morning to find yourself naked and curled up next to him, his arms wrapped tightly around you. You remember the look on his face when he woke up. You remembered the way he kissed you before leaving his apartment. You remember the taste of his lips.

The drive back home passed quickly, and before you knew it, you were pulling up to your house. You looked at the clock and noticed it was already past eight o'clock. You yawned as you got out of the car. You hadn't realized how tired you were. All this thinking was making you sleepy. After unlocking the door and watching Seonghwa carry Hanbyul into her room, you sink into the couch cushions.

"Man, how the years go by." Seonghwa muttered as he sat next to you. You turned your head to look at him, and couldn't help but smile. "I can't believe it's been almost six years since we graduated."

"Me neither. It feels like yesterday." You laughed. "Do you think...if I told Hongjoong that he has a daughter..." You trailed off.

"Hey whatever you do, just know I'm here to support you." Seonghwa said, putting his arm around your shoulders. "Even if you choose not to tell him."

"Thanks." You smiled, leaning against Seonghwa.

He chuckled before getting up and heading towards the door. "I gotta go take care of some paperwork. Call me if you need me."

A few minutes later, you were lying on your bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. Your thoughts going in circles. Over and over again. Should you tell Hongjoong? Would he even want to hear from you? Or did he already moved on from you, just like everyone else did? Was it fair for you to keep this from him? What if he hated you for keeping such a huge secret from him?

How did you end up here? In this predicament? This mess?

No.

Having Hanbyul wasn't a mistake. Sure, you went through hell in the delivery room by yourself. But when you held her in your arms for the first time, when you looked at her tiny face, you instantly knew that she was the most precious thing in your life. That you'd do anything to protect her. That she deserved the best. You promised yourself that you'd give her everything she needed. And you meant it.

Hongjoong watched as little Hanbyul played with the other kids in the sandbox. Her face was covered in sand. He tried not to laugh, instead giving her encouraging words as she took her time digging in the sand with a shovel.

There was something about Hanbyul. He couldn't put his finger on it. But he could tell that there was something special about her. Something he'd never experienced before. He didn't know why he was paying more attention to her compared to the other kids in his class. He wondered if maybe it was because she reminded him of himself. Of the younger version of himself. But then again, there were many things that reminded him of himself. Maybe he was just being silly.

When the kids started filing out of the sandbox, they came over to where he was sitting and talked amongst themselves. Hanbyul tugged on his pants, looking up at him with a pleading expression on her face. "Teacher Hongjoong?"

Hongjoong looked down at her. "Yes, Hanbyul?"

"Can I ask you something?"

Hongjoong leaned down so that he was eye level with her. "Of course you can."

Hanbyul glanced around to make sure nobody was listening. "Is it true that you're Mommy and Uncle Seonghwa's friend?"

Hongjoong let out a small laugh. He thought that this was just the cutest thing ever. "What makes you think that?"

"Because they talk about you a lot." Hanbyul explained.

"Well, I hope it's nice things." He smiled.

Hanbyul giggled. "It is." She smiled.

"Thank you." He gave her a wink.

She giggled again. "You're welcome."

They shared a moment before she decided to get back to playing with the other kids. Hongjoong stood up and brushed off his pants. When he turned around, he caught sight of you watching him from afar. He smiled at you. "Y/N, what brings you here?"

"Just checking on Hanbyul." You replied, sitting next to him.

"She's having a blast playing with all the other kids." Hongjoong said, taking a sip of water from the bottle in his hand. "Look at her, she looks happy."

You gazed at Hanbyul. She looked very content, laughing and giggling. "She's always like this. Never fussy or cranky. She doesn't cry often either." You sighed. "I mean, she does get upset when she gets hurt or hungry but she doesn't cry much."

"You're so lucky." Hongjoong mumbled, closing his eyes for a second. "To be able to enjoy motherhood like this."

"It comes with its struggles, too." You frowned and looked at him. "She asks about her father a few times. Sometimes I feel bad telling her that he doesn't live with us anymore. That he's gone away."

Hongjoong nodded slowly. "I understand how you must feel."

"Are you married?" You asked, changing the subject.

"Not yet." Hongjoong admitted.

"That's good." You smiled. "Do you have any plans to settle down soon?"

"I'm still young." Hongjoong shrugged. "Maybe someday."

You nodded, biting the inside of your cheek. How do you tell this man that he has a child and that she's right there playing with the other kids? Do you say something? Say nothing?

"Speaking of settling down, are you dating anyone?" He asked suddenly, turning his attention to you.

You bit your lip nervously, feeling nervous all of a sudden. "Uh..no."

Hongjoong sighed. "Y/N. Why not?"

"Well, I guess it's just not the right time for me." You answered quietly. "I've been busy lately. With work and raising Hanbyul and all."

"Hang in there, Y/N." Hongjoong smiled at you. "Everything will work out."

"Thank you." You smiled.

A few minutes later, Hanbyul came running over to you and tugged on Hongjoong's pants. "Teacher Hongjoong?"

Hongjoong nodded. "Yes, Hanbyul?"

"Will you play with me?"

Hongjoong stared at her. She was adorable. "Sure." He nodded. "Where should we go?"

"Playground!" Hanbyul exclaimed excitedly. "My favorite swing!"

Hongjoong smiled at her. "Okay. Let's go."

You watched as the two of them walked hand in hand towards the playground. They stopped near the swing set, smiling and talking to each other as they waited for their turn. The sound of their laughter filled the air, creating a peaceful atmosphere around you. Your daughter and her father, enjoying each other's company. Just like you always dreamed. You looked up at the sky, hoping that one day, you would have the courage to tell Hongjoong about Hanbyul.

It had been several weeks and you still hadn't had the courage to tell Hongjoong about his daughter.

Sometimes, you found yourself wondering whether he already knew. Did he suspect? Did he know Hanbyul was his? Was he upset that he missed out on the first few years of her life? Did he resent you for lying to him?

But no matter how much you kept wondering about these things, you would only continue worrying yourself over nothing. At the end of the day, it wouldn't change anything. Not now, and definitely not in the future. No matter what happened, the important thing was that Hanbyul was well taken care of. That she was happy and healthy.

Hongjoong invited you over for a cup of coffee one day and you knew that it was time.

While he made you both a cup of coffee, you began thinking of ways to start the conversation. Maybe it would be easier if you were to come straight out and tell him.

You glanced at him while sipping your coffee. His eyes were fixed on his mug as he stirred it, occasionally taking a sip. He seemed to be lost in his own world.

"Can I ask you something?" Hongjoong finally spoke up.

"Go ahead." You replied, hoping that he'd be straightforward.

"Hanbyul's father...is it...me?" He asked.

You gulped hard. Had he known all along?

You stayed quiet for a while, unsure of how to answer. When you finally opened your mouth, it was to nod your head. "I...thought you might've known." You murmured softly.

"So I was right." Hongjoong muttered softly. "She looks like you but she acts so much like me when I was younger. She reminds me of myself."

"She's your daughter, Hongjoong." You stated, still trying to hold back tears. "It was hard for me to not tell you that you had a daughter. That one night stand we had resulted in a pregnancy. I loved Hanbyul so much. I wanted to do whatever it takes to make sure she was happy. I've done my best to raise her. To provide for her needs. I know it hasn't been easy. I understand if you don't want to accept her into your life."

"Why wouldn't I accept my daughter? Why wouldn't I love her?" Hongjoong whispered. "All this time being her teacher, it never occurred to me that I had a daughter. That I could've possibly fathered someone so innocent and beautiful. A girl who looks so much like you."

Your heart fluttered. "I've missed you." You admitted quietly. "I've missed our talks, our laughs. All the memories we shared together. We've been through a lot together. I know it's weird to know that you're the father of your friend's daughter...but that one night we had...I don't regret it. I don't think I ever could."

He gazed at you, studying your face. Then his gaze traveled down to your lips.

You swallowed hard. His presence alone felt comforting. So warm and welcoming.

"Back then...did you ever have any feelings for me?" He asked after a while.

"Did I ever have feelings for you?" You repeated. "Honestly, yes. Did you ever...? Like, did you have feelings for me? I mean..." You blushed. "Before we had sex."

His gaze softened as he reached out to place a hand on top of yours. "If I had the chance to go back and redo everything, I would've kept you in my arms that night." He whispered. "I would've given you everything you deserved. I wish you would've told me sooner."

"Me too." You whispered back.

You leaned closer to him, placing your forehead against his. You closed your eyes, taking in his scent. He smelled like lavender and vanilla. His scent was intoxicating.

"I'm sorry." You apologized softly, wrapping an arm around his waist, resting your head against his chest.

"Don't be." Hongjoong replied, bringing one hand up and stroking your cheek gently.

"I've wanted you for so long." You confessed, keeping your eyes locked onto his.

He smiled. "And now we're here."

You returned the smile before moving your hand and cupping his cheek. He didn't hesitate in pressing his lips to yours, and within seconds the kiss became heated. You whimpered against him when he pushed you onto his bed, hovering above you.

The kisses moved further up, from your jawline, to your neck, until finally arriving at your lips. It was slow, sensual. As if every movement was perfectly planned out, carefully thought over. And you responded to his touch eagerly. His hands wandered all over you, mapping out every inch of your body. You reached up and tangled your fingers in his soft hair, letting him do whatever he wanted to you.

When he broke the kiss to look down at you, he smiled, caressing your face. You bit your lower lip and cupped his cheeks, pulling him close. He pressed his forehead against yours before connecting his lips with yours once more, his hands roaming all over you again. This time, though, he didn't pull away as quickly, instead lingering there, staring at you with his mesmerizing eyes, making your heart skip a beat. You let out a shaky breath before allowing yourself to melt completely into the kiss, allowing it to continue for a couple more minutes before he started moving southward, exploring the rest of your body with his fingers and mouth.

Finally, you broke away from him, panting heavily, and pulled back slightly, staring up at his handsome face, which was flushed from the passion between the two of you. He was still breathing hard himself, looking down at you with hooded, darkened eyes, his lips wet and swollen from the previous make out session. It made you want more, but unfortunately, it was getting late.

