#I firmly believe in doing it when I have the muse so it comes out better
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married life [m.reader]
this is me taking the first step in creating the househusband hcs of our tall hsr men for us gays and bi kings. happy pride ansismdkf (i mean to say that also in haitham’s post bUT OH WELL). anyway, i still hate luocha. otto trauma so true so real (honestly, his only saving grace in mhy games is ayato because he’s not blond). today, we have ourselves some househusbands.
𖦹 househusband hcs with gepard, sampo, jing yuan, blade, dan heng, caelus and old man welt, no luocha but i’m open to be convinced why i should start loving him, mostly fluff, domestic stuff, modern au though… aren’t they more modern if they can travel the space? huh. normal world au then. forgot to add that ceo reader is implied
GEPARD LANDAU
He’s a very reluctant househusband at first, actually. He’s one who firmly believes that relationships are a team effort (and they are and should be), and thinks that it wouldn’t hurt for the both of you to work together. Of course, you encourage him regardless, and with both of your career-oriented selves, you were basically the couple that could foster a ten or so children and still be financially sound.
Serval is the one who convinced Gepard to lay low a little in his job and relax for once. You’re making a decent income a month — enough for you to be the only one working and still have a comfortable life together.
You have to thank your sister-in-law and her craftiness. She wasn’t Gepard’s sister for nothing. She knew your husband more than anyone and knew that he was too down bad to even refuse in entertaining the thought of not taking care of you. All she had to do was do a little convincing.
“If I were [Name], I sure wouldn’t mind coming home to a nice meal like this every night,” she’d muse with a hum while she ate off of Gepard’s cooking. He came home early that one night and thought to surprise you. Of course, Serval just had to taste test since she’s looking out for you, her beloved brother-in-law. “Also wouldn’t mind being taken care of by my own spouse…”
Gepard quickly folded. What if his sister was right and you wanted that kind of life? But it’s not like he also wants to quit his job just like that. So he made a gradual decrease in work until he can finally have a schedule that can commit as a househusband and occasionally help when he’s needed at work as a consultant.
Your beloved husband is a bit mid from the start — basic in cooking, in chores, but it’s his perseverance that pushes him up to S-tier househusband status. He will really go out of his way to learn recipes that you suddenly brought up in the middle of a conversation and will execute it to the highest standards. He will become a lot more meticulous in his chores around the house.
If he can, he’s definitely the type to drop by and join you in lunch. He’s a lot more free now, and if there’s nothing else to do in the house, he’ll take some lunch and go to where you work and just eat lunch together. Everyone is looking at the windows of your own office in envy while they watched you get spoon fed by your cute husband (they don’t know how embarrassed Gepard is since you technically just coerced him to feed you so people can see you on purpose).
So very attentive to you. He wakes you up early (even earlier if you have meetings where you have to discuss things to be extra prepared) for work. Your lunch is just top tier, but the plating is too cute — with the slightly uneven shapes to create cute animals. He’s the kind to even put a note in your packed lunch every time without fail.
He knows how hard you work and only wants the best for you. And when you recognize his efforts, he’s quick to get flustered from your compliments. He will fold like a wet cardboard. He’s too weak.
“Dear, please,” you could only laugh at your beloved’s winsome attitude. Currently pressed against the marbled counter of the kitchen, you can only shower him in a plethora of love-filled kisses as you expressed your unending gratitude. Your lips left tiny pecks from his cheeks down to his neck, only serving to fluster him even more.
You pulled back but not before leaving another quick kiss on his nose, “What’s got you all knotted up, love? No one’s watching.” You cooed, leaving your poor husband whining at the thought of earlier — when you so cruelly asked him to feed you in front of your subordinates while you busily ‘worked’ on your projects.
But somehow even with the unbridled embarrassment that you brought to him, Gepard couldn’t help but feel the elation engulf his entirety at the prospect of you showing him off in your own mischievous ways. Even with your busy schedule, you were more than willing to let him come inside your work and take the time off just to let him join you for lunch. He’d already heard enough drama around the neighborhood to be grateful that you can still balance your work with your marriage.
He was grateful to have you as his partner for life. And even then, he wouldn’t mind having to visit you just to feed you. It was certainly a rare thing that he’s heard partners would suggest, so to be given a privilege as seeing you everyday at work was something he would cherish more than ever.
A kiss on his temple knocked his fleeting thoughts off the rail and pulled him back to reality, blinking at your curious smile, “…Shield for your thoughts?” You inquired with a gentle tone, eager to pry just what has got your husband so spacey all of a sudden.
He only grinned before pulling you in for a proper kiss and murmured against your lips, “Just thanking my lucky stars for having you as my husband.”
Now it was your turn to be flustered.
𐂂
SAMPO KOSKI
Your friends still think you’re a legend for even managing to wife up the untamable Sampo. But somehow, you pulled him in and he was more than willing to be a househusband. For more reasons than one.
But let’s get out the pinnacle of his reasons out of the way — it being, him living so comfortably? Financially supported by a handsome guy like you? Sign him up. He’s more than willing to take care of you while you take care of him. He’s a sleazy guy, after all. Wouldn’t wanna get married to a broke man. Kidding.
Anyway, he mostly sells the story of getting married just for benefits for laughs. But really, you’ve somehow managed to actually trap him as a prisoner of love. He’s a huge simp for you and actually considers your high-end job a bonus. A really good bonus. But other than that, you’ve got Sampo completely wrapped around your finger. And he’s a very eager househusband.
A surprisingly good househusband. He’s meticulous in his work and can cook. But what really sells him is how well he can budget and actively get discounts just by smooth talking the vendors in the market. You once went with him, telling him to go nuts and buy everything that he needs, and you came home with only just a good half of your money spent. He was scarily good and from then on, you made an oath to take notes from your husband’s amazing haggling skills.
He’s a very resourceful man. If you need anything, he’s there to lend a hand. He’s always there to fix equipments that break down. Really, you rarely get issues with the things at home, because the moment he senses that there’s something wrong, he’s already on the case. Your husband is a jack of all trades.
All he requires is a small fee of some attention and loving from you. Seriously, he will mope around and will let you know that he’s upset that you forgot to give him a goodbye kiss earlier when you left for work.
You wake up much earlier than he does, but please wake him up. He wants to cook you breakfast and see you off like a loving househusband that he is. He will sulk if you so much as even think of leaving him without waking him up. He’s a big drama queen and unless you make up for it once you get home, he will continue to walk around the house with a pout on his face.
The only way to make this man completely crumble underneath you is to spoil him. He’s working so hard with the upkeep of your shared home! If you take him out on surprise date nights, he will melt. Shower him with lavish gifts from all the money you saved up, courtesy of Sampo’s extreme bargaining. He will latch onto your arm the entire night like your pretty little arm candy (even if he’s taller than you).
Oh, right. You will get sudden visits from Natasha or even Seele and Oleg, just to check up on your married life. They’re mostly just there to whack some sense into Sampo if he’s being difficult to you. Suffice to say, they’re always surprised when they come visit your homely abode that’s clean and has a refreshing atmosphere. Seele plugs her ears every time you say it’s all because of Sampo that your house is even remotely presentable. She’s in denial.
It was a grueling day, leaving you completely vulnerable to the throes of exhaustion. You ought to take some vacation days, maybe go on a different country with your husband for a treat. Surely, he’d like that. You noticed he’s been working just as hard as you at home. Speaking of which — the reason for your home’s unfamiliar silence was in fact the lack of singing from your lively husband. You were so used to hearing his voice that the silence felt incredibly deafening when you were alone.
“Love? You home?” You called out, glancing at the shoe rack by the door to see his outdoor shoes in the same place and the indoor shoes missing. He’s here. You pursed your lips, brushing off the peculiarity and headed to the joint dining room and kitchen, seeing a nice still hot meal sitting on a nice plate. But it was the only thing on the table, no other plates or even a husband waiting on you with a smile. You peered at the food to see a card beside the plate, scribbled with a sad face.
“…What.” You sat the card back down before finally poking your head in the living room, seeing your husband watching another sad show while screwing in some panel from what you can only guess a part of your heater. You sauntered up from behind him, before grabbing his face and tilting his head up to meet your gaze.
He made no noise and had it not been for his evident pout, you would’ve only been left wondering what you did to make him so sulky again. You sighed before leaning to press a kiss against your lips. You could feel him finally smile against the kiss.
“So you still love me?” He asked, insinuating that you felt otherwise for not even giving him a kiss goodbye earlier.
“Not like I have a choice,” was your only cheeky response.
“Wha— Hey!”
𐂂
JING YUAN
Out of everyone, he is probably the most eager one to be a househusband. He is so ready to retire. He’s been moaning about it at work constantly, about how he’s just ready to settle in somewhere nice and be taken care of. And when you decided to finally tie the knot with him, you didn’t even have to ask twice, that man is already turning in his resignation and is already making your shared home even cozier than ever.
He’s a very languid man, but that does not mean he’s going to flake out on chores. He can do them all efficiently just for the sake of getting them out of the way so he can keep relaxing after. That, and of course making sure that you come home to a clean home. Aeons know how stressful it is to come home from work and seeing your own home completely cluttered. Jing Yuan has suffered the same thing before he met you.
Jing Yuan loves you through his cooking other than sleeping in with you. He creates the greatest dishes for you. Often are you eating your lunch with so much pride. Your subordinates would come inside your office during lunchtime to pass some papers and they would see you just completely enjoying life with your husband’s cooking.
He likes to greet you with a nice warm meal after your work. And he’d just watch you eat his meals with a fond smile while you continue to talk about each of your days with each other. Of course, occasionally, he’d open his mouth and you would have to feed him as well. Yanqing would sometimes come home to such a sight and never has he seen a more domestic scene than before.
Another one of his much favored ways to show his love is through after work massages. You’d come home and be completely smothered with love just by his touches. Sometimes he’d give you a nice neck and shoulder massage while you’re eating and talking about your day. Or you could both be lounging on the sofa and he would absentmindedly massage your overworked hands.
However his most favored time spent with you is when you’re on a day off and that he would successfully persuade you into staying a little bit longer in bed with him. Just sleep until the afternoon, with limbs tangled against one another. He loves spooning his husband that takes care of him so dearly. Just feeling your back pressed against his chest while he’s nuzzling his nose into the nape of your neck. Bliss. Utter bliss.