"I should get home." You breathed out.

"Please don't." He pouted, pressing his hips against yours and grinding into you.

You gasped. His erection pressed against you. "Hongjoong...I have to. Hanbyul..." You explained.

"Just ask Seonghwa to babysit for tonight." He nipped at your lip. "Please?"

You chuckled, shaking your head. "I can't Hongjoong. Not right now. Not tonight." You placed a quick kiss on his lips. "There's plenty of time for us." You promised him, pulling away and getting out of his bed.

"Can we...can we spend next weekend together? You, me, and Hanbyul? I'd like to spend more time getting to know her."

"Really?"

"I'm her Dad, aren't I?" He raised his brow with a playful look on his face, smiling down at you. "That's if...you'll have me?"

"You're stuck with us both now." You winked, pecking his lips once more and giggling as he captured your lips.

It didn't take long for the kiss to deepen, and by the time he let you go, your head was spinning.

He pecked your cheek, holding you to him once again. "Have a safe ride home. Make sure you text me when you're there." He reminded you, his grip tightening.

You nodded. "I'll be sure to."

He grinned before letting you go, watching as you exited his house. You were smiling to yourself as you went home, feeling giddy and happy. This is what you always wanted. A second chance at romance with Hongjoong. Sure, the beginning may have been rocky, but if everything went according to plan, things were about to become much better than before.

It was finally the weekend, and it couldn't come quicker. Hongjoong had been texting you all week. Talking about things here and there. Anything from small talk to sexual thoughts, or flirty compliments. Every day you look forward to the weekend.

It was currently 7am in the morning and you were awoken by Hanbyul jumping on you and yelling "Wake up!!" repeatedly. It didn't bother you that you had an energetic five-year-old. She brought excitement into your life. But, man. Why'd you have to wake up early today?! You just needed a bit more beauty rest.

"Good morning, little bean." You yawned, kissing her forehead.

"Morning, Mommy." She squeaked back.

You smiled, pulling her into your arms and tickling her, making her laugh loudly and squeal with delight. You giggled along, tickling her under her armpits and around her waist before eventually stopping, taking in her beautiful giggles, the sound was music to your ears.

"Now, let's go brush our teeth and get ready for the day." You said.

She nodded happily, racing off towards the bathroom, laughing like a maniac. You chuckled, watching as she scampered away. Then, a knock at the front door caught your attention. You hurried over, wondering who the hell was knocking at this hour. Upon opening, it revealed a grinning Hongjoong. You opened your mouth but no words came out. He was too handsome for you to find your voice.

"Hey." He greeted brightly. "Surprised to see me, huh?"

"Y-Yeah.." You replied shakily.

"I just figured I'd come surprise you instead of picking you both up. Save me some gas money." Hongjoong shrugged. "Is she up?" He asked excitedly.

"Uh, yeah..."

"Mommy! Why is Teacher Hongjoong here?" Hanbyul poked her head around the corner.

Hongjoong waved at her. "Hey. I came to spend the day with you two, if that's alright." He told her, approaching and kneeling down to be her level.

Hanbyul's eyes lit up as she bounded forward and threw her tiny arms around Hongjoong's neck. "Okay!"

Hongjoong stood up, carrying your daughter with him. He spun around, making her laugh hysterically. Your heart pounded at the scene unfolding before you. Everything seemed surreal.

You didn't want to interrupt the precious moment. It seemed too personal. So you simply remained at the door.

"So. What shall we do?" Hongjoong questioned playfully.

Hanbyul tilted her head, deep in thought.

"What's wrong, little bean?" You teased her.

"Hmm..let me think." She replied.

"Alright, while you think, let's sit down." Hongjoong replied. He let her down, leading her and you to the living room to sit down.

Hanbyul joined Hongjoong on the couch. While you were tempted to sit on Hongjoong's free side, you decided to take a seat next to her and opposite Hongjoong instead.

"Hanbyul, can mommy tell you something?" You suddenly spoke up. Hongjoong raised his eyebrow at you and you mouthed to him "she needs to know before we go any further." He nodded and sat silently as he waited for you to start speaking.

"Hanbyul," you began. "Hongjoong isn't just your teacher anymore." You said to her, smiling widely.

"No." Hanbyul shook her head. "Why mommy? I like Teacher Hongjoong!"

"That's not it, sweetie." You patted her head. "Hanbyul..."

Hanbyul looked confused, so Hongjoong lifted her onto his lap. "Hanbyul, I'm your dad."

Hanbyul's eyes widened, her gaze landing on you. Then, she looked back at Hongjoong, her lips forming an 'o' shape.

"Teacher Hongjoong? My Daddy?" She tilted her head in curiosity.

Hongjoong grinned and nodded. "That's right. I'm your dad, Hanbyul."

She blinked rapidly, letting out a surprised squeak. You could see tears starting to pool up in her eyes.

"Aww, no. Don't cry." You reassured, leaning over and wiping away a tear that ran down her cheek. "Are you okay?"

Hanbyul nodded. "Daddy." She looked up at him with wide eyes, studying his features intently. Her face lit up. "I know I'm not supposed to cry."

She squirmed on his lap, wrapping her arms around him and squeezing him tightly. "No wonder you're my favorite teacher." She said, snuggling her face into his shirt. "I always hoped that Teacher Hongjoong would be my daddy one day."

You sighed, ruffling her hair. "And here you are." You cooed softly.

You love this little girl. More than anything else in this world. Even though she might've grown on her own with you, you knew you had plenty of room in your life and in your heart to share the experience of raising her alongside someone else. A person you loved. You would be happy and proud to watch her grow up and turn into an adult with the help of Hongjoong.

You bit down on the inside of your cheek to hold back a gasp when Hongjoong leaned down, peppering kisses all over Hanbyul's face. She giggled and nuzzled into his chest, resting her head against his shoulder. It was adorable seeing father and daughter interact with each other.

"Mommy." She broke the moment, her eyes still fixated on you. "You're crying." She stated bluntly.

"Oh..." You didn't notice the warm tears run down your cheeks. You wiped them away quickly and smiled. "I'm just happy, little bean."

"It's okay to cry when you're happy." She replied, her gaze softened and filled with adoration for her mother.

Your heart warmed. You scooped her out of Hongjoong's arms. You held her close, placing a gentle kiss on her temple. "Thank you." You whispered, a huge grin graced your features as you brushed away more tears.

She placed her hands on either side of your face, caressing your cheeks softly. "Aren't you and Daddy gonna kiss now?" She asked, her question directed towards Hongjoong, who stood and was coming over to the two of you.

He wrapped both his arms around your shoulders, placing his head atop hers. "No need to hurry, little one." He smiled gently, looking down at your beautiful little girl. "We still have forever to do that."

You gazed up, meeting his eyes. "Then let's start with today." You grinned before pressing a soft kiss to his plush lips.

Everything felt right in this moment. Just the three of you.

#illusionnet #atzhouse #cromernet #wonderlandnet #kvanity #other side outlaws network #ateez #ateez imagines #ateez fanfic #ateez scenarios #ateez stories #ateez hongjoong #kim hongjoong #hongjoong #hongjoong x reader

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amaris-whisperer · 19 days ago

Text

Redacted l Bucky Barnes x Reader

Genre: Slow burn, angst with comfort, friends to lovers, team meddling, Soft!Bucky, bittersweet-to-sweet resolution

Setting: Thunderbolts AU

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Slight mature content

Part 1 l Part 2 l Part 3 l Part 4 (complete)

—

You'd never imagined a life spent spying on the world's most dangerous people would end like this — with your heart in the line of fire.

You sat rigidly in the sleek, glass-walled conference room deep inside a government building that felt more like a fortress. The hum of fluorescent lights overhead buzzed softly in the silence, competing with the faint tapping of your pen against the folder on the table.

Across from you, Valentina Allegra de Fontaine was the picture of composed authority. She was dressed in a sharply tailored black suit that emphasized her ruthless elegance, lips painted a shade of red that could kill just as surely as a bullet. Her dark eyes didn't flicker, didn't betray emotion—but they scanned you like a wolf calculating whether you were prey or a threat.

"I trust you understand the gravity of your assignment," she began, voice cool and controlled, but with an undercurrent that sent a chill down your spine.

You nodded, swallowing the knot of nerves tightening in your throat. "Oversight for the Thunderbolts. I'm to monitor their operations, report any breaches, and ensure compliance with government regulations."

Valentina's smile was thin, almost predatory. "Yes. In theory."

You met her gaze. "In practice?"

"In practice," she leaned forward, fingers steepled, "I don't trust you. Not fully. You work for them, but you also work for us. That means you're walking a knife's edge. One wrong move and you're expendable."

Your jaw tightened. "I'm here to protect the public interest, not to be a pawn."

"Pawns are useful, as long as they don't forget their place."

You took a breath. "I'll be impartial. I won't let personal bias affect my reports."

Her eyes flickered briefly—just a crack in the mask—before she smiled again. "Impartiality is a luxury few can afford when lives are on the line. Remember, you're the watchdog. But the Thunderbolts... they're not dogs to be trained. They're wolves. And wolves don't take kindly to being watched."

The words hung in the air like a warning.

You swallowed again, feeling the weight of her meaning. Your job wasn't just oversight. It was survival.

Valentina stood and smoothed the front of her jacket. "I'll be watching you as closely as you watch them. Prove me wrong."

Before you could respond, she turned on her heel and left the room, her heels clicking sharply against the polished floor.

You sat back, the silence pressing in around you, the cold weight of the assignment settling over your shoulders like armor.

Because in this game, trust was the most dangerous currency—and you had none.

—

The Thunderbolts' primary safehouse looked like it had been patched together by a contractor with a death wish. Cement walls. Bulletproof glass in some windows. Others, just plywood. Government-issue furniture, utilitarian and forgettable. The hallway smelled faintly of bleach and sweat.

You moved quietly, clipboard in hand, absorbing the details: exit routes, headcount, facial cues. Routine.

Except there was nothing routine about him.

James Buchanan Barnes was leaned against the far wall of the briefing room like the shadows belonged to him. Arms crossed. Expression unreadable. The kind of stillness that didn't come from peace—but from years of violence and control.

His eyes tracked you as you entered. That cold blue that had once terrified entire regimes. There were stories in those eyes—classified ones.

"You the suit?" he asked, voice low, like gravel sliding down steel.

You blinked. "Excuse me?"

He nodded toward your ID badge. "Government oversight. Watching our every move."

You didn't answer right away. Just stepped further into the room and let the door shut behind you. "I'm here to make sure your team doesn't go off-mission."

He smirked faintly, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Off-mission is the only way this team functions."

You studied him—how the weight of history seemed to settle on his shoulders like a second skin. He wasn't posturing like some of the others. He didn't need to. He had nothing left to prove. That made him the most dangerous kind.

"Then I guess it's my job to make sure it doesn't implode."

Bucky straightened, just a little. "Valentina send you?"

"She didn't request oversight. The Senate did. Official mandate, passed two weeks ago."

He raised an eyebrow. "And you volunteered for this circus?"

"I didn't realize it was a circus."

Now his smirk widened just a touch. "You will."

There was a beat of silence, and then he stepped away from the wall. You resisted the instinct to step back. Instead, you stood your ground as he approached—measured, calm, all lethal potential under the surface.

"You've got guts, I'll give you that," he said quietly. "But if you're planning to write your little reports and keep your hands clean, I've got bad news for you."

"I don't write fiction."

"You will," he said. "Eventually. Everyone who works for her does."

You blinked. "Valentina?"

He didn't answer. Just stared for a moment, like he was deciding whether to warn you or dismiss you. Then he looked away and started walking.

At the door, he paused.

"One more thing," he said, not turning around. "If you're going to survive around here, learn the difference between a mission and an execution."

Then he was gone, leaving the air colder than when he'd arrived.

You exhaled slowly, realizing you'd been holding your breath.

This wasn't just oversight.

This was a war zone in disguise.

And James Buchanan Barnes had just marked you as a wildcard.

—

The safehouse was quiet at night, which usually meant trouble was due to start soon.

You were going over the latest team logs in the common area, the lamplight throwing your shadow long across the cracked table. The Thunderbolts were ghosts by now—scattered across the city, executing a mission Valentina had conveniently redacted from your clearance level. Again.

You weren't supposed to question it. Just document the chaos.

Footsteps echoed down the hall—measured, steady.

You didn't have to look up.

Bucky.

He stepped into the room, pausing just inside the doorway. "No one else is here. You always work late?"

You glanced at the clock. 2:17 a.m.

"It's the only time the files aren't being accessed by five different departments," you muttered. "Or redacted to hell."

He approached slowly, the silence between you just as heavy as it had been in that first meeting.

"You don't sleep much, do you?" he asked.

You looked up. "That a professional observation?"

He leaned against the edge of the table, arms crossed. "Call it an educated guess. People who sleep easy don't take jobs like this."

You returned to your screen. "Neither do people with options."

He smirked again—but softer this time. "So what's your story, suit?"

You clicked a tab closed. "Why do you care?"

He shrugged. "I don't. I'm just trying to figure out if you're a spy... or just a martyr with a clipboard."

"Why not both?"

That earned you a huff of amusement. "Touché."

There was a beat of silence.

"You ever think about leaving?" he asked, suddenly quieter. "Walking away?"

You blinked. That... hadn't been what you expected.

"All the time," you admitted. "But I know what happens if someone like Valentina runs unchecked."

Bucky's face darkened. His voice dropped an octave.

"She already does."

You watched him carefully, trying to read what sat just beneath the surface. "Then why stay? Why follow her orders?"

He didn't answer right away. Just stared at a crack in the floor like it held a secret code.

"Because if I don't, someone worse will."

You sat back in your chair, the weight of it all hitting you harder than before. The Thunderbolts were supposed to be a second chance—for the world, for him. But the way he said it... it felt more like a sentence.

"She doesn't trust me," you said suddenly. "Valentina. She thinks I'm a risk."

"You are," he said, without hesitation.

You raised an eyebrow.

"She's not wrong. You asking questions? Writing honest reports?" He gave a low laugh. "That's a dangerous thing in her world."

"Then why haven't I been removed?"

He looked at you for a long time, his expression unreadable. "Because someone up the chain still thinks you're useful. Or expendable."

You swallowed hard. "And what do you think I am?"

Another beat passed. His voice was quiet. Careful. "I think you don't belong here."

"Thanks," you muttered. "Real comforting."

He shook his head. "No—I mean it. You're... different. You still believe in rules. People like Val chew that up. So do people like me."

You looked at him then, really looked. "Is that what you think you are? Just another weapon she points?"

His silence told you everything.

"I don't believe that," you said softly.

He finally met your eyes. "Then you're a bigger fool than I thought."

You stood slowly, feeling the tension pull tight between you. "I'm not afraid of you, Barnes."

His jaw flexed, something raw behind his eyes. "Maybe you should be."

And yet... you weren't.

You stepped around the table, close enough to smell the faint scent of soap and metal and something undeniably him. You paused beside him, your voice low.

"I'm not here to control you," you whispered. "I'm here because someone needs to see what she's really doing. Someone who's not afraid to write it down."

He turned toward you, only a foot of space between your bodies.

"If you write it down," he said, voice like a warning, "she'll burn you for it."

"Maybe," you said. "But not before I set a few fires of my own."

There was something like respect in his eyes then. A flicker of it. Maybe something more.

But he didn't reach for you. Not yet. And you didn't step closer.

Instead, you stood in the quiet for a moment longer—two people on opposite sides of the same burning bridge.

Then you turned, leaving him in the silence, your pulse thundering louder than your footsteps.

—

The mission was supposed to be surgical.

Go in, extract a rogue asset, get out clean.

Instead, it ended in fire. Two agents down. The intel corrupted. And Bucky bleeding from a shoulder wound he wouldn't let anyone patch up.

By the time you got to the safehouse, the rest of the team had scattered for debriefs or damage control.

Only he remained.

You found him sitting in the half-lit kitchen, arm wrapped in a towel soaked crimson. His vibranium fingers flexed involuntarily, twitching from pain or adrenaline—you couldn't tell.

"You need a medic," you said from the doorway.

"I've had worse."

"That's not a denial."

He didn't answer.

You crossed the room, grabbing the med kit from the cabinet above the sink. "Take off your shirt."

He raised a brow.

"Don't flatter yourself," you muttered. "I need to stop the bleeding before you pass out on government property."

With a quiet grunt, he peeled the ruined tactical fabric off, revealing the wound: a clean but deep graze through flesh and muscle. It was worse than he let on. But what held your gaze wasn't the injury—it was the scars. So many. Old ones, fresh ones. Some surgical. Others savage.

Your hands stilled for just a second.

He noticed.

"Cataloging the damage?"

"No," you said quietly. "Just thinking about how much one person can survive."

His expression didn't change, but something in his shoulders eased.

You cleaned the wound carefully, hands steady even though your stomach twisted. He didn't flinch. Didn't make a sound.

"You stayed behind," he said suddenly.

"I had to finish my report."

"That's not why."

You looked up. His eyes were searching. Tired.

You swallowed. "No."

"I got people killed today," he said. "Because I hesitated."

"It wasn't your fault—"

"I knew the intel was wrong. I should've pulled us out sooner."

You finished dressing the wound, sitting back slightly.

"Do you think you're the only one in this building with regrets?" you asked. "You think I sleep easy knowing my reports send people like you into firestorms?"

He stared at you like he wasn't used to being spoken to like a person. Like a man.

"You care," he said.

It wasn't an accusation. More like a revelation.

You exhaled. "Of course I care. But that doesn't mean I can save you."

He reached out then—just a brush of his fingers on your wrist. Not enough to startle, but enough to still your breath.

"I don't need saving," he said.

"Good," you replied. "Because I'm not a hero either."

You stayed like that for a moment—close, quiet, surrounded by shadows and unspoken things.

Then you gently pulled your wrist from his grasp.

"I'll log the injury as self-treated. Valentina doesn't need to know you were bleeding all over her kitchen."

He smirked faintly. "Protecting me, now?"

"Just the paperwork," you said. "The rest... is redacted."

As you turned to leave, he spoke—so soft you almost missed it.

"Don't disappear on me."

You paused in the doorway.

"Don't give me a reason to."

And then you were gone.

But the air between you stayed charged, something unnamed stretching taut—waiting.

—

The power went out around midnight.

You were still awake, staring at your laptop as the screen dimmed and then flickered to black. The hum of electricity faded into silence, and the entire safehouse was plunged into that eerie stillness that only happened in government buildings—like something was holding its breath.

A quiet knock tapped at your door.

You knew who it was before you opened it.

Bucky stood in the hallway, shirtless still, his shoulder wrapped in the bandage you'd applied hours earlier. The power outage cast him in shadow, the faint amber light from the emergency generator flickering in his eyes.

"No comms. No surveillance," he said, voice low. "Valentina's blind."

You didn't speak—just stepped aside.

He walked in without hesitation, but not with the predatory confidence some people might expect of the Winter Soldier. This was different. Measured. Careful. Human.

The door clicked shut behind him.

"You okay?" you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded. "Can't sleep."

"Me either."

He looked around your room—spartan, temporary. Just a cot, a desk, a stack of folders. A single unmade bed.

"You shouldn't be alone tonight," he said. "Not after the mission."

"Neither should you."

The words hung there between you—vulnerable. Raw. Open.

Bucky moved first.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, then leaned back against the wall. You crossed the room slowly and sat beside him. The cot creaked under your combined weight.

For a long moment, neither of you said a word.

Then you laid your head on his good shoulder. He didn't move. Didn't flinch. Just let out a long, quiet breath, like something inside him finally unclenched.