The two of you scream old married couple. Just two old geezers enjoying their lives. It’s really such a relaxing relationship. Being married to Jing Yuan is like a vacation from your problems and him being married to you is an adventure without the nauseating exhaustion.
Yanqing is inadvertently your child the moment you got married to your husband. And suffice to say, you were far more content in your life than you could ever imagine. Never have you felt the genuine happiness swell within you the moment you came home to the two of them cooking together. You still have a slightly motion blurred picture in your phone and neither of them know about it.
Overall the most chill househusband. But even in his passivity, you can feel the radiating warmth of love for you. He just… loves you so much that he’s more than willing to take care of you and the little family that you and him have created. He will wait for you by the door with his half-lidded gaze completely fixated on you with so much adoration. He’s lucky to have you.
You were used to the hectic mornings you often faced upon waking up. It was always a rush job in the morning, speeding through all your morning routine before finally leaving for work. But today was not that day. You could tell from the way the sunlight hit your eyelids. You always left just before the sun could even come up, but right now, you had other plans.
You wanted to prepare a nice breakfast for your husband. He had been working so hard all the time, taking care of you and Yanqing with no days off unlike you. You figured you could get the day started and surprise the both of them with some of your cooking prowess. Suddenly filled with the motivation, you sat up, ready to face the first hour of your time off work for a few days.
However, your plans were soon foiled when a strong arm hooked around your waist and immediately pulled you back down on the bed without even breaking a sweat. You sighed, looking off to the side to see one golden eye peering at you sleepily. Lips turning up into a smile, you shifted to fully face him.
“Can’t even let me make you some breakfast in bed, huh?” You teased with the same fondness as the very first day you and him got married.
A quiet grunt was all your lover gave, only to follow it up with his own gruff response a minute later, “While that sounds nice, I believe I can also reap benefits just from canoodling with my husband for let’s say… until the afternoon.”
Your hands were tied at that point, and with one last charming smile from your dozing husband, you dove into his arms, letting him press some kisses on your face before falling asleep, with you following after.
𐂂
BLADE
No one in this world knows how you managed to charm and marry Blade in the first place. Even his family considers you a miracle worker for bagging the hard to get man. You could only reminisce of the times he would give you the cold shoulder when you tried to ask him out. You were cringe but Blade somehow liked it.
Regardless, he’s one of the reluctant househusbands at first. Blade doesn’t like the feeling of not going out and making money like you. He believes that as long as he can, he will contribute to this relationship. It’s really adorable. And you were supportive of what he wants, but when he realized no one can take care of you while you’re busy being the breadwinner, he decided that he’ll take one for the team and take care of everything in the house instead.
He is meticulous in cleaning. Your house is always sparkling clean the moment you arrive at home. He’s constantly on the hunt for any dust that could taint your shared humble abode. He once read that an unclean house can cause sickness to the occupants, and he has never let a single dust touch a furniture ever since then. Your health is his priority and he will do everything in his power to keep you healthy.
You know what? Screw it, he wears his apron without a care too. He goes out of the house in a pink frilly apron you gifted him as a silly little joke and he’s not ashamed of it. Even Kafka’s incessant teasing isn’t enough to deter him from wearing it. You gave it to him and he loves it. That’s all that matters.
Surprisingly loved by your neighbors. In contrast to his gloomy disposition, he’s always seen around the market and with people’s tendency to draw closer to mysterious handsome men like him, let’s just say he’s managed to unintentionally charm your neighbors. Everyone calls you lucky for getting him, everyone calls him lucky for having a good husband that provides.
Really, he cares so little about the money you make. All he needs is your love and attention. It is imperative that you give him calls on certain times of the day, let him know that you’re still alive at the very least. It’s not like you can’t make do on such a promise either, you loved calling him just to take a break from work for a little while. Even just hearing his quiet grunts of agreement while you gossiped about your subordinates was enough.
He wakes you up… like really early. Super early. Like at least a few hours before you call in for work. His reason? To get enough time with you before you go to work. It’s adorable. You two could be just lounging at the balcony, sipping coffee or tea while you both watch the sunrise.
Speaking of which, with him comes a package. His aforementioned family. Kafka and Silver Wolf’s visits are a must. They are a part of him and now they are a part of you. Kafka could be dropping by just to chat and gossip with you (somehow both of you know a lot about people’s own businesses) or Silver Wolf would just barge in and hog all your game systems (she says no one plays them since you’re both old men so she gets the privilege). Either way you’re already used to it, and one guest room is always at the ready.
Getting married to Blade is honestly the best thing you’ve ever done in your life. You still don’t know how you pulled him, but with him resting on you while the both of you watched shows, showing you his vulnerability tells you that doing so is not an accident or a mistake.
“…Would it kill you to step back a little? It’s hard to cook.”
“But you’re so warm. So soft… so…”
Quite possibly out of all the forms of affections that you’ve expressed towards him, Blade finds your nosy hands cupping around his chest from under his clothes the least practical. Especially when you’re doing it while he’s cooking your breakfast before you’re off for work.
He flipped the omelet with ease despite his claims of difficulty just seconds ago. Of course, it wasn’t as hard when he’s standing still. But on times where he had to go get some things, you in your sleepy daze had to trudge behind him like a shadow just to persistently warm your incredibly cold hands.
Regardless, other than the difficulty in moving, Blade finds it even harder not to burn the kitchen down as his concentration dwindled with every kiss you pressed against his neck, unrelenting and incredibly soft, so filled with love in every individual peck that met his skin. His face turned a rather dark shade of scarlet while you busied yourself with him.
“Keep this up and you’re going to be late.”
“At least it’s extra time with you~” you cooed.
Blade only sighed before leaning against your back, using his free hand to softly knock into the side of your head as his form of half-assed discipline.
Well. Maybe he wouldn’t mind that extra time too.
𐂂
DAN HENG
He’s not so much as a reluctant househusband. In fact, he relishes in the idea of just staying home and doing his work there. He likes the comfort of being able to sit things out for once after having to look after his two gremlins for friends. However, he does want to make sure that you’re always safe when you’re working.
After a lot of reassurances, he finally decides that you can handle your own. He will compensate for it by taking an extremely good care of you and your shared home. And this man does not play around. He’s sort of like Blade, excelling at everything that needs to be done not just because, but it’s to keep you safe. He cooks you healthy meals and scrubs any dirt off the face of the world.
Easily one of the greatest househusbands in the list. Dan Heng has the right temperament and while he’s often aloof to most people, when it comes to you, you could already feel how he seems more lenient, a little softer on you.
He does all his work efficiently to get them over with as fast and as best as he can so he can have time to visit you in your work. If he knows he has time, count on your beloved husband to come and bring you some freshly cooked lunch in your office. Almost everyone in your company already knows who he is. He’s the elusive husband of the big boss, coming in just to bring you some lunch.
Speaking of which, might wanna keep your subordinates in check. Dan Heng is a looker, and the fact that he’s just as considerate, combined with his mysterious nature, people are bound to be more attracted to him. Though honestly, none of their little admiration could measure up to Dan Heng’s love for you.
In his eyes, you are the only one important, right next to his own family with Himeko and the rest. And he will do all that he can to make sure that you’re alright in any aspect of your life. However even with that dedication, it’s also your job to keep him intact. He focuses so much on you that he sometimes forgets to wind down.
Taking him out on something with a serene atmosphere usually does the trick. Bring tons of books to entertain yourselves, and if the stories get too old, you chat about things you have yet to tell each other. Dan Heng really appreciates the effort you put in, investing your time in him despite the fact that you’re running a conglomerate, but even then just a little gesture from you is enough for him to know how grateful you are for his own efforts as well.
Old married couple 2.0. March said so herself when she decided to barge into your home to show you her pictures from her recent travels. She and the raccoon are tied at the tally of visits. Often they just crash just to make sure Dan Heng hasn’t driven you insane yet with his very… unromantic nature. Safe to say March still couldn’t believe that dear old Dan Heng was the first to pop the question in tying the knot.
Speaking of unromantic, your husband does come off as one, often giving you practical solutions than giving you any words of comfort when you’re stressed. And perhaps it’s because you understood that’s his way of romancing you that you and him ended up married in the first place.
Exhaustion was more of a friend than a foe after having to bury yourself in the tower stacks of paperwork. It’s times like these that you had to wonder if running the family company is even worth it.
“I’m too tired to driiiiive,” you whined, looking at the spreadsheets in exasperation.
And as if he had a sixth sense, a knock on your door was heard and you gave the green light with little regard for the person behind the door. You then looked up and almost cried at the sight of your beautiful husband, with two coffees in hand.
“Come on, I’ll take you home,” it was all he had to say to prompt what little motivation you had left in your system, letting your sluggish self spring back to life. You bound to him with a grateful smile on your face and greeted him with an embrace.
You took one cup from him and graced him with a kiss on his cheek, “Hang on, let me get some take home work. I need to at least finish a good third of this.”
Your poor husband was a lot more worried than he could let on with his stoic face — seeing you on the ropes, completely hard at work and barely functioning at the sheer exhaustion was almost enough to tempt him into stopping you from bringing home your work. Alas, he supported you regardless and only thought to compensate for your extra work with an even better dinner.
“Anything you want for tonight?” He asked, thoughtful as always.
“Mmm… chicken fried rice?”
“Chicken fried rice it is.”
𐂂
CAELUS
Not a single soul expected for this man to get married. Everyone thought he’d just end up on the streets willingly, constantly rummaging through trash can after trash can, falling in love with one and settling down with it in his own odd way. Surprise surprise, he is now a househusband that digs through the high end trash cans placed inside your shared home.
Quite frankly, if Caelus was being honest, he also did not expect to trip into you and quite literally fall in love. And for you to reciprocate it. He always thought you two were just the best of friends, with you supporting his hobbies with little to no judgment. So imagine his surprise that he keeps feeling every time he wakes up right next to you (and right next to his five foot pillow of a trashcan, but it’s a separate affair on its own).
Moving aside your husband’s very odd addiction of living the life of a trash panda, Caelus is actually a pretty decent househusband. His specialities are mostly the meals he makes for you. They’re always so delicious and is often the highlight of your day even without him around.