"Tell me the truth," you murmured. "Why'd you really stay behind?"

He hesitated. "Because I didn't want you to be alone when the storm hit."

You closed your eyes. "I've been alone for a long time."

"So have I."

You turned to look at him—and suddenly he was closer than he had been. Close enough to see the scar at his temple. The years in his eyes. The softness he hid behind all that steel.

"I shouldn't feel this way about you," you whispered.

"I know," he said. "But I do."

His hand slid across the blanket and found yours.

Slow. Gentle. Asking.

You laced your fingers with his.

Then he kissed you.

Not rough. Not fast. Just honest. Like it wasn't the first time he'd wanted to, but the first time he let himself.

You pulled him in like a tide, all soft urgency and trembling restraint. You didn't ask for promises. You didn't talk about consequences. You didn't talk at all.

There was no time for slow metaphors or delicate metaphysics. Just breathless hands under fabric. Quiet gasps in the dark. Months of tension turned into fire beneath skin.

It wasn't perfect. It was too fast and not fast enough. But it was real.

When it was over, the room was quiet again. Your limbs tangled together in the half-light, sweat cooling against worn sheets. His arm wrapped around your waist, the vibranium hum softer now, somehow more human.

"I've never..." you started, but trailed off.

"I know," he whispered. "Me neither."

You fell asleep like that—pressed into his chest, wrapped in something that had no name, no place in your reports.

—

In the hallway, the backup camera light blinked red. Recording.

Somewhere, someone was watching.

And soon, someone would decide what to do about it.

—

Amaris’s notes:

More parts coming soon!

I’ve been writing a lot of Bucky fanfics over the past few months and finally have time to start sharing them with you all.

I hope you enjoy going on these journeys with Bucky as much as I do. 😊

Thank you so much for your amazing support!

#buckybarnes #bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky x reader #james bucky buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes #winter soldier #the winter soldier #thunderbolts #sebastian stan #fanfiction #marvel fanfic #marvel cinematic universe #marvel #the new avengers

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show-your-fangs · 2 years ago

Note

omg omg omg can I pls request hotch genuinely being the most clueless, dumb-and-in-love individual?

Basically the team has to point it out to him for him to see how soft he is for reader and how differently he treats them 💗😩 he’s in love, your honour 🤭

i love our stupid man in love, he's so cute i can't.

this is part two of this blurb from my moments au

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x f!Reader

Words: 1.7k

CW: nothing, just fluff.

Disclaimer: YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WRITING ANYWHERE ELSE WITHOUT MY CONSENT. REBLOGS ARE ENCOURAGED THOUGH. YOU MAY NOT FEED MY WORK TO ANY AI DATABASES OF ANY KIND OR TO USE MY WORKS TO TRAIN AI. FUCK AI.

He didn’t ask you out that night. Neither Morgan or Rossi won the bet, the unfortunate draw making them only want to try harder to win over the other.

That had been a week ago, the pool only growing as more agents got in on it and it had somehow gotten out of hand really quickly. Penelope had been tasked with keeping track of the bets, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep her mouth shut about it, especially when she was around you.

The team had left for a case earlier in the week which meant you were spending a lot of time with her. From helping with research, running point from the office, making calls and setting up permits, warrants, everything and anything they needed, you were practically tied at the hip as per usual when the team was away. The only problem? Penelope Garcia could not keep a secret to save her life, and the more time she spent with you, the more she almost slipped and told you what was going on.

You had closed the case earlier that night after five days of grueling work. You were exhausted, more so emotionally than physically, so you’d invited Penelope to dinner as way to celebrate the little victory. But what had started as a simple night out had quickly turned wild as the waiter had taken a liking to her and kept the cocktails coming throughout your entire meal. You were on dessert, a forgettable chocolate lava cake with ice cream when she finally slipped.

“I just think it’s so silly,” she giggled in between sips of her drink and scoops of dessert.

“What’s silly?” you egged her on, whatever this secret was had eluded you for the entire week and you just needed to know.

“How much Hotch likes you,” her cheeks flushed pink but her brain didn’t realize what’d she’d admitted to yet, allowing her to continue. “The team has a bet going on when he’s going to ask you out and everything.”

“Huh,” you mused. “That is silly.”

That’s when her brain snapped, dread and realization washing over her all at once. Her eyes widened, her spoon fell from her hand and onto the plate.

“Oh my gosh, do you not like Hotch back? I could’ve sworn— I am mortified! Forget I told you, please I am begging you—”

You reached over and placed your hand over hers, gently soothing her out of her panic as a mischievous smile curled on your lips.

“Can you get me on the board, Pen?”

Apparently they were all convinced it wasn’t happening for a while. They had decided to overcorrect their previous assumptions, placing bets that were days if not weeks in the future. Penelope had added you to the bet list that same night, promising to keep the secret until the next morning.

You knew the clock was ticking, knew that once you started the countdown, you had no business losing your courage. It was now or never, and the reminder that soon the rest of the team would be shuffling into the bullpen to start their day, that they’d know someone else had made a risky bet — it only got your adrenaline pumping even more.

You poured his coffee as you watched him enter the office, gaze on his phone, powerful and confident strides leading him towards his office. He turned and waved from the top of the stairs once he finally noticed you, a small smile on his lips. You smiled back, your cheeks reddening slightly as you finished getting your own coffee in order, the pale tan a contrast to his straight black.

You made your way to his office a minute after he’d settled, placing his cup on his desk and taking a seat across from him. This had been your routine for months now, you’d bring him his coffee in the morning and the two of you would fill each other in on your lives.

Aaron had been dealing with his divorce, the guilt of having to split Jack’s time between him and his mom, the added stress of finding a new place and moving, of finding himself alone when he’d been used to always having someone to come home to after a tough case. And you? You had just started going to therapy after he’d encouraged you to. It had been a rocky adjustment to the job, and you were glad that you could confide in him as your boss but also as your friend.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, pulling out the case files he’d taken back home the night before.

You shot him a look, the look, and he couldn’t help but sigh deeply. You weren’t angry, you were simply disappointed, and he knew that. It had been hard, harder now that he had to force himself back out there if he wanted to actually have a life. But even after months of this new normal, the idea of dating made him even more exhausted than he’d like to admit.

Because while Morgan or Emily thrived meeting new people, Aaron had met Haley in high school. He’d been with one woman his entire life, one woman for more than twenty years. He was rusty to say the least, the insecurity of it only growing the more he refused to take the leap, the more he refused to feel his feelings, the more he fell in love with you.

“Haley had Jack last night—” he started but you were quick to interrupt him.

“That’s a terrible excuse,” you chided. “There’s a million things you could’ve done instead.”

“Oh yeah?” the mischief was back in his eyes, making you gulp visibly. “What did you do last night?”

Your mouth opened in mock annoyance, he couldn’t possibly know—

“For your information, sir,” you mocked. “I went out with Penelope last night.”

Whatever glimmer of hope Aaron had cultivated to tease you about taking work back home was extinguished in a second. He sat back in his chair, inaudibly admitting defeat.

“Maybe that’s what you need too,” you started, your heart racing once more. His eyebrows shot up and you could tell his blood had also gotten to his head. “Ask someone out, go on a date, get laid.”

That caught him off guard completely. If he had been sipping on his coffee he would’ve choked, made an even bigger fool of himself. But instead his cheeks just reddened, his ears quickly following suit, a detail he knew you knew about him as you’d pointed it out many times in the past.

But you didn’t today, you didn’t say anything about his reaction but he was too hot to notice it right away.

“It’s what I have to do too, honestly,” you shrugged, faux confidence somehow allowing you to not combust right then and there.

“Do you now?” he managed through gritted teeth, the idea of you dating something that he made sure never to think about because it always led him down a dark path of rage and an ungodly desire to ravage you to the point where you belonged to him and no one else.

“Yeah,” you drawled on, almost sighing dramatically. That’s when he caught on, when his brain finally reconnected to his body and his heart only sped up even more. “But I don’t know…I’m not really into any of the guys Penelope or Emily have tried to set me up with, they’re not really my type.”

God, this was not actually happening. “What is your type?”

“Crime fighting single dads who adore their kids and participate in triathlons for fun,” there was no misinterpreting it now.

“Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?” the words flew out of his mouth before either of you could register them.

A bright smile took over your lips, your eyes sparkling with happiness. A shy smile slowly started to turn adorably embarrassed on his, his gaze tentatively raising to meet yours, eyebrows raised almost pleading, his eyes round and hopeful.

“I would love to,” you said and he graced you with the most beautiful full smile you’d ever seen from him. It was unrestricted, genuine, life giving.

“Great,” he cleared his throat as the clock struck eight, the reality of the world outside of your little office bubble a reminder of where you were. “I’ll pick you up at eight.”

“Can’t wait,” you reassured him, standing up with your own untouched coffee mug and making your way downstairs. “Oh, and it’s my treat. Trust me.”

You were gone before he could argue, but you knew that he couldn’t stop smiling, the warmth radiating from him was enough for you know it deep in your bones.

“Babygirl,” Morgan asked aloud, holding up the list of bets that Penelope had left on his desk earlier as the blonde returned to the bullpen from her office. “What’s this?”

He tapped on the bet you’d written down, the other agents gathering to inspect the new addition.

“Proof of my victory, Derek,” you said cockily as Penelope handed you the envelope full of cash.

The entire team turned to you, eyes wide and anger slowly boiling. But none of them let it out, instead they all looked impressed, they respected the move, the hustle, the boldness. Morgan scoffed in proud defeat as he held out his fist for you to bump, and you did, excitedly.

It had finally happened, the start of something that had been brewing for months, and you couldn’t be happier. While the girls walked up to you to get all the details you shot Aaron a cheeky glance as Penelope filled Emily and JJ in on your conversation the night before, and for the first time ever, Aaron allowed himself to meet your glance, unashamed to be caught staring at you.

i've been smiling like an idiot all day

taglist: @ssamorganhotchner, @canuck-eh, @cr1minalskies, @xladyxdreamer, @mrs-ssa-hotch

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x female reader #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fluff #hotch x you #hotch x reader #show your fangs writes #moments on ao3 #show your fangs hotch blurbs #show your fangs moments au

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daenysx · 11 months ago

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hi! i’m pretty new to your blog but i’m really loving your content! you’re a fantastic writer. if it’s okay i’d like to request something for james x reader, where r is going through a friendship breakup and james is comforting her? i completely understand if you don’t want to write this, regardless i’ll continue to enjoy your content! have a great day/night 💗

hi, angel, thank you so much for being so kind! i hope you enjoy ♡ requests are open

james potter x fem!reader, modern au

"come on." you scoff, looking at your phone and feeling sick to your stomach. james lifts his head from his laptop to see what you're doing. you put the phone on couch a bit harshly, crossing your arms defensively.

"angel?" he asks.

"yeah, jamie?"

"everything alright?" he puts his laptop on the coffee table to go by your side. you turn your head, feeling a hot teardrop roll on your cheek.

"she doesn't even care about what i say." you start. james knows exactly who you're talking about. "i'm trying to talk about how i feel and she- it's nothing to her, apparently."

"what did she say?" james asks, he rubs a generous hand on your arm.

"she just- she says she's sorry and she'll fix it, but she said all those things 2 months ago! just- you need to do something for someone if you promise them but she keeps forgetting and she never explains anything."

you're getting more upset each second. this is a person who you spent your days with before, someone close enough to share secrets. something happened two months ago, something you can't even properly remember now, and she hurt you. she never realized how distanced you've been and when you told her, she promised she'll fix it. two fucking months ago. she did nothing.

"am i doing wrong?" you ask james. "is it wrong to be angry?"

"no." he says. "it's not wrong if you feel like it. you don't wanna let go of her so easy but- i guess she doesn't try like you do."

the truth hurts so badly. you hate losing friendships, strangers turning into loved ones, losing them makes you feel like losing a part of your memories. what can you do? you're feeling too proud, too unforgiving. you don't want to be a bad person.

"i just don't know why she keeps giving up on me." you say, quietly. tears turn into hushed breaths. "am i so easily forgettable?"

"no." james takes you in his arms. "baby, of course not. it's not your fault if you believe you try hard enough to save your friendship. maybe it's not anyone's fault. sometimes things don't work out."

you put your head on james's shoulder. "i thought we were closer than this." you say, sadly. "maybe i was wrong."

james rubs your back until you relax on him. your phone is forgotten, you won't send any more texts tonight. it already hurts enough, but you gotta get through it.

"i'm sorry." he says, a quiet sound comes out of his lips as he kisses your head. "i'm sorry it's hurting, baby. you'll be okay."

maybe you should just leave this as a good relationship that is over now. there's no need to try to save something if it's already lost. you've gone through this before, you can do it again. you think your anger for the situation will make you forget about things quicker. you won't hold any grudges.

"i don't wanna be friends with someone who treats me like this." you say, sharply. "i didn't do anything to deserve it."

james kisses your hair again. "i'm not blaming her." you say, after a second. "it's not anyone's fault at this point but- i won't try anymore. she can do anything she wants, i guess."

not getting a closure hurts a bit, but you'll survive. james likes how you perceive the situation from both sides, you don't see yourself as the only person who's right, you still have respect and love for your old friend. your head stays tucked on his neck nicely, he rubs your now dried cheeks with cool fingers.

when you look at james with expectant eyes, he nods. it's good to see him agreeing with you, you know he'd tell you if you were making an irrational decision out of anger. you kiss his cheek and he carries you to his side of the couch.

you don't look at your phone again that night. james figures out you like watching sitcoms when you're upset. you fall asleep to the background sound of the office, your head on james's chest and his hand on your lower back.

#james potter #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x reader #james potter x you #james potter fic #james potter fanfic #james potter fanfiction #james potter imagine #james x you #james x reader #james x fem!reader #marauders #marauders era #marauders fic #marauders fanfic #marauders fanfiction #marauders imagine

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lelengerine · 2 months ago

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hi can i be apart of the youth lovesome event? may i request johnny and call me- wayv

🫧

͙͘͡★ bubbling messages

song prompt. “we’re in the same class, and i’ve only ever known you as the person who never speaks—until i missed a lecture and asked for your notes, and for some reason, i can’t stop texting you about the weirdest things. turns out i was just looking for excuses to talk to you more”

pairing. classmate!johnny x academic weapon!reader

tags. strangers (classmates) to crushes au, lots of fluff and a bunch of teasing bc... c'mon its johnny, no specific prns used, not fully proofread, i can't tell if i missed out on anything...

wc. 1.3k words

notes. super sorry this came out late op 😞😞 honestly you can think of this like an alternative universe to the other johnny drabble i made for this event 😭 though i like how both have parallels in a sense hehe !! lmk ur thoughts on this onee ;0; likes, reblogs, and feedback are very much welcome <3

꒰ m.list | event m.list ꒱

you know johnny suh by name, by reputation, by the way his laughter carries across the lecture hall, reaching even the farthest corners where the shadows settle between rows of indifferent students. his voice has a way of peeling away the stillness, scattering it like leaves before a sudden gust of wind.

he’s the kind of person who doesn't merely exist in a room—he claims it, not through force, but through the gravity of his presence. leaned back in his chair with an effortless sprawl, long legs outstretched as if daring the world to ask him to move, he speaks with an easy boldness, a glint of mischief ever present in the curve of his mouth.

you are the opposite.

your place is in the quiet: the corner seat near the window where light pools and dust dances lazily in the air. you take your notes with almost sacred precision, pages filled with neat, unbroken lines that feel like a small kind of rebellion against the chaos of everything else and slip out before anyone has a chance to remember you were even there.

you are, by all means, forgettable and you have built your life carefully as such, like stacking stones on a riverbed with each piece meticulously placed. each day being unremarkably the same. it wasn’t like you minded. the silence was a sanctuary for someone like yourself, a fortress made of soft, uninterrupted minutes.

it is safe.

it is enough.

it has to be.

at least, it was—until johnny misses a lecture, and for the first time, he sees you.

the first message arrives on a random thursday evening, when the world outside your window was blurred by rain and the air hummed with the distant growl of thunder.

hey, do you take good notes?

you stare at your screen, fingers pausing midair, stunned not by the fact that johnny suh is texting you—even though that alone was unexpected—but because the answer to his question was so obviously yes that you wonder if he’s ever even looked in your direction.

your fingers hover over the keyboard. it would be easy to leave him on read and to figure out his own sufferings, but something tugs at you—a quiet curiosity, a whisper of possibility that eventually causes you to act before thinking.

yeah. sending them now.

you watch the file upload, the small spinning icon hypnotic in its slowness, and you tell yourself that’s the end of it. a transaction, nothing more.

you expect silence in return. you expect him to forget you again, as he always had before, but the next day, your phone buzzes during breakfast.

thanks again! you saved me big time.

and then another, hours later.

also, your handwriting is scary neat. are you really human? you almost laugh—almost—and realize, with a strange flutter of realization, that he is still talking to you.

at first, it stays tethered to class. questions about assignments. clarifications about lectures. easy, straightforward exchanges that you could pretend meant nothing, but soon, the messages begin to slip loose from their academic moorings.

if we replaced all the blood in our bodies with capri sun, would we survive?

you frown at your screen, forehead vaguely creasing at the absurd thought because no. that’s not how blood works.

right, but imagine if it did. hypothetically.

you snort after realizing he never needed a proper answer. he just wanted to talk, and strangely, you didn’t mind indulging his antics.

everything else happens gradually after those exchanges. his texts weave themselves into your days, filling the small spaces between routines, like vines curling into cracks in an old wall. a random observation here, an outlandish question there. sometimes, he doesn’t even wait for a response before sending another thought into the void of your inbox.

have you ever looked at a word for too long and it stops making sense? because “giraffe” is really throwing me off right now.

hey. what’s your stance on people who bite into string cheese instead of peeling it?

you pretend to be exasperated each time a notification pops out with him as the sender, a long sigh escaping your chest, but your fingers type responses faster than you’d like to admit. each reply carries a little more of your personality, a little more openness, and you begin to wonder whether this was all just an excuse to get you to open up to him.

the thought makes your stomach flip, and you tell yourself it doesn’t mean anything. that you’re overthinking. that you’re imagining things. but when your phone buzzes, and your heart leaps before your brain can reason with it, you realize you’re lying to yourself.

you like this.

you like talking to him.

and maybe it’s because of that fragile, forming truth that you start to notice him more—not just through your phone, but through the living, breathing spaces between you.

the way he leans back in his chair, fingers drumming against the desk when he’s lost in thought. the way his laughter catches you off guard, warm and unrestrained, a sound that makes the room feel smaller—like a shared secret. the way his gaze lingers now, like he’s studying you, like he’s seeing you in a way no one else ever has.

and the worst part?

you look back.

sometimes, across the lecture hall, you catch him watching you. and sometimes, just sometimes, you let him.

your phone buzzes one evening while you’re curled up in bed, and you already know who it is.

be honest. you’re kinda enjoying this, aren’t you?

the words hang in the air, heavy and deliberate, brushing against something inside you that's too tender to name. you hesitate, heart stumbling over itself. something about the message feels different. more intentional. and you know this isn't related to another silly joke of his.

your fingers hesitate over the keyboard, the action of sending a reply feeling foreign now that your brain is wracking itself in search of a response. you could downplay it, deflect, pretend you don’t care as much as you do.

but instead, you type a vague maybe.

you expect him to tease you, to turn it into something playful, but his next text is surprisingly soft.

good.

two letters, one syllable—and yet it feels heavier than anything he’s ever said before. you stare at the word until your vision blurs, heart thrumming a shaky rhythm against your ribs while you remain unable to respond.

guess i needed an excuse.

you wonder what he means. an excuse—to talk to you? an excuse to see you? an excuse to notice someone he was never supposed to notice?

you swallow. there’s a feeling blooming in your chest, slow and hesitant but undeniably there. something about him unsettles you—not in a bad way, but in a way that makes you feel seen, as if he’s reaching into the quiet parts of you and bringing them to light.

the next morning, the campus is washed in the soft gold of early sunlight, the world still carrying the hush of a day not yet fully awakened.

you enter the lecture hall, expecting the same routine, the same comfortable invisibility.

and yet this time, he’s there.

johnny, standing by your usual seat, hands tucked into his pockets, looking so casual it feels deliberate. "hey," he greets, like it’s the most natural thing in the world for him to be here, waiting for you.

you only blink, unsure if you’re still caught in the haze of sleep.

his grin widens, eyes twinkling with something unreadable but unmistakably warm. "thought i’d sit next to the person i’ve been texting so frequently today. you cool with that?"

your pulse flutters. you try to scoff, to act unaffected, but the way he’s looking at you makes it impossible. somehow, you find yourself nodding, lips curving into something small but genuine.

johnny falls into step beside you, close enough that your shoulders nearly brush. and when he sits next to you, tilting his phone so you can see his next absurd text in real time—

you realize you don’t mind this at all.

actually, you think you might want more of it as long as it's him.