He’s very active around the neighborhood and is always armed with the latest news around town. The other stay at home spouses love him. And you were quite surprised to find out that he’s far more connected in the very place you both live in than you could ever be. When you’re free, you’d sometimes accompany him to the market and somehow end up staying very late because a lot of people recognize him and seem to want to chat with him.
Caelus parades you around as his beloved husband and people are just dropping jaws when they realize you have definitely been interviewed in one of those famous magazines about businesses and all that jazz.
Surprisingly, just like Sampo, Caelus is your man when it comes to spending wisely and learning how to haggle. He knows his way around almost everything and even you couldn’t help but be proud of yourself of fishing out such a dashing man that is wise in finances. Good man, honestly.
One fact about him that you like are his skills in caring for children. There’s something so wonderfully domestic whenever you would come home early and see him playing with the children — Hook and Clara, if you can recall. He’s mostly just babysitting for them on days that he’s not completely hammered to death with housework.
His favorite thing to do with you is grocery shopping at night. Just the two of you cruising around every aisle, more often than not, you’d push the cart with him in it getting gradually buried by every item you decided to purchase. It’s a good way to spend some time together while getting something productive done. And perhaps coax you into buying a little more food than you and him intended in the first place. Dan Heng always advices you not to be too swayed by your husband antics… but it’s clearly not working.
Caelus is a silly little man, with his weird eccentric jokes and his equally strange fascination for all things related to trash cans. But it’s probably because of this that you found yourself enamored. He is your respite in the suffocating world of your workforce. He pushes you in situations you never thought would be fun unless he was with you.
“If you loved me, you would’ve gotten ten more boxes of cookies.”
“And if you loved me, you wouldn’t be willingly burying yourself in that cart instead of helping me pick between chocolate or strawberry milk.” You quipped back with a snarky grin, not even bothering to look at your childish husband who continued to be sprawled out in the cart at ten in the evening while you shopped.
Caelus pouted, you always did make good points. It’s why he could never win an argument against you. Or maybe he could… if he wasn’t so completely smitten at the sight of you. You were always seen as the dignified boss of your company, dressed in three piece suits that could suffocate anyone and their wallet.
But here you were, dressed in a loose shirt (likely one of his just judging from the fit) and some pair of joggers that you haphazardly threw on.
Absolutely breathtaking.
He lent out a hand to reach for the carton of flavored milk that you finally chose, adding it onto the pile. He waited until you were at the end of the cart, getting ready to muscle your way through pushing an incredibly heavy cart, courtesy of your husband.
Caelus looked up at you, “Don’t I at least get a kiss for helping out?”
“Cae, I’m dying from pushing you. How ‘bout we entertain that incentive once you got out of the cart and started helping me, hm?”
Maybe he’s just a simp, but how could he deny his demanding husband’s whims?
𐂂
WELT YANG
This old man is the definition of a reluctant retiree. Well, it’s not actually a retirement for him. He still gets to be the voice of reason, only that he won’t actually personally animating. Who’s to blame? You. To be accurate, this old man officially decided to step down from his hands-on job as an animator so he can be a househusband. You’re a priority after all, and only the heavens know how bad you need to be taken care of.
Welt joins the ranks of a godly househusband. He knows his way around almost every single thing that needs to get fixed. His cooking? Top tier. His housework game? Absolute perfection. Floors are swept, counters are wiped and dusted, sheets and clothes are washed and pressed. He is perfect.
And on top of that, he still manages to balance his work from home as the consultant for any new anime that is about to be produced and can still care for you without even breaking a sweat. Old man Welt is always pulling through.
So let’s get this out of the way — actual old married couple. Not just vibes. You two are old men who look at the screen with squinted eyes. Well, only Welt does that while you laugh at him and then proceed to forget where you placed your own phone despite being on it just a few minutes ago.
Regardless, you live a much more balanced life, just two husbands cruising through life with little worries. You live on a good neighborhood, living comfortably and get a lot of visits from yours and Welt’s friends/family. Most of which are from the trio and Himeko. You and Welt always host these family dinners on weekends where everyone is free. Life is good.
However despite all the glamour of living a comfortable life in this marriage, there is one glaring difference between you and Welt — mostly it’s the fact that you have worse time management than he does and often gets the short end of the stick, always pummeled to death with your paperwork that could leave anyone in a fit of raw despair. Welt looked at your work the one time you left to answer a phone call from office and shuddered at the heavy load.
Welt is essentially your clock when it’s time to unwind from work. You have a tendency to overwork at times and it’s something that Welt always makes sure to keep an eye out for. He just wants what’s best for you, and oftentimes, what’s best is for you is to finally get some shuteye after suffering through another overnight that you pulled.
Also, there is an unspoken rule of not letting any man with long blonde hair inside your home. It’s just a house rule. The top of all other house rules in fact, as it takes the most priority in fulfilling.
Regardless, Welt is so… househusband-shaped. He knows what to do as one and does a damn good execution of it all. Maybe it’s because of his compassionate self that you were quick to fall for the old man. He didn’t even have to try and show off, all he had to do was be himself and you’d still give him the world with every penny you’ve earned from your job.
A taut frown tugged onto Welt’s lips as he squinted on the labels from the spices that Himeko sent from her recent overseas trip. Not that he didn’t trust his good friend’s tastes in any form of flavor, it’s only that he wanted to make sure none of it had any ingredient that could probably send you into an anaphylactic shock. Yes, he is this meticulous when it comes to you.
Alas, his cautiousness grants no extra clear sight in viewing the labels and he struggled, holding them in different proximities. Are the characters really that small intentionally or are they so incoherent because they manufacturers made an error in the sizing the font before printing it on the packaging.
Fortunately for him, you came into the rescue as you plucked the packaging from his hands. Welt didn’t need to look up to see the same smug smile plastered on your face whenever you’d catch him doing the same thing to his phone. Well, he loved looking at you so he did it nonetheless.
“Having trouble again, old man?” You teased and Welt only had to sigh in response. “Is this from Himeko’s package?”
Your endeared husband nodded, “Of course. I had to see what else she gave us. And I’m looking over the ingredients so I can keep you out of the hospital as best as I can.” He turned to the stove and lowered the heat. “Now kindly read it for me, dear.”
You only nodded, flipping over the packet, “Sure thing.”
There was a silence that followed, with Welt expecting you to run your mouth about the ingredients already. He looked back to you…
…And saw you squinting at the same bundle of text that he’s been staring at.
Welt scoffed, playful and light in nature, “And you call me old.”
“It’s the manufacturer’s fault…!!”
#you’d think i learned my lesson after doing the shivers with 8 characters. but nope. Here we are with seven.#OOH. now i wanna make an hsr men version of the shivers scenario thingy that i made for the tall genshin men#jhuzen’s stupid hcs#hsr x male reader#honkai star rail x male reader#gepard x male reader#sampo x male reader#jing yuan x male reader#blade x male reader#dan heng x male reader#caelus x male reader#welt yang x male reader
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Guilty Pleasures ( chapter four )
18+ 5.2k homelander x plus size f!reader. office romance, stalking, voyeurism, office sex, cunnilingus, cream pie, breast play, flight sex, lite overstim, riding. nebulously takes place post s1. part 4/4. AO3 link. CH I CH 2 CH 3
Homelander takes what's his, and you get what's yours.
welcome to the final chapter! thanks so much for reading. i really enjoyed the dynamic between these two, and i hope you do, too. 🖤
Homelander doesn’t hold it against you that you take him up on his suggestion to be absent the following day. He leaves a little peace offering in your office to say as much: a mug for your collection that reads simply, You’ve Been Mugged. He adjusts it seven times on your desk before he finally leaves it alone, surveying your office a while before letting himself out.
The thugs he lasered down in the alley don’t garner much attention, but it’s enough to warrant a statement on the truth of what happened. With them dead, the truth becomes whatever he makes of it, and his truth is that two vagabonds were assaulting a cherished Vought employee before he put a stop to it.
It’s precisely the kind of hero story the public loves.
“I acted on instinct,” he tells the newscaster. He relives the moment as he tells it, recalls only to himself how fierce you had been. How determined you were that if you were going to die, you would die fighting. “They were going to hurt her. I like to believe any good citizen in my position would have done the same.”
Madelyn taught him that conviction without contrition would always read as arrogance, so he speaks firmly but with a furrow to his brow, and he closes his eyes when he inclines his head to accept praise. No matter how dead she is, her voice remains an echo in his mind: follow the script, and you’ll be fine.
They use his words to segue into a discussion of gun control, and Homelander’s mind drifts somewhere distant, hearing without listening to the petty squabbles of humans crying about their little toys and laws. He supposes this is how God feels when humans pray to Him over every minor inconvenience. Bored and painfully above it.
While it’s easy enough to keep himself distracted during business hours, Homelander’s life comes to an abrupt halt alongside the end of the working day. Like the equipment that broadcasts him, there’s little use for him once the cast and crew goes home. All around him the employees commiserate at the end of their work day and pass around invitations to the bar.
He receives none.
Not that he would accept them if he did.
Seeking both council and companionship, Homelander finds himself in Noir’s apartment, seated in the chair Noir keeps for him. It’s the only one the hero owns, what with his interior design being deeply steeped in westernized ninja nonsense. The place is half dojo, half living quarters.
He laments his situation to Noir, explaining his patience in courting you, the lengths he’s gone to endear himself to you on a personal level, and the bitter sting of your rejection.
“See her,” Noir writes in his sketchpad, sitting on the floor on the other side of the low table. “If glad to see her, good. If not–”
Homelander snorts at the series of knife sketches that follow. He has no doubt Noir would put an end to anyone for any reason Homelander gave. Simplicity has allowed Noir an unwavering loyalty to Vought, and as an extension, Homelander himself. Luckily for you, he has no interest in that happening.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Noir,” he muses, clapping his hands on his thighs before he stands up. “You’re right. I’ll go see her. Thanks, buddy.”
Noir offers two thumbs up. A true uproar of approval.
Under the cover of darkness, Homelander returns to your house, the flight path a familiar one now. He lands silently on your roof this time, cocking his head. He’s not confident he’ll be able to resist your siren pull if he approaches now. He folds his hands behind his back and peers through each layer between him and your bedroom, stopping when he can see you.
You’re nestled deep in the splay of your blankets, lips parted around shallow breaths. He bites his own bottom lip, remembering how badly he’d wanted to feel them. Taste them. He’s certain now that if he allowed himself to be close enough, he would. Denial, for as much as it stung in that moment, has only made him hungrier for you. Fuck, the way he’s craved you from the moment you first brushed him aside.