#lelengerine: youth lovesome 🩷#nct fluff #nct 127 fluff #johnny fluff #nct drabbles #nct 127 drabbles #nct imagines #nct 127 imagines #johnny imagines

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94perreaults · 2 months ago

Text

OUTLIERS l GP94

CHAPTER TWO OF THE PERREAULT PARADOX

SUMMARY: Somehow Gabe Perreault turns a casual conversation into a two-hour spiral of laughter, flirting, and dangerously soft smiles. Sophia’s night was supposed to be forgettable. Gabe makes sure it isn’t.

a/n: Once again, hi! Having so much ready for this AU in my Google Docs is actually driving me insane. I want to post everything all at once. All the thoughts, headcannons, and chapters. But, it's fine, I'll survive. Very anxiously, but I'll survive. This has more dialogue, which I'm not great at— but I'm trying! I'm a STEM girl, give me some time and it'll be less formal eventually (I hope. Fingers crossed). Sorry for the long notes, I'm a D1 yapper. If you read this so far, thanks! I hope you like it! Likes, reblogs and asks are always welcomed!

In statistics, an outlier is a data point that strays too far from the rest — easy to dismiss, impossible to ignore.

Sophia was great at ignoring things. Unnecessary emotions, distractions, people who didn’t use their turn signals. She had a system. A way of organizing her life into little folders she could close when needed. But, apparently there wasn’t a folder labeled “hot BC hockey guy with questionable fashion choices and a stupid smile.”

Because Gabe Perreault — with his backwards hat, his dumb charming energy, and his stupid perfect smile — refused to stay in the mental box where she put people like him. The kind she didn't take seriously. The kind she rolled her eyes at in dining halls and avoided at parties.

Except she wasn’t avoiding him. She was, in fact, sitting next to him at a sticky bar table with one leg bouncing under the surface and a vodka soda she’d barely touched.

“Harvard?” he asked, like he already knew the answer.

She nodded, cautious. “How’d you guess?”

“You look like a Harvard girl.”

She tilted her head, narrowing her eyes. “Is that supposed to be an insult?”

“Nope,” he said, smiling. “Just explains why you looked at the beer list like it offended you personally.”

She almost smiled. Almost. “That’s because it did.”

He laughed — warm, loud, too easy for someone she’d just met. Like she’d said the funniest thing he’d heard all night.

“And you?” she asked, “BC?”

“Yepppp,” he said, popping the p like it was charming. (Spoiler alert: It was) “Don’t hold it against me.”

She raised a brow. “Give me a reason not to.”

That grin again — full of confidence and zero shame. “I’ve been told by a few my company’s a solid B-plus.”

And then he smiled again and it was like her brain hit save.

He introduced himself like it was nothing — like they weren’t total strangers in a bar that smelled like spilled beer and teenage regret. Like he did this kind of thing all the time. Maybe he did. But when he looked at her, it didn’t feel like a bit. It felt personal. Focused. Real.

And okay — maybe she didn’t want to like how he asked questions or actually listened when she talked. But there she was, letting him talk to her, joke, make her laugh. Out loud. In public. Like a lunatic.

What was this boy doing to her?

They talked. And talked. Until time stopped behaving like time. Until the bar felt like its own weird little snow globe. He kept smiling at her, and she kept not looking away. Not just because of the smile — but the way it was aimed at her, like she was funny. Like he got her. Like he’d already decided he liked her and was just waiting for her to catch up.

What felt like five minutes turned into an hour. Then two. Somehow, between watered-down drinks and his shameless flirting, they talked the whole night. And the way he looked at her — like he was tuning out the whole bar just to hear her finish a sentence — made something skip in her chest she definitely didn’t have time for. And every time she thought the moment might be over — that the spell might break — he’d say something else, some stupid little thing that made her forget what she was supposed to be doing with her life. Like making the Dean’s List. But any time he’d laughed and looked at her, with the kind of laugh that felt like sunlight breaking through February, she couldn’t think of anything else.

And just when she almost forgot that the world outside this strange, sticky bar still existed, Naomi reappeared in quick steps, with relief washing over her face, like she had been looking for Sophia, like she was worried.

“There you are,” she said, grabbing Sophia by the wrist. “It’s almost two. And I swear someone just tried to sleep with me by offering me some dodgy cryptocoin or something.”

Gabe stood too, hands in his pockets, watching her with that lazy, lopsided grin.

“Hey, Harvard,” he said. “Don’t be a stranger.”

Sophia didn’t promise anything.

But she also didn’t look away until Naomi dragged her out the door.

#gabe perreault #bc hockey #boston college hockey #the perreault paradox #nhl x oc #nhl x reader #gabe perreault x oc #gabe perreault x reader

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cybertron-smash-or-pass · 1 year ago

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A bit of a loaded question, I know, but do you have any TF ships you prefer and would like to share?

I need you to be aware that you're opening pandora's box here. The vibes range anywhere from "god this is hot" to "god this is cute" to "their dynamic is so fucking interesting and i want to study them under laboratory conditions" to "this hurts so much and I need the drama, I am CRYING" to smashing barbie dolls together. I have crackships you ain't even THOUGHT about. I throw ships at the wall just to see if they stick. I like a lot of ships. Arguably too damn many. So many that I'm putting this under a cut to spare people from the long post. So many that I have to sort them by continuity so you're not staring at an unorganized list longer than do you love the color of the sky.

TFA

shockbee I feel has a lot of the potential for shockwave fearing what happens when bee finds out he's not longarm. Like a lot of the scenes in auto boot camp read to me like shockwave really did want bee as an ally while he climbs the ranks, and there's some juicy potential for shocker starting out as just using him until he actually catches feelings. Especially in aus where bee really did join the elite guard. Like can you imagine the drama. The heartbreak. The trust issues. Bee realizing he never really knew the guy he could trust most. Wondering if he's even safe to be around. If anything was even real. Shockwave wondering the same things. Hhhhhhhhh.

I do enjoy shockblurr conceptually but I'm not crazy about how they're usually portrayed in the fandom bc I feel like we're all forgetting that shockwave is a ball of anxiety and murder, and Blurr is a straight laced fuckin nerd who can't shut his mouth. An overpowered, highly capable nerd, but a nerd still. I like what the artist katzske does with them a lot tho.

I'm also a blitzbee enjoyer but on a less "bee can fix him and itll be so sweet" level and more "god imagine how annoying they'd be together." Looney Tunes levels of fucking with people. Either that or bumblebee is just horny on main and really likes the thought of bagging a con, but then he goes and catches feelings.

prowlbulk owns my entire heart. They're so sweet on each other and prowl really respects and appreciates bulkhead way more than bulky's used to. And bulkhead admires so much of prowl's skill and perspective. They work so well together as a couple and it's fucking adorable. With a hint of tragedy bc. Well. You know.

Bulkbee is also incredibly cute bc I'm a sucker for besties that very slowly realize they love each other so much it makes them look stupid. Good in romantic or qpr flavors. Bee already climbs all over bulkhead like a squirrel, they're so fuckin affectionate and very very stupid in social settings.

I like Optimus and blackarachnia from a drama standpoint bc God. They are tragic. They are MESSY. I genuinely think there's no happy ending for them. The trust is gone. But they still miss each other so much and they just CANT move on, so they keep stringing each other along. They're just hurting themselves and each other every time one does anything nice for the other. It's the kinda shit that just slowly rips your heart out. OP please don't text your ex. OP pLEASE

Megop is a classic but I feel we as a fandom underutilize how much Optimus pisses off Megatron. He is an asshole cat knocking shit off the counter for attention. Megs lets him be worse when he is so so fucking tired of being good. He loves that he hates him and he hates that he loves him. Full on "my esteemed rival" "dearly detested." Fighting each other is cathartic and addictive. Megatron finds it infuriating but he can't deny how much he likes having a worthy opponent, how fitting it is that the cosmos sent him so deadly a nemesis, and yet how lame it is that he was so forgettable at first so now he feels dumb being mildly obsessed with him. Optimus is just glad he has someone who doesn't expect him to be perfect and nice and upstanding. He can vent out a lot of his less noble feelings or impulses that he's had completely repressed for ages. The pressure's off in a lot of ways. And I think in an enemies to lovers sense, watching them figure out how to make that setup and that very odd mutual desire to be in each other's lives into something healthier could be really compelling. Or tragic in a "why did I let myself need you? Why the fuck did I let myself need you?" way.

Beeprowl is funny but I only really like it in a "you annoy me SO MUCH let's make out about it" way. Nothing committed, just dispelling the tension without having to kill each other. It is just kinda nice seeing them have genuinely sweet moments though. Squidbob ass relationship.