He watches you shift in your sleep and his eyes narrow, honing in on a familiar flash. His stomach flips–it’s his cape, the fabric pinned between your blanket and your body. You really are sleeping with it, the star spangled blue fabric tucked up under your chin. Do you smell him on it? Homelander groans softly. Like your underwear in his bedside drawer, you sleep with a trophy of your own.
“Fuck,” he says, aching. His heart, his mind, his cock–all of it at once a cacophony of vicious yearning and impatience. The urge to peel the roof like a sardine can and carve his way straight to you nearly knocks the wind out of him, has him preemptively reaching for the shingled surface.
Only the lingering wound to his ego gives him pause. He’s been bitten once, leaving him shy to instigate, but this revelation feels like progress. You’re aching for him as much as he is for you. He’s sure of that now. It’s time that he made you feel that ache. Feel his absence. Then you’ll realize the foolishness of your coy game.
Clenching his jaw defiantly, Homelander lifts up into the sky.
He’ll be benevolent when you come to your senses.
The next day, Homelander keeps himself scarce, preoccupied. Ashley is perkier than usual, thrilled–if not suspicious–with his easy participation in whatever inane business she brings to him. It helps distract him from the endless feeling of waiting that he’s enduring.
He sticks stubbornly to his schedule, fantasizing about the torment his avoidance has surely wrought. He’s tempted a time or two to break, but each time he remembers the mortified Oh! you uttered before he kissed you, he refocuses himself.
You’ll come.
Not before lunch, but that is the perfect opportunity for it. He makes himself more available then, tapping his fingers against the armrest of his chair.
No sign of you.
He gives you the benefit of the doubt. A meal to embolden you.
Then you’ll come.
He waits.
Lunch long since over.
He waits.
The day is winding down.
He’s fucking tired of waiting.
Where the hell are you? He’s given you the entirety of the day to seek him out, ample opportunity to come thank him for his gift, to address the aching thing ruminating between you. You’d be a fucking liar to say you don’t feel it, too. By midday, he’s seething with impatience and hurt. There’s no chance he’s going to let you stand him up.
It’s precisely the wrong time for Ashley to rear her head back up. “Okay! That’s that, now regarding the amnesty for–”
“Ashley!” He snaps, a harsh and throaty sound. “Would you shut the fuck up?”
She stops in her tracks, staring wide-eyed. Of course it was too good to be true.
Homelander all but leaps to his feet, pushing out of his chair so hard that it flips backwards and into the wall in a heavy clatter. She clutches her vPad to her chest and quickly back steps out of his way, watching in frightened bewilderment as he storms from the room, making a beeline towards your office.
He doesn’t bother knocking this time. Still, his restraint is undeniable when he pushes your door open. He barely catches himself from pushing the damn thing clean off the hinges.
Your head snaps up from your computer, eyes wide. He hears your heart jump and he savors the alarm that shoots through you. Payback for the awful misery you forced him to endure in the hours since he last saw you. Still, the sight of you disarms him. For all his seething anger, there is something small in him that retreats it when your eyes are on him.
There’s a heaviness to your gaze that his strength can do nothing to alleviate. No incredible feat of his can wrench away what it is he wants from you. What he needs. It’s something you have to give him willingly, and that alone is enough to temper his rage. The familiar fear that you won’t.
He marches to the front of your desk and levels an accusatory finger on you.
“You like me,” he hisses, bending to brace his opposite hand on your desk.
You blink owlishly, lips parted. That clearly wasn’t what you expected him to say. He’s not sure it’s what he meant to say. “Homelander–”
“No,” he says, voice pitched low, a warning. “No, no. No games, no workarounds. You like me. You do. And I like you. So,” he abandons his point to make a vague encompassing gesture, but he doesn’t know what to say next. He didn’t think this far ahead. All day he had practiced the calm benevolence he would show when you approached him, chastised and yearning. He has nothing to back up this frenzied play for.
You stand. Homelander rises to his full height with you, jutting his chin out. He watches you with all the wariness of a wounded predator as you circle around your desk, your hand gliding along the wood like you would flank a horse so as not to spook it.
He can’t determine the intent behind your gaze. He angles his body towards you, facing you head on. You look like yourself again, in your element and free from the fawn fear of the alley. He can’t entirely decide which way he prefers you. When you were in his arms, he was your hero. In your office, his position feels more precarious.
The silence stretches on for hours–or seconds, it’s impossible to say–before he can no longer stand it. Sucking in a breath, he–
You kiss him.
Homelander goes shock still, hyper aware of your lips pressed feather light to his, your breasts against his chest, your hand on his forearm. He doesn’t know when he closed his eyes, but he senses when you begin to pull away.
In a flash he cups your face in his hands and pulls you in deep, inhaling sharply, like he’s only just remembered how to breathe. He kisses you, kisses you, kisses you as if he can trap you in the cycle of it. You don’t resist, you don’t tense. Instead, you sigh an angel’s breath against his lips. Only then does he break to look at you.
“I don’t understand,” he says, bewildered, flushed.
“I do like you,” you say, eyes glassy.
His brows pinch. “But… That night–”
“Wasn’t right,” you interrupt. “I wanted to kiss you, but not like that. Not then. Not because you saved me, not because I was in shock, not because of…” you rock your head side to side. “Whatever other bullshit… You let me down that night.”
“Let you down?” Homelander echoes, taken aback. “By saving your life?” He asks, his temper a perpetual simmer ready to flare. He’s immediately tempered by your hands taking his wrists, squeezing. You hold his gaze and your expression is gentle, but there is a firmness in your stare that he finds intoxicating. Not an ounce of fear, even when his anger emerges.
Good. You shouldn’t be afraid of him. He saved you.
“I was shaken. Badly. My date was an entitled asshole, those men, they tried to…” You shake your head, holding his hands to your face. “I didn’t need you to be a man. I needed you to be a hero. I wasn’t ready.”
A light in Homelander’s eyes flicks on. You just weren’t ready. He’d been right after all. He fixates on that, choosing to forgive you for that, at least.
“Well, why didn’t… You could have said something,” he says, feeling like a deflated hot air balloon, all slack expansion and heat with no purpose.
“I would have,” you say, your cheeks soft and round in his hands, lips slightly puckered from his hold on your face. “But you ran away.”
“What? I–” He laughs incredulously. “I did not run away.”
“Flew away,” you say, pushing in to kiss him again. He screws his eyes shut. Fuck, fuck. Oh fuck. He’s been dreaming of this, aching for it. To feel you against him, wanting him as much as he wants you. “Pretty fast, too. Looked like you shot straight up to the moon,” you say, breath hot and sweet on his lips.
“I…” He swallows, hands slipping down to either side of your neck, thumbs tilting your chin up. “I’m sorry. I wanted you,” he says, trailing his parted lips along your jaw, kissing and breathing you in the way he’s craved to. He can feel your skin growing hot against his lips, hear the uptick of your pulse as your heart begins to race.
“Do you still want me?” You ask, voice lower now. It sends a delicious hot pang all the way through him.
“You have no fucking idea,” he murmurs, nipping at the lobe of your ear, desperate to test the give of you under his teeth, the feel of your soft and yielding flesh branded into his memory the moment his lips touched your skin.
A knock snaps his attention away from you, but it isn’t at the door. He looks down and sees that it’s you knocking on your desk.
“So take me,” you say, voice laced with heat. His lips split into a wicked grin. He snatches the edge of your heavy wooden desk and effortlessly tips it backwards until everything slides off of it, clattering to the floor. He lifts you up, relishing your delighted little yelp, and places you down on the cleared surface like a doll, stepping in between your legs.
He kisses you again. Let me in, demands the press of his tongue. You yield to him, but it’s far from a surrender. Your tongue meets his eagerly, tasting him as much as he does you. Tasting you. That’s what he wants. He wants to map every inch of you with his tongue.
Homelander slips his hand between your legs, pushing your skirt up out of the way. He presses his fingers to the heat between your thighs, rubbing through the thin fabric of your panties. You sigh that same seraphic sound against his lips, slipping your hands up into his hair, already taking a handful of it to tug gently.
He breaks the kiss and takes his fingers from you after the barest tease of pleasure. The impatient sound you make goes straight to his cock, as does your flustered expression. He brings his fingers to his lips and drags his tongue over the leather of them, sliding them past his lips to give a quick suck. It’s not enough, too slight a hint of you. He needs more. You watch him with rapt attention, giving his hair a demanding little tug.
“You can pull as hard as you like,” he tells you with a smile, tilting his head against the grasp you have on his hair. “Tells me I’m doing a good job.”
“I’ll tell you when you’re doing a good job,” you rasp, giving his hair a sharp pull and then a downward push. That sends a shiver down his spine.
Fuck yes.
Homelander sinks down onto his knees, lifting each of your legs up over his shoulders. You give a little gasp when he yanks your ass to the edge of the desk, giddy with the way he manhandles you. He swallows, mouth dry, thirsty for the wet, heady smell of your pussy. He maneuvers his head under your skirt until he’s close enough to drag his tongue up the soft cotton of your panties. Your breath hitches and your grip in his hair tightens while you egg him on with sharp little rolls of your hips.
He closes his eyes, giving a rumbling moan for the taste of you, even through the fabric. He laps until the fabric is soaked, clinging to your skin, and he can feel your clit swollen and stiff on his tongue through your panties. He closes his mouth over it, sucking you through your underwear while you writhe above him, keeping yourself quiet.
That won’t do.
He wants to hear you.
He wants the whole fucking Tower to hear you.
Hooking the crotch of your panties with his finger, it only takes one sharp little tug to tear them, exposing you to him.
“Homelander,” you moan. The sound of it lances a spear of heat through him, leaves his cock throbbing needily in the rigid confines of his cup. He groans into you, rocking his hips against the empty air. The only proper answer is to dive in, to close his lips around your clit and finally suck the rich nectar of your cunt without the filter of fabric between you. You taste even better than you smell, like salt and sex and sweet ripe fruit. It overwhelms his senses immediately, his eyelids flickering.
The more he laps at you, the silkier your pussy becomes. Between circling your clit, he drives his tongue deep into you, drinking you down noisily and messily, a parched man gulping from an oasis. Your thick thighs are tight on either side of his head, your pulse pounding in his ears. He moans low and wicked for the taste and feel of you.
Your grip on his hair tightens sporadically, sharp little tugs that match the staccato cadence of your breaths. “F-fuck, your tongue feels-feels fucking unreal,” you moan, grinding down against it. The strength of it, the slight thrum of restrained power that courses through him, and the sheer relentlessness of his stamina is driving you wild against his mouth. “Fingers, use your fingers,” you tell him. He loves the rawness of your voice, the authority and desperation in your demand.
Removing one of his gloves, he moves his bare hand to the sweltering wetness of you, teasing his finger just below where his tongue is rubbing your clit. His index finger slips easily into the slick mess, and he savors the quiver of your velvet walls around it. He lets you ride his finger, stays all but still while you greedily bounce your hips, both hands fisted in his hair. You use him for your pleasure, and it makes him delirious with want.
Homelander's gaze flickers up. He peers through the layer of your skirt to catch a look at you, to watch you while you cannot watch him. You’re losing track of yourself, lips parted, eyes glazed with pleasure, shivering with each flick of his tongue and dive of his finger. Euphoria looks good on you.
Christ, he has been patient. He would chastise himself for waiting so long to touch you, to taste you, to feel you, but he can’t bring himself to. The wait gifted him with this exquisite hunger, and he proved something important; you both yearn for the other. You crave him. He can see it in your hazy eyes, taste it in the spill of your sweet cunt.
You belong to him. He needs only to take you.
One finger becomes two, and then three. Your heels dig into his shoulders and fuck yourself down on them, moaning recklessly now, not caring who hears you. It’s music to his ears.
“Fuck, Homelander, I-I’m coming, I’m-don’t stop, don’t stop,” you beg prettily. You don’t need to, but he enjoys the song anyway. He laps at your clit in quick upward pulls of his tongue, lips creating a seal around it. His brows furrow tightly, his own neglected arousal pounding through his body like a wardrum, but he doesn’t touch himself, too focused on you.
Your whole body locks up tight when you come, breath caught in your lungs, your clit fluttering delicately. He presses his tongue to it, savoring the taste of your euphoria, how it floods your system and changes the flavor of you. Your pleasure grows his hunger into something monstrous, something demanding, but there is satiation at least in bringing you this, in showing you all the things he will be for you.
You’ll never want for anyone–or anything– else ever again.
Homelander doesn’t stop. You begged him not to. He finger-fucks you through the aftershocks, lapping up every drop of your pleasure, stroking you inside and out while your cunt squeezes his fingers. He doesn’t stop until he feels you pushing him away, your sweet songbird moans sounding more like whimpers, oversensitized. He withdraws his fingers, giving one last noisy slurp before emerging from beneath your skirt. His face is shiny and wet with your slick, his pupils blown black. He's panting, looking every bit like a beast lifting its bloodied head from the belly of its kill.
Crawling up your body, still predator hungry, he rests his knee on the desk between your legs. He cups either side of your face, fingertips digging possessively into the back of your neck. He meets your eyes, pinning you with the intensity of his gaze, wordlessly drilling into your mind that this moment, this feeling, this tingling warmth in your body is him.
I did this to you, his expression reads. You’re on my lips, he says by pressing them to yours, kissing your own taste into your mouth, his body throbbing, desperate for an ounce of that same relief. You’re mine.
To his amazement, your eyes mirror his own savage hunger. You kiss him hard, shamelessly licking into his mouth, huffing shallow breaths from your nose. “Lie down,” you tell him, voice as sweet and coarse as raw sugar. “I’m going to ride you.”
Homelander doesn’t need to be told twice. Exhilarated, he rolls over, flipping you with him and steadying you above him in a fluid motion. The desk isn’t as long as he is tall, but it doesn’t matter. He’s already half suspended in the air with his own excitement, helping you with overly eager hands that fumble alongside yours with his belt, which falls to the ground with a distinct thud. He gives a little jump at the voracity you rip his zipper down with, grinning.
Together, you shuck his pants down to his thighs. You grip him through his red briefs, a fractured moan falling from his lips.
“Cute underwear,” you coo. His cheeks flush to almost the same shade. You flatten your palm over his cock and he bites back a whimper, teeth sinking into his tongue. You give a light squeeze, fingers curling around his cock through the fabric, and he lets out a rough breath. “You feel close,” you tell him, stroking him in a loose fist, your hand warm, the fabric soft.
He nods fervently, the friction and your voice already teetering him towards the edge. He makes a sound of both anguish and relief when you release him, his eyes snapping up to meet yours. You tug his underwear down, his cock bouncing free, engorged and dripping precome.
“Don’t move,” you tell him, bracing one hand on his chest and sliding forward, your other hand moving between your bodies to steady his cock against the rapturously hot press of your soaked cunt. His hands fly to your hips, fingertips biting into the softness of your body. You allow him that, focused entirely on the act of taking him into you. The fat head of his cock it slips inside, evoking a sweet little gasp from you, and Homelander fights not to slam in the rest of the way.
Both of your hands fall to his chest, your eyes meeting his. He holds your gaze, mouth twitching around silent sharp breaths. He watches you sink slowly down the length of him, engulfing him in such sublime rapture it’s a wonder he doesn’t come right then and there for the feel of you alone. His grip on your hips flexes and he gives a sharp little thrust up, forgetting himself to the divine feel of your pussy.
“I said don’t move,” you remind him breathlessly. God, you’re beautiful like this. The fluorescent light behind your head haloes you, giving you the look of a debauched angel he plucked from the heavens to have and keep as his own. He expects you to move, to bounce yourself on his cock like you did his mouth and his fingers. He wants to watch your tits bounce, see your face clearly when you come on his cock, but the only part of you that moves is your hand.
His gaze drops and quickly darkens, watching intently as you stroke your clit. The initial contact alone makes you jerk, makes your pussy spasm and squeeze him so good he almost chokes on it. Your only response is to sigh, tipping your head back and spreading your legs a little wider, taking him deeper. He wants so badly to fuck you, to slam you down and rail you until your desk cracks in half.
“Mmmm, fuck,” you moan, rubbing yourself in circles, the lewd noise of it loud and irresistible to his ears. “Fuck, fuck–ah, god,” you start to pant, head falling forward, brows tightly pinched. You’re so sensitive after the assault of his mouth, the flavor of you still fresh on his tongue. The faster your fingers move, the closer he feels you get, the clench around his cock steadily tightening. He wants to thrash, but you keep him pinned in place with your look of expectation and pleasure. You’re getting off on him as much as you are your own fingers, on the swell and throb of his cock inside you, on the sheer power you hold over a god.
You’re loud when you come, nails clawing into the chest of his suit. Homelander’s eyes roll back, lips parted on a soundless cry of his own. The spasming heat of your release is too much and he loses himself to it, eyes flaring up with crimson light as he comes with you, every shudder of your climax stroking and milking him of his own, flooding you with his own wet mess.
His restraint breaks with the dam and he sits up abruptly, startling a noise from you, which he swallows with a hard kiss, cupping the back of your head. He holds you still and he fucks you, lifting from the desk entirely so that he alone supports your weight, driving you deeper onto his cock. Your legs tighten on either side of him, shaking.
Out of his mind with pleasure, he tears your blouse open with his teeth, diving in close to lick, suck and bite at your chest. He buries his face between your breasts, holding you tightly as he fucks you both through your respective orgasms, the slap of flesh against flesh echoing obscenely in your office.
Hitching your legs properly around his waist, he bounces you on his cock until the pleasure borders on pain and a secondary shock rolls through him like another orgasm, stealing his breath. Only then does he finally slow, mouthing languidly at your chest until he sucks your nipple into his mouth. He moans against you, grinding to an eventual halt. You comb your fingers through his hair and goosebumps erupt across his body, which shivers in the euphoric aftermath.
He loses track of how long he stays suspended like that, lost to the overwhelm of sensation. Your legs go slack while his angles slightly upward, his face pressed to your chest, your head resting atop his. He nuzzles at you, bleary eyed and slack with pleasure. He kisses a trail up to your clavicle, your throat, your jaw, smiling in the loose, easy way that only a good fuck can never make him.
“Wow,” he says after a while, voice thoroughly frayed.
You giggle, groggily lifting your head. He adjusts until you can relax against his chest, fold your forearms across it and settling your chin atop them, admiring him. He touches your face with his ungloved hand, stroking your cheek with his thumb, then the curve of your bottom lip. His smile widens when you kiss the pad of his thumb.
“Wow indeed,” you say, swinging your legs lightly. “Can’t say I’ve ever been fucked mid-air.”
“One of the many benefits of dating me,” he purrs, caressing your cheek with his knuckles. He kisses you again, drifting slowly back down, unhurried.
Your brows lift lazily. “Who says we’re dating?” You ask, but your smile keeps his hackles from rising.
“Me,” he says, eyes crinkled at the corners. He lands gently on the desk, helping you to it. “You and I are officially going steady.”
You give a thoughtful hum, carefully untangling your limbs from his. You slide off of the desk while he puts himself back together, your knees trembling faintly. “Fairly sure asking someone out requires a question mark. You know. The asking part. You didn’t even buy me dinner.” You attempt to button up your shirt, but it’s obviously a lost cause.
He exhales a quiet laugh, pulling you back into his arms. “Well, I certainly ate.”
“God,” you laugh, rolling your eyes, but they don’t stray from him for long. There’s a sparkle to your gaze that he wants to capture in his palm and never set loose.
“Will you go out with me?” He asks, lips brushing yours.
“Mmmmmmmm….” You hum once more, drawing it out, feigning a great deliberation. “There’s something you should know first.”
He quirks a brow. “What’s that?”
“My guilty pleasure,” you say, nose bumping his.
Intrigued, he inclines his head to prompt you to continue. Can’t be worse than mine.
“Superheroes,” you say conspiratorially. “Can’t get enough of them. Loved them my whole life. Especially this one in particular…”
He breaks into a frayed, charmed laugh. “Let me guess, name starts with an H?”
You suck in a breath through your teeth, lips curved downward in a mock grimace, and nod subtly. “ Total fangirl. Embarrassing, right?”
Homelander shakes his head. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never felt guilty about pleasure. Where’s the harm in it?”
The harm inflicted on those thugs couldn’t count. They had it coming.