Lugnut and Strika are the perfect Decepticon power couple and I love them so much. So very much. Lugnut loves his big terrifying wife capable of leveling cities, and she loves her sweet devoted husband who could throw her across the room. I think they break chairs over each other's heads for fun and have been trying to seduce Megatron into a threesome for ages.

Shockwave and Megatron are also incredibly good. The loyalty. The "I commit my whole existence to you. I am yours, in mind body and soul. I will go wherever you need me to, I will put myself in immeasurable danger for you, just please say I'm doing a good job" and "all my efforts would be lost without you. In a world where I have been vulnerable and terrified, where I have been stabbed in the back by people I thought I could wholly trust, I can look at you and know, unwaveringly, you won't do the same. I trust you completely." It's Delicious. It's absolutely codependent but god it's tasty.

Also honestly? Bulkhead and the constructicons could make a pretty cute throuple. He wants them to be better. They want him to be worse. He just wants them to do honest work and they want him to stop letting stuffy, elitist autobot society control him so much. They love each other, they're friends (even if the constructicons don't totally remember the first night they met him). And they really do enjoy each other's company. They're just guys being dudes. Just dudes being guys. Just guys being gays. (It's also just nice when bulkhead gets to be the smaller one, scrapper totally carries him around like a big ol' cat).

I really like prowl being torn between lockdown and jazz. They're the devil and angel on his shoulders. Lockdown tempting him into relapsing, feeling himself fall into old habits, forsaking everything he's learned about patience and respect and being conscientious of the world around him. Jazz picking him back up when he slips, making him WANT to keep being better. And prowl can't decide if he wants to be loved in spite of all his toxic traits or BECAUSE of them. It's got me in a chokehold, your honor.

Megastar is fun in tfa because 1. It's implied Megatron never actually abused starscream while they were on the same side (the first thing starscream says after waking up from being shot is "YOU DARE STRIKE ME, MEGATRON?" which reads to me like this is a new development). Megs doesn't actually hurt anyone working for him other than Sumdac, who he fucking hates (at least not on-screen), and the only reason he was as aggro to starscream post-revival was because he knew screamer is the reason he spent all that fucking time as just a severed head. He used to actually trust him, sort of, even if he was a scheming, sycophantic little weasel. And 2. It's pretty obvious they have history together. I genuinely truly believe they were exes and Starscream only planted a bomb on him because he couldn't be fucking normal about the divorce. You look at how they bitch at each other in deep space and then immediately fall into what is most likely their old dynamic of getting things done and shooting the shit and tell me they never had an intense romantic stint that went horribly wrong. Starscream calls him Meggy in his internal logs for fucks sake.

Oh also sumdac x megatron. It started as a crackship of mine but I really love the idea of sumdac feeling legitimately guilty for taking Megatron apart and unknowingly violating him the way he did, even if Megatron is terrible. Like the dynamic of "you lied to me" "if I told you who I really was, I would be dead. I don't owe you the truth when you held me captive. I was vulnerable. I was TERRIFIED. I did what I had to in order to keep myself safe. And you come to ME with accusations of doing you wrong? When YOU held all the power? And then when I'd taken back the power you left me without, made you feel what I felt, I'm a monster?" "I never meant to hurt you" "Well you did. And now you know just how much damage you did." Like it's such an interesting angle, ESPECIALLY when you consider that sumdac probably grew to legitimately care about Megatron while he was in his lab. He wanted to do right by him. He wanted to see him restored and thriving. He was his robot buddy that made a birthday gift for his kid once. Some part of him probably misses him after he's gone, some part of him probably feels guilty too, even through all the rage and hurt and fear and betrayal. That's complicated feelings!! That's juicy!!!!!

I like the thought of Shockwave and Optimus but that's mostly for sexy reasons. Something about a big, smooth talking, scary cryptid monster, very well spoken and elegant, seducing Good, Upstanding Autobot Optimus to The Dark Side. This is mostly because Optimus is a huge nerd and so is Shockwave. I think Shockwave could potentially pique his interest with uncensored versions of the history Optimus is already a huge dweeb about, and seal the deal with a few gentle touches and honeyed words. From Optimus's perspective this is Very Obviously a Honeypot Trap but the trouble is Shockwave is very hot and very sweet on him and starting to seem less and less evil so he's not sure how long he can keep his guard up when the temptation is this strong. He has a duty to fight Decepticons and shut out their lies but man. He's so tired. And Shockwave's berth is very warm. There is something satisfying about seeing him choose to be selfish after nearly a whole show of him taking the high road. (It's even better if he gets attached when eventually Shockwave's Cool Sexy Collected vibes falter and he sees how much of an anxious, panicky dork he actually is)

Ratchet x Arcee are also very very cute together. Old married dorks. Ratchet's so soft with her and he wants her to be okay. She genuinely likes him and he makes the nightmare she's subjected herself to bearable. "Don't call me sir, I work for a living!" They're both horrifically traumatized, they understand each other on a level most bots can't, and they can ground each other when it gets bad. God. You know they're slow dancing in the kitchen together. You know they're sickeningly domestic with each other. They are holding hands in the park on a comically small bench on earth right as we SPEAK.

I also just kind of like the idea of team prime being a polycule (other than ratchet, who is just watching the young bots having relationship drama and rolling his optics (the age gap and mentor role make me personally a little uncomfortable but I have nothing against people who do include him, they're all adults, its chill)). I like the thought of these losers getting home after a long day and collapsing into a cuddle pile, either on the couch or on the floor. They all love each other so much already, I think they should kiss about it, but they're super repressed so it's So Very Shy and Cautious and Sweet.

The same goes for the Decepticons but more in a "cons are pretty casual about sex anyway, they're in close proximity, and they tolerate each other at least so nearly everyone has a fuck buds setup with each other" way. I feel like the autobots are super repressed in that regard so the cons started leaning into being sluts to stick it to the mech along with all the other freaks shit they're cool with. God help Blackarachnia, she goes from Autobot repression to all her coworkers being sluts on main and she Does Not Know what to do about that (also it would make a lot of sense if that's why she started leaning into the femme fatale thing so hard)

TFP

Optiratch my beloved. Gay old men who would do anything for each other, even when they really don't agree on how to proceed. They're best friends, they're husbands, they're crushing on each other and they think it's unrequited, they just started dating, they've been married for eons. All of it works soooo well. They know each other well enough that they can communicate by just kinda grunting in specific ways. I need them to hold hands SO bad.

Megop is also Very Good here. Literally the most divorced robots to ever exist. Megatron NEEDS Optimus back and Optimus still holds a torch for megs, but it's so fucking funny because they're clearly on fundamentally different levels of "I miss you." Like Optimus is kinda sad and he does want the old Megatronus back, but Megatron does these whole fuckin elaborate stunts to get Optimus to pay attention to him again and then locks himself in his room with a pint of ice cream and dark energon to cry about him. Mans is NOT coping. Alternatively, Optimus is coping just as poorly on the inside and he really does still love Megatron just as much but he knows that's a selfish desire that he quiets with everything else he sacrifices about himself in the name of being a good leader. Least repressed Optimus.

Bulkhead and wheeljack should get to kiss on the mouth I think. If Arcee can call Wheeljack Bulkhead's boyfriend, and bulkhead does not deny it, logic dictates they should in fact French kiss sloppy style for a whole minute on live TV. It can happen. Only on the hub.

KOBD are adorable together, they are so unhinged and stupid and they love each other so much. Like the team rocket of the nemesis. Breakdown loves his husband soooo much and knockout misses him so bad when Silas gets him. And you KNOW they're freaks bc knockout is totally convinced that breakdown would've loved seeing how he torments Silas in bd's body. He's probably right about it too.

I also wholly support Ms. June Darby for trying to seduce Optimus. Me too girl, get that robo ass. Go get jack a new cooler dad. It's also very cute to imagine Optimus, the bigass 30 foot robot, the stoic leader of the Autobots who keeps stonefaced through just about anything, flustered and crushing on a very small and very flirty human.

For some reason the show was kind of trying to tease Bulkhead x Arcee for exactly one episode and then never again and like. Look. I understand it was a forced het ship that was there to distract people from how gay they accidentally made the show. I know it'd probably just be Arcee rebounding after losing Cliffjumper. But I think them having a fwb type relationship while she works through her feelings could be interesting. Though this could just be because Bulkhead is big sweet and comforting and him holding anyone and making them feel safe while they're Going Through it is enough to get me saying God I Wish That Were Me.

Bumblebee and Smokescreen appeal to me in the same way seemingly very hetero frat bros who are apparently a very sweet and affectionate gay couple do. It's an inherently funny irony and also theyre just both cute himbos.

TFP Megastar is horrifically unhealthy in general and there is absolutely no way in hell it could work out. Not pre-war, not post-megs-redemption, nada. Which is why it has my brain in a chokehold. This is one of the ships I like because it's fascinating and because god it HURTS. Like I have my gripes with how the show portrayed the abuse overall but there were some things they were cooking with. Starscream being an obvious victim but then turning around and inflicting it on everyone around him? Girl no, the cycle of violence and abuse!!!! Girl no, you're refusing to do the complex emotional work of accepting that what happened to you wasnt okay and thus you carry out the behaviors you've gaslit yourself into thinking are normal!!!!!! Girl no, society has failed you and you have no support systems to help you break the cycles, but you also simply refuse to try in the first place because your pride wouldn't allow it!!!!!!!!!!!!!! No girl!!!!!!!!!!!!!! The cortical psychic patch was literally my fave showcase of their dynamic in the whole show. "I don't want to play this game anymore!" Like jfc ouch. Also the thought of post redemption Megatron lamenting how he treated Starscream, not having considered the damage he's done to him before now. Trying to make it right and only making it all worse by inserting himself into Starscream's life again and realizing how badly he's broken him, how fucked it is that Starscream seems to revere him after EVERYTHING. God. GOD. I'm in agony.