“Harm to my pride, my ego, my reputation,” you list, tapping his suit to punctuate each one. “I made a pretty big fuss about not liking you. I had myself convinced that my Homelander only existed in my fantasies, and you were just the guy who plays him.”
My Homelander. The words stir an unexpectedly sentimental surge of emotion that wells up from somewhere deep in his chest. He clears his throat lightly. “What’s the verdict now?”
You sweep him with an appraising gaze. “Still deliberating.”
He clicks his tongue, nodding. “I don’t suppose I could arrange a meeting with the jury?”
“They’re available for dinner tomorrow,” you say, the tilt of your lips sly.
“It’s a date,” he murmurs, brushing the tip of his nose against yours. You kiss him, pressing your smile to his. He doubts he’ll ever tire of the softness of your lips, or the easy way you melt against him. He wraps his arms around you, content to let this moment pass only because he knows there will be more to come. He’s determined to make every one of them better than the last.
All of the pleasure, none of the guilt.
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ok after that i now NEED to read carmy getting a bj heh
(in reference to this post)
I’ve been thinking really hard (lol) about this…spent some time thinking and researching and studying and here’s what I’ve got…
…BUT I want to promote this part of @zorrasucia's carmy fic first. It so closely follows what I imagine his first bj is like too. This is the blueprint. Its so good please read it.
It finally happens one day after Carmy finishes going down on you.
You look down between your legs just as you’re trying to catch your breath post-orgasm. Carmy’s staring up at you, cheek resting on your thigh. His mouth and chin are shiny, coated with you.
“Carmy,” you sigh like you’re in a dream. You run your fingers through his hair, combing through it. “You’re too good to me. Please, let me return the favor.”
“Y’wanna go for round 2 already?” He’s sitting up, clearly already hard. He always is when he eats you out. “Don’t get me wrong, I wanna be inside you—“
“No, no, not like that.” He’s confused, and it shows on his face, too. “I wanna suck you off.”
“…Oh.” Carmy’s cheeks are quickly coloring. “That’s, uh…”
“We don’t have to anything you don’t wanna do—“
“No, it’s not that at all,” he protests weakly. The tips of his ears are pink. “It’s just, ah… I’ve never done that before.”
“You’ve never had a blowjob?” You’re aghast. He just nods, embarrassed. You do suppose it makes sense, with you being the first person he’s had sex with. You don’t know why you’re still surprised. “With how hard you fuck me, I forget there’s still a lot you haven’t gotten to try,” you muse, pulling the hair tie off your wrist, and he laughs shakily.
“I, I’m probably not gonna last long,” he warns. You believe it, not just because it’s his first time, but because how reddened and hard his cock is. The exposed tip is so flushed, beaded with so much pre-come that it almost looks like he’s already finished. All this from eating you out.
“That’s okay. There’s always next time, and the time after that, and then the time after that…” That gets another shaky laugh out of him. You lower your head, your breath ghosting across the tip. It twitches. “Ready?”
“Please,” he whispers, and then he corrects, “I mean, yes.”
You start with just kisses. When your lips first touch the tip of his cock, he inhales sharply. Keeps it held as you kiss down the rest of him, kissing along curves and veins until you reach the base.
“Relax, baby,” you tell him, and his exhale rushes out of him.
“I’m trying,” he starts, “I’m just—“
You lick gently at the base of his cock, forming a wet ring, and Carmy lets out a strangled moan.
“I wanna hear you,” you whisper. You lick upwards, slowly dragging the flat of your tongue on the underside of his shaft before running it over the head.
“Fuck,” Carmy curses, snapping his head back. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen someone so sensitive, so reactive. It’s making you wet again. You lick at the swollen tip again and again, covering it in glossy spit, and you pull a couple more moans out from him that way.
“I like the way you taste,” you confess with filthy honesty. The tip of your tongue runs firmly along his slit, and he gasps. Every pass of your tongue brings out another noise from him.
Maybe it’s mean of you since he’s clearly so sensitive, but you do it anyway. You open your mouth and carefully suck the head of his cock between your lips.
“Oh my god,” Carmy whimpers, hips twitching forward like they’ve got a mind of their own. You’ve pulled him deeper into your mouth. His thick, warm length rests heavy on your tongue. It’s admittedly a little bit of a tight fit…
Inching further down onto his cock, you start gliding your slick tongue on the slippery underside. Carmy’s been reduced to a mixture of poorly restrained moans and whimpers. You’re not sure if you’ve ever heard him like this before. You bring your hand to the last half of his cock that’s not in your mouth, but as soon as you pump the spit-slicked base once, he’s coming down your throat.
He moans to high heaven as he comes, hips jaggedly thrusting towards the back of your throat. You breathe through your nose, resisting the urge to gag, but if anything, it just makes you wetter. You swallow on reflex, feeling the tip spurt come down your throat, and you think the constricting tightness of it makes the volume of Carmy’s moans spike.
You keep him in your mouth until he softens, and when you finally drag yourself off him, his cock glistens with your spit. Above you, Carmy’s still trying to catch his breath.
“You should fuck my mouth next time,” you say cheekily, and all Carmy does in response is groan.
#carmen berzatto#carmy berzatto#carmen berzatto x reader#carmy berzatto x reader#the bear#my asks#carmy x reader#carmen x reader#carmy berzatto x you#carmen berzatto x you#carmy x you#carmy smut#my writing#OKAY so im not so confident with writing bjs bc ive always enjoyed writing p*ssy more but... well... i had fun teehee
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Yayyy, another I'm Sorry, Teenage Mutant What Now? sidefic! You guys voted for the Carol POV, so here it is! Read it on ao3 or below the cut!
Carol wasn’t surprised when she felt little hands tapping at her leg-- she had five children in her house right now, after all, all ranging from the ages of six and eight. She was no stranger to the occasional kid grabbing for her attention, (though they were trying to gently encourage them all to use their words…)
She was, however, a bit surprised when she looked down, pausing in her current task of chopping up fruit, to see Donnie staring up at her expectantly. Because, quite frankly, Donnie usually wanted very little to do with her.
She had known these kids for nearly two years now, and she was pretty sure he still basically considered her a stranger. Which was fine. She was nothing if not patient. She was raising April, for god’s sake, she had to be. But she had to admit-- two years was a long time to be patient for.
She could hardly believe that so much time had already passed. She remembered when the Hamatos first moved in next door. It was hard to forget, frankly, as the entire affair had kicked off with April excitedly running to find her, flinging herself up onto the couch and into her lap, quite nearly shattering half her bones in the process.
“April! The living room is not an extreme sports stadium--”
“Mama!” April had gasped, ignoring her entirely. “Mama, there’s people moving into the apartment next door!”
Carol had paused for a moment, blinking in quiet surprise. They had new tenants already? The building had been empty for some time since that house fire back when April was still a baby, and she was aware that someone had bought it-- a new landlord, she assumed-- and had started to do work on the place. But that had only been a month or so ago, if even. Surely they couldn’t be completely done with all the needed repairs and renovations, could they? And had already found new tenants? Who would be desperate enough to rent an apartment that was still under repairs-- and then move in?
“Are you sure they’re not just the construction people, sweetheart?” She had asked, raising a brow, and April shook her head firmly, her lips curving into a pout.
“Nu-uh! They’re moving people! They were moving a couch! I saw them!” She insisted, pointing. “Here! Come look!”
And Carol had sighed, not especially wanting to get up, but she did anyway, following after her daughter to peer out the window of their apartment, and.
Huh.
She supposed she was right. They were movers.
“See? I told you! People are moving in!” April cried, gesturing to the window.
“I stand corrected,” Carol remarked, leaning back and placing a hand on her hips, frowning a bit. Well, that was odd. She wondered if anyone from the apartments upstairs knew anything about this… She’d have to corner Jackalyn the next time she ran into her.
“Well. It looks like we’re getting new neighbors,” she had mused, crossing her arms over her chest, and silently saying a prayer that it wasn’t anyone crazy. And when she asked her husband about it later, in the evening, after April had already been put to bed and they were curled up on the couch watching TV, he had said, “I heard that someone bought up the whole building and is moving in themselves,” and she had raised up a brow and thought, ‘that whole building? All to themselves?’ and then thought ‘oh great, they probably are crazy. Rich and eccentric crazy.’
---
It would take another month before Carol discovered that they were, in fact, crazy. Rich and eccentric crazy. Just not the exact brand that she was expecting.
“August!” She hissed fervently into her cell phone once she was in the safety of her own apartment again, absolutely vibrating.
“Carol? What’s wrong, hun?”
“Our neighbor is Lou Jitsu!”
“... Excuse me?”
“The new neighbor! The person who just moved in next door-- it’s the Lou Jitsu! I just ran into him outside!” She pressed.
“... Lou Jitsu the actor? With the ramen brand?”
“Yes! Him! The Lou Jitsu!”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure!” Carol insisted. “It’s actually him! I asked! And he admitted it! Lou Jitsu the action film star bought out the entire brownstone next door!”
“... Huh. Well damn. that’s… interesting.”
“And he has four babies.”
“I’m sorry, he what?”
---
It would be a week after that phone call when her April came running into the house, absolutely covered in filth from head-to-toe, (oh god, her hair,) and cheerfully informed her that the kids from next door were her new best friends and that they were very weird, but she liked them a lot.
Well… great. That was fantastic.
Their next-door neighbor was a rich, famous action film star from Hollywood, the literal teenage heartthrob of the 80’s, and he had four little kids that played in the garbage with her kid.
…How... wonderful.
But it made April happy, and she wasn’t the type of parent to try to control who her kid made friends with, (especially when April already had a hard time with it,) so they kept playing together. They were right next door, after all, and April already spent a great deal of time wandering around in the little dead-end alley between the two apartment buildings, with the door propped open so Carol could hear her and keep an eye on her, and it seemed so did Lou Jitsu’s boys, so…
They saw each other, sure. She would catch sight of the actor across the way through the window, watching the kids play, and he would see her, and they would wave. And sometimes they’d go out into the alley at the same time for one reason or another, and they’d say hello and make a bit of small talk, but it would be another week and a half after April’s declaration of friendship before Lou Jitsu the famous action film star from Hollywood and the literal teenage heartthrob of the 80’s invited her and her child over to their house for tea.
“You’ll like them, Mama,” April had excitedly informed her as laced up her sneakers, grinning up at her with big eyes.
“Mmm-hmmm.”
“They’re super weird. One of them has stripes on his face--”
“April, baby, that’s not very nice.”
“But he does! They’re stripes. He says they are.”
“We’ll talk about it later.”
“He’s really funny. And annoying. And he has a twin brother, and he doesn’t know how to talk yet, but he makes noises like cheep cheep cheep and they’re funny, and he can build robots! And they have a little helicopter with a remote and he can fly it so good. And then one of them can pick me and Mikey up at the same time! And he can kick a ball so far, Mama, it’s cool!!!”
“I see.”
“And then one of ‘em--”
“April, baby, are you almost done with your shoes?”
“Uh-huh,” April reported, scrambling up to her feet.
“Okay. Let’s go then, okay? Are you ready?”
“Yep!” April confirmed easily, scampering over to her mom’s side to grab onto her hand. Ooh, Carol wished she felt as enthusiastic as she did...
“Alright. Let’s go,” she said, taking in a long, deep breath before letting it out through her nose and making the long, arduous trek to the next-door neighbor’s house, hesitating for just a moment before she rang the doorbell.
“I’LL GET IT! I’LL GET IT!”
“NO, I WANNA DO IT!”
“IT’S MY TURN--”
She could already hear boisterous screams from inside, and she couldn’t resist the tiniest smile. The shrieks of children quickly became clatters and thunks, however, and a moment later, the door swung open, and she was met by three children-- two wrestling with each other viciously in the background, and the third holding open the door, staring up at her with wide eyes.
“Hi.”
“Raph!” April squeaked in delight, wasting no time in throwing herself at the larger child, who beamed in response, scooping her up in a hug and lifting her up off the ground with ease as she giggled. Raph? Didn’t April say they were the same age? Jesus, what is he feeding this kid…
“What did I say about best behavior!? This is not best behavior!” A voice rang through the chaos a moment later, and a somewhat frazzled-looking man stepped into her field of vision, scooping the two wrestling children up off the ground with a sweep of his arms.
“Orange, stop it-- Blue, let go of his hair!” He scolded, separating them. “Or you will not get to play with Miss April!”
“He started it!” One of the children, (who, admittedly, did kind of have stripes over his eyes,) accused.
“Doesn’t matter. Shoo. Go sit in the living room. No more hitting,” he insisted, waving them both off, before he quickly moved to the doorway.
“I am so sorry about that…! Raphael, what did we say about opening the door by ourselves?”
“Uhmmmmmm,” the child stared up at their father, seeming to hesitate for a second. “... To not to?”
“Exactly,” he said, and Carol couldn’t help but smile a tiny bit at the long-suffering tone in his voice. “Go and check your little brothers aren’t still fighting for me real quick, okay?”
“Okay!” Raphael agreed easily, finally letting go of her daughter in order to scamper off, and Lou Jitsu sighed deeply. And he hesitated for a second. And he chuckled sheepishly and moved to the side.
“Sorry about that…! Here-- please. Come in.”
“Oh-- it’s fine!” Carol assured, laughing nervously as she slowly made her way inside. April wasted no time at all, happy to invite herself in and scamper down the hallway. “I know how children are…!”
“Yes, well…! I thought, since the kids are such good friends, it would be a good idea for us to get a chance to… chat!” He said, and Carol was quietly shocked that he seemed nervous. Lou Jitsu, the famous movie film star from Hollywood and literal teenage heartthrob from the 80’s…
Was nervous to talk to her?
… Somehow that made her feel so much more at ease.
And she was shocked by how truly pleasant their chat over tea ended up being.
She supposed she had perhaps come into this with a few preconceived notions, but Yoshi was a lot more down-to-earth than she expected, and the way he talked about his children was, quite frankly, heart-warming. The two of them chatted about the horrors of the administrative side of the New York public school systems, the tribulations of trying to keep their kids from breaking their own necks with their over-enthusiastic acrobatics, and of all the crazy stories that they brought home to them when they went out to play together. And by the time Carol was herding April back out the door, quite a few hours later, to head back home, they already had plans for their next visit the same time next week.
It wasn’t until Carol got back home to their own apartment that she realized she had only seen three boys during their trip.
“April, honey,” she had said, glancing down at the child. “Doesn’t Mr. Hamato have four kids?”
“Yeah,” April had replied with a hum. “But Donnie didn’t wanna play today, Leo said, so he stayed in his room.”
And that had been odd, but Carol had told herself not to think too deeply on it, concluding that he must just be shy, and let it go.
---
It was after four playdates, during which she saw neither hide nor hair of this alleged twin brother that Leo had, that Carol finally, hesitantly, gently brought it up to Yoshi. And he had laughed nervously, looking to the side.
“Ah. Well. Purple doesn’t really like… new things very much,” he had explained slowly. “He’s not shy, exactly, he’s just… particular. I’m worried he might be a little… overwhelmed, I think the move has been hard on him--”
Carol hadn’t realized she was opening up such floodgates. But she listened anyway, suspecting quietly that he had never had a chance to talk about any of this with anyone else before.
She hadn’t expected herself to get so damn attached to a kid who she had literally never met before.
She had already quietly garnered a great deal of private sympathy for Yoshi in the time she had known him. Just April was already plenty for her, thank you very much, and she had August to help her. Yoshi was doing things, it seemed, entirely on his own-- and he had literally four times as many children as she did. Besides that, she wouldn’t sit here and pretend like she hadn’t read any of the news articles about him over the past fifteen years or so... But as Yoshi fret in a hushed tone over how his other three boys seemed to be doing so well but Donnie seemed to be struggling so much, she couldn’t help but feel her heartstrings quiver in response.
Really, she didn’t mind being a sounding board. She didn’t have any more experience or insight than he did that she could pass along, but she got the impression that at least being able to talk about it helped. And so, when their pediatrician suggested testing, and Yoshi worried about whether or not it was the right choice, she had been happy to listen. And when they started school and Yoshi agonized over how Donnie in particular would fare, she listened to that, too. And when Donnie was diagnosed with autism, she listened, and she did some quiet research at home in her own time, just for the sake of knowing. And when Yoshi excitedly showed her the sign language the family had started learning, over the moon that his child was taking to it so well and that he was finally able to communicate with him without being forced to jump through a million hoops first, she had celebrated with him and then started learning the language, too, along with her husband and daughter. And when Yoshi had told her that Donnie had started talking out loud sometimes in the home, tearing up a little as he did so, so had she, even though she still didn’t even know the kid. But she had heard a million stories about him, both from Yoshi and from April, and for a minute there, it had seemed like he was having such a hard time.
But now it seemed like he was making so much progress so fast, and she couldn’t help but be overjoyed on his behalf.
---
The Hamatos had been her next-door neighbors for about four months before she finally did, in fact, meet Donatello.
In fact, he opened the door for her when she rang the doorbell.
April was, of course, completely unphased. She gasped in absolute delight at the sight of the elder Hamato twin, absolutely dancing on the tips of her toes.
“DONNIE! Are you gonna play with us today!?”
He had kept quiet for a moment, glancing up at Carol with narrowed, suspicious eyes, and then he nodded.
“Can we do the robot battle thing?!”
He nodded again, shifting a bit so that they could come inside, and Carol was trying so, so hard not to gape.
It wasn’t like she had never seen Donnie before. She had seen him plenty of times. He and his brothers and April played in the alley outside the house all the time, of course, she had seen him. She had just never seen him… up close. He always made himself scarce any time she went outside to check on April or speak with her or bring her in for the evening, finding the nearest hiding place each time with shocking speed, and he had certainly never acknowledged her in any way before.
She felt stupidly giddy over something as small as a five-year-old glaring at her, and she cleared her throat a little as she stepped into the apartment, carefully toeing her shoes off.
“Do you know where your Dad is, Donnie?”
Donnie had kept quiet for a second, seeming to consider this, before he nodded, pointing in the direction of the kitchen.
“Oh, okay. Thank you.”
And she wasn’t very good at sign language yet, but he had just barely glanced up at her before he put his head back down and signed, ‘you’re welcome,’ and oh my god she could have cried.
---
After that, Donnie would come down to play every time she and April visited. He still hid sometimes when she came out into the alley, but he did it less and less often as time went by, and Carol considered that a success in and of itself.
It was about two weeks after she had properly met him that she finally got up the courage to bring up the sorry state of the poor boy’s hair. And Yoshi had groaned softly, burying his face in his hands.
“I know! I know, it’s awful. I have no idea what I’m doing,” he lamented. “I started bringing the other boys to a hairdresser, but Donnie won’t let anyone else touch him,” he explained wearily. “We tried, and he bit the poor woman! I’m still trying to figure it out, but he just has such little tolerance for it! I can only get him to sit with me and work on it for maybe five or ten minutes at a time before he’s ready to bite me, too…!”
And Carol had pursed her lips, and eventually said,
“Can I help?”
And so, she had started the process of teaching Yoshi how to take care of his sons’ hair properly. And Yoshi really had been trying-- he had done his research, and he wasn’t doing a horrible job or anything, by all accounts, he was just inexperienced. And Donnie was maybe a… difficult case.
Donatello had no interest in letting Carol touch him, which was fine. He had several brothers, one of which had a pretty similar hair texture to his own, that she could use as a stand-in to show Yoshi the ropes. And slowly but surely, they made progress. Donnie still didn’t enjoy the process of having his hair messed with. He deeply resented the experience of any kind of oil or hair product going on his head and touching his scalp, (it broke Carol’s heart the first time she and Yoshi made him cry under her tutelage,) and he’d only allow them to work with him in relatively short bursts before he got overwhelmed and needed a break-- but that was okay! They took it one step at a time, and eventually, over a period of nearly a week and a half, she managed to not only breathe some life back into the poor kid’s hair but to get it all out of the chunky little braids he had had in for the past five months.
And Carol thought to herself that even with it looking far less than its best, Donatello had the most beautiful, coily little black curls.
---
It had been a little under a year when her husband had come home in the evening after work, taking the time to give April about a dozen kisses and talk to her about her day for a bit before he wandered into the kitchen to join her, pecking her lips in greeting.
“Hey, hon.”
“Hey. How was work?”
“It was good, it was good… Hey. So. I was thinking…”
Carol raised a brow, immediately glancing over her shoulder to give August a look. Thinking, was he?