Speaking of starscream in the cycle of abuse, KOSS has postcanon potential. (Post Predacons Rising, rid does not exist 😌) Like. They've proven they feel some type of way about each other. "I've always admired your lustrous finish." "😏" But Knockout was the first person in starscream's life to set a boundary in a healthy way. And when starscream inevitably ignores those boundaries and knockout leaves, you know how much it fucking hurts starscream to realize how badly he fucked up. But of course, the pride. He can't apologize. Can't admit he's the reason knockout betrayed him. So he'll choke back the tears. He'll try to, anyway. But he can't stop the agony in his voice while he feebly spits out "Fine! I hope Unicron eats you too!!" You know the second they shut the door on him, the waterworks started, and so did the closest thing to self reflection Starscream's ever done. He Has the Potential to be Better with Knockout, but he NEEDS to put in the work, and the suspense of wondering if he WILL fucks my whole shit up.

Rescue Bots

It is so close to canon that blades and bumblebee are boyfriends. Hell I believe it pretty much IS canon. He loves that bug so much. He gets jealous when he hangs out with Dani and not him. He hugs him for a photo the first chance he gets. And since we know blades is confirmed as being into dudes, I think we all know what they were getting at. TFP bumblebee has an anxious twink boyfriend that lives in Maine and we have no idea whatsoever if the rest of team prime knows.

Graham and boulder pine for each other like you would not believe. Once again, pretty much canon. You can't just have boulder keep telling Graham "well I like you just how you are" when Graham's trying to impress a girl and expect me to not think he has a big stupid gay crush on his best friend. They love each other so much as partners and as friends, I know damn well they'd be SICKENINGLY cute together as boyfriends. They'd probably try to stealth it at first bc a human and a giant robot alien in love? What'll the others think?? Gotta keep it secret. Sneaking off into the woods so Boulder can work on his "art projects" but in fact they are kissing. They're not as slick as they think they are, Chief Burns 100% picks up what's going on but he lets them think they're sneaky. Nobody actually has any problems with it other than Kade making fun of them a little but don't worry that's just him projecting.

On the opposite side of the spectrum, Heatwave and Kade are the worst fucking tsunderes about crushing on each other. Between heatwave refusing to let down the brooding tough guy persona and kade being so insistent on staying hyper masculine (to the point where mild internalized homophobia is inevitable), neither of them can just be honest about how much they mean to each other and they gotta resort to getting each other's attention by being mean in very low stakes ways. I am drowning, there is no sign of land, you are coming down with me, hand in unloveable hand, except they're not drowning and they're just dunking each other in a kiddie pool repeatedly.

Heatwave and quickshadow are fun for similar reasons but with less shit lord pranks and/or lowbrow bitching, and more classy verbal sniping and sparring with each other because heatwave thinks it's hot when quickshadow kicks his ass. They're insufferably competitive and I think that could be very fun and incredibly messy, especially since they both need to learn how to communicate. Very bisexual, they are forced to share the brain cell, 10/10

I also just enjoy the idea of all the bots being in a polycule the same way I like the idea for TFA's team prime. They're very sweet together and they clearly care about each other a lot. Its just kind of nice when they all hold hands together, you feel me? They're sneaking off to kiss in the bunker bc they don't know if the humans know dudes can like other dudes. They are also not as subtle as they think they are.

Oh also doc Greene and chief burns dated once when they were teenagers and it didn't work out but they stayed besties, nobody can change my mind on this.

Beast Wars

Dinobot and Megatron are exes, 100%. Dinobot is probably the only being in the known universe that Megatron actually kind of cares about other than himself and his rubber duck. Otherwise he wouldn't keep trying to fucking clone him to make a version that will never leave him. There's also some implications here and there that Megatron really did want the world to be better for Predacons (along with the desire for power, anyway) and that preds are genuinely treated unfairly, so there's a pretty compelling angle of dinobot having been drawn to megatron because he saw someone with noble goals and a way to fix their fucked up world before becoming disillusioned with the dishonorable tyrant he turned out to be.

Dinobot and Optimus are also very good together bc it really truly feels like Dinobot finally found the guy with honor he thought he saw in Megatron. And he's infuriating half the time because he isn't nearly as bloodthirsty as he's used to, but GODDAMN does he make him Feel Things. The entire episode Gorilla Warfare has me obsessed with them. The bitching. Dinobot freaking the fuck out and Optimus tenderly removing the seed pod stuck to the back of his neck that was freaking him out and only laughing at him a little. Dinobot constantly trying to choose violence. The stupid smile when Optimus also chooses violence and Dinobot realizes he fucked up. THE BEDSIDE VIGIL. "It was my shift" AND YOU KNOW THEY WEREN'T TAKING SHIFTS. THE FLOWER ON THE BEDSIDE TABLE. "it is good to have you back." "Back home or back to normal?" "...both." THEY'RE HOMOSEXUAL, YOUR HONOR.

Dinobot (shit maybe I just really like dinobot) with Rattrap is good for similar reasons but the vibes are totally different. DoOp is all soft and sweet and patient and light ribbing, Dinotrap is talking shit at each other as a love language. Dinobot is a good guy but he's also, fundamentally, a bitch. Rattrap has proven he can match his freak by bitching right back. They love each other by pretending to hate each other. To the point where if Rattrap doesn't hear any comebacks he genuinely starts worrying because "oh, we aren't playing the game, why aren't you playing, are you okay?" They have so many soft tender moments where they prove they actually love each other. Their last conversation is talking shit!!!! "You're just a slag spouting saurian, but it's nice to know where you stand." "Upwind of you for preference, rodent." They loved each other!!!!!! Rattrap is fucked up over losing him!!!!!!!!!!! It's bittersweet, it's tragic, it hurts so bad and I love them so much!!!! They're stupid your honor!!!!!!!!!!!!

On a much sillier side, I do love Rattrap x Rhinox. Rattrap kissed that man twice. On the mouth. On screen. Annoying little gremlin who goes "nyehhhh" x big stoic dude who goes "hn." And they're both tech guys so they probably work on projects together a lot. And they all survive and are fine bc beast machines isnt real 💖

I have my problems with Silverbolt in general but I cannot deny that he and Blackarachnia are pretty damn cute together. He loves his girlfriend, they trash her shitty ex together, she loves that he doesn't try to change her. She gets to be the bad girl and the sweet knight in shining armor still loves her. "Dark poison of my heart" like c'mon.

Airazor and Tigatron are also pretty cute AND they have the honor of being the first canon gay couple in the tf franchise bc of the Japanese dub, which made Airazor a dude but left the romance unchanged (the Japanese dub was also just generally fuckin insane tho so it's not all that shocking).

Waspinator and Terrorsaur are boyfriends for real and for canon, John hasbro told me himself.

RiD 2001

I ship skybyte with that one girl that lives in a state of constant talking-car-based torment. Why? Because when I watched rid with my roommate we had a running joke that eventually they'd meet and have a whole robotfucker romcom arc and it kinda just stuck. This is my only rid ship and I will not be taking criticism on it.

Cyberverse

Bumblebee, Hot Rod and Cheetor are in a polycule together and nobody can tell me they aren't. Just how it's gotta be.

I want Perceptor and Dead End to kiss so badly. They're technically canon already given how hard the creators ship them. They hold hands your honor. "only a bolthead would go out there... UGH I'm such a BOLTHEAD" HES IN LOVE YOUR HONOR.

Hot Rod and Soundwave are great as enemies to lovers, they're so annoying 💖. I feel like they'd start playing gay chicken and be married with three kids wondering when the other guy is gonna back out.

SHOCKWAVE AND WHEELJACK OH MY GOD. fellas is it gay to program your drones which are just tiny versions of your own altmode to dance funny to Tetris music specifically because it makes your lame ass boyfriend laugh and then keep that function eons after you break up and still remember exactly what the command is? Fellas is it gay to get kidnapped by your ex and then get really excited about all the cool shit he's been making while you were separated? I wish they could've gotten a happy ending man, they could've been so cute together.

I don't ship it romantically but I believe in Grimlock & Arcee qpr. They love each other so so much they would've readily died for each other. I love their dynamic, they're insane 💖

Same goes for Shadowstriker and Soundwave tbh. Decepticon besties, and Shadowstriker being aro kinda just feels right. I like to think they cuddle and talk shit about Shockwave while Sounders blasts heavy metal. They play cod as the most insufferable duo.

Megop in cyberverse is so good because it really feels like they Had a relationship but it was unstable and moved too fast and they just assumed they were on the same page about things without communicating properly until suddenly they were in serious disagreement, and TRIED to work it out in a mature way but they were simply Doomed From the Start. And then it culminates in a whole fucking war but it rages so long, and they are so tired of fighting, and they realize they want to try again because nobody was really to blame for how things ended because they both handled it poorly. I wish they got that chance to try again properly. I wish when Optimus retired to just fuck around and vibe, he could've taken Megatron with him. I wish they could've fallen in love all over again.

Oh also Slipstream and Windblade being lesbian enemies to lovers bait was Fucking Phenomenal and I Love it So Much. They're smug and terrible and I want them to make out. They can make each other worse 💖

I have not seen that much of g1 but I do know a few things are absolute truth.

Soundwave is gay for Megatron. This is arguably reciprocated.

Shockwave is gay for Megatron. This is not reciprocated but it is taken advantage of.

Starscream vacillates between gay for Megatron and trying to kill him. Megatron seems to reciprocate but only a little bit. Enough to keep him alive because he's cute. But megs also gets a lot of cuteness aggression so he feels the need to chuck starscream against the wall every now and then.

Powerglide and Astoria are tied for the pinnacle of robot on human romance in the entire tf franchise with Tracks and Raul, and if none of them come back in ANY tf media, I will riot.

Cliffjumper and Mirage have fucked at least once.

Wheeljack and Ratchet are gay married.

Optimus is bisexual and he loves elita-1 but there is something distinctly homoerotic going on with Megatron.

Conclusion

I like when the robots kiss <3

#not polls #anon i hope this is what you wanted #bc once i get going i simply do not shut up.#megatron's bookmark

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