“Don’t gimme those eyes! It’s not bad!” He protested, laughing softly, and she chuckled a bit in response.
“What are you thinking about?”
“I ran into Yoshi the other day, and… what do you think about April going home with him after school?” He questioned.
Carol paused, frowning a bit.
“... You mean, get Yoshi to babysit our kid?” She echoed incredulously. “August, that poor man already has four of his own!”
“I know! I know! But we were talking, and, I mean. He basically suggested it!” August defended. “And you know how much April hates those after-school programs,”
Carol sighed, wrinkling her nose, her shoulders slumping slightly.
“She’s been getting a bit better recently…”
“Yeah. But. Look,�� he sighed. “Half of Yoshi’s kids go straight to some sport or class or what-have-you in the afternoon, anyway! And they all go to the same school! So… He just picks April up with the rest of the kids, gets everyone dropped off where they need to go, and brings the leftovers home for the day. And when we get off of work, we just gotta grab her from next door!” He said. “Plus, if Yoshi is already carting kids around, then maybe she could, you know, actually participate in some other things! Maybe enroll in one of those extracurriculars with the Hamato boys instead of just sitting around at the program until five-thirty. You know she’d love that.”
Carol pursed her lips, wrinkling her nose.
She would admit-- she hated that her seven-year-old spent so much time stuck at school. If either August or herself could afford to do so, she’d happily go pick April up from school every day herself and spend the afternoons with her, but they just couldn’t anymore. The nature of August’s job just didn’t allow for it, and Carol had already taken four years off from work to be a stay-at-home mom. And then spent two years after that only working part-time, so she could be flexible enough with her hours that she could do things like take April to and from school, but…
She couldn’t just do that forever. Firstly, because living in New York City and raising a child was expensive, and they both had very good jobs with rather nice salaries, but they also lived in a very nice apartment in a very nice part of the city, and just August’s income alone wasn’t gonna cut it-- especially if they wanted to send April to college one day. And secondly, because…
Quite frankly, Carol loved her job. And she was good at it, too! You don’t just get a job at NBC for nothing. And really, Carol adored her daughter to pieces-- she did. She wouldn’t give her up for the world. And she had zero regrets about taking the time off to stay home with her until she went to preschool. And she didn’t regret being part-time for two years, either. She loved being a mom!
But she loved being a news anchor, too. She really, really did. And she couldn’t just watch her career from the sidelines forever and expect it to still be there when she got back.
They had considered getting an after-school nanny for a while after Carol decided to go back to work, but they were expensive to say the least, and every time they interviewed a potential for the job, April firmly declared that she hated them by the end of it. And when they had pitched the after-school program to her, April had seemed open to it. What is appealing, in theory, however, was not always quite as good in practice. April had only been going to the program for about two weeks before she declared that she hated that, too.
It really wasn’t her fault. April had always been a little bit of an… energetic kid, and while she wasn’t trouble, per se, she had a tendency to get herself into trouble when she was bored. Call it counter-intuitive, but that was half of why Carol tended to be so lax with her daughter and allow her to do things like run around in the alley by herself. April was a clever kid! And sure, she could keep April inside in the apartment with her and only allow her outside when she was right there with her watching her every move and supervising her properly, but… She knew from experience that this would only inevitably lead to April feeling confined and cooped up, growing restless and understimulated, and then somehow bringing about the most unimaginable mayhem possible into their home. And Carol and August just didn’t have enough time in the day to spend every moment sitting outside and watching her.
If April had the freedom to roam and explore a bit, then Carol had found, much to her delight, that she usually made pretty good choices. And when she was allowed to wander the alley on her own, she’d end the days by excitedly showing her parents the massive chalk mural that she had drawn on the walls of the alley, or explaining to them the science experiment she was running after noticing an oil slick on a puddle, or pleading to visit the library so she could get some books on entomology, ‘cause she had seen a really neat bug outside and she wanted to figure out what it was.
… It wasn’t that April didn’t like school! It really wasn’t. She liked learning, and she liked most of her teachers, and she liked the routine and the stimulation. But it was just… it was a long time to ask April not to explore.
Add in the after-school program? That was over nine hours.
Carol sighed, tilting her head back and pursing her lips.
“We can’t just ask him to watch her for free! And this is not me agreeing to this either, I just… Even if he is already going that way, you and I both know April is a bit of a handful…!”
“I know,” August assured, holding his palms out. “I totally agree. That’s actually kind of why Yoshi brought it up…? Uhhh. While we’re on the topic…”
He gave a sort of a lopsided grin.
“How would you feel about watching the Hamato kids a few nights a week and for part of the weekends?”
---
So the Hamatos and the O'Neils worked out their deal.
Yoshi picked April up from school, along with the rest of his children, and would ensure each child got where they needed to go. If April had an after-school activity with one of the boys that day, (and August had been right, she was thrilled to start taking gymnastics classes and sign up for robotics club,) that’s where she’d go, and if not, she’d end up back home with Yoshi and any other child who didn’t have an extracurricular that day. And once August and Carol got home from work, they’d stop by to pick her up. And on the evenings and weekends when Yoshi was attending award show events or appearing on a talk show or managing his dojos, August and Carol would watch the Hamato kids in return.
This had been their arrangement for about a year now. And frankly, it worked out beautifully. Carol had long ago ended up adoring each and each one of the Hamato children, and the two families had grown close, because how could they not? She and August tucked the Hamato kids into bed at least a few times every month. They and their Dad regularly came over for meals or accompanied them on trips to places like the zoo or the aquarium. By now, she knew all their favorite foods and songs, their tells when they were lying, and their favorite hiding places.
She had, at one point, tried to convince the boys that they could just call her “Carol,” but when she had pitched it to the group, April had gasped loudly in offense and said that that was too weird, and if anything, they should just call her ‘mom.’ And then Mikey had declared that they didn’t have a mom. And then Raph had argued that they did have a mom, she was just dead. And then Leo had refuted that they did have a mom, and she wasn’t dead, she just didn’t love any of them. And then Donnie had signed something in ASL, too quick for her to quite catch, and Leo had nodded and quickly corrected himself, clarifying that their mom was probably alive and also existed, but she didn’t love any of them and also wanted their father to die.
She had changed the subject after that, and they still just called her ‘Mrs. O’Neil’ or ‘April’s Mom.’
But still, despite all this, Donnie seemed to hold her at arm’s length. And that was okay...! She knew it would take him a while, and he was no obligation to even like her at all, ever, if he didn’t want to. He tolerated her just fine, even if he still didn’t speak around her or August. Even if he still didn’t allow himself to be touched by either of them, declined to be tucked in or receive good night kisses, only satisfied and willing to consider sleep once he got a phone call and a picture from their dad. Even if he still usually declined to even sign to her directly, instead signing to one of his siblings or April and allowing them to translate.
... But now here he was, standing by her side and staring up at her expectantly through slightly crooked glasses, blinking widely at her.
God, for a second, Carol thought that something must have happened and someone must be hurt because Donnie never came to get her. Even if he needed something or wanted something from her, he’d send a messenger in his wake. He certainly didn’t come up and tap for her attention. A little bit of anxiety rising up in her chest, she quickly dropped what she was doing, crouching down next to the seven-year-old.
“Hey, Donnie. Is something wrong?”
Donnie frowned, wrinkling up his nose for a second before shaking his head.
Carol bit back a sigh of relief.
Which immediately then blossomed into near giddiness, which she also had to hold back. He was here to talk to her, and no one was even dying!?
“Okay. Did you need something?”
He pursed his lips, his frown deepening, sort of flapping his hands for a moment before he reached up, tugging at the twists of his hair. And Carol sort of floundered for a moment, because she wasn’t quite sure what Donnie was trying to tell her.
“Your hair? Do you need--”
And then she kind of paused, blinking for a moment, frowning.
Wait. Why were they doing this?
Donnie could sign. So why wasn’t he signing? Was he still not comfortable talking to her directly…?
And then she thought to herself-- you can sign, too, Carol. Why don’t you try signing?
And she thought to herself, what a good question.
So she did.
‘Is there something the matter with your hair? Or your head?’
And Donnie blinked in surprise, staring at her for a second and looking her up and down as if shocked to see her speaking his language. And Carol sighed inwardly, because okay, look, she knew that her ASL wasn’t the best-- even April easily outpaced her-- but she really could do it!!! He knew that, didn’t he?
(… Didn’t he?)
After a long beat of silence... he signed back to her.
‘Can my hair be puffy like April’s and yours is, please?’
And jesus christ.
She could have cried.
And it was so silly! Because all that had happened was one of the neighbor’s kids had asked her if he could get his hair done.
But he had never signed to her before.
Well aware that she probably looked ridiculous, but absolutely beaming anyway, she nodded enthusiastically. ‘Yeah...! Yeah, of course you can, sweetheart. I’ll let your dad know so when he gets home--’
‘Can you do it now?’
Surely she was in an alternative dimension. Or some sort of dreamscape. Or the children had arranged some sort of convoluted, cruel prank on her.
‘You want me to do it?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Are you sure? You know I’ll have to touch you, right?’
‘Yeah,’ he confirmed again, nodding. ‘I don’t wanna wait. And Mikey said you do it better than Dad can.’
Carol checked her watch quickly, though she was pretty sure that even if she only had another ten minutes until their Dad got home, she’d still agree.
‘Yeah! Sure. Let me just finish this and I’ll come join you in the living room in a minute, okay?’
‘Okay,’ Donnie agreed, before narrowing his eyes. ‘But you have to stop when I tell you to.’
‘Yeah, of course, sweetheart. We can take breaks whenever you want.’
‘Okay,’ he repeated, nodding firmly, turning to head off as if he hadn’t done anything significant at all, while Carol leaned against the counter and took a moment to compose herself.
... He signed at her!
They talked to each other!
And he was going to let her do his hair!?
She was still kind of waiting to see if the rug was gonna be pulled out from under her, and while she was doing that, she heard an exchange take place in the living room, the sound carrying over to her in the kitchen.
“Donnie! Me and Mikey are gonna do a cartwheel contest. Do you wanna come?!”
That was Leo’s voice. She recognized Leo’s voice.
“No. April’s Mom is gonna fix my hair.”
She hadn’t heard that voice before.
“Okay! I’ll tell you who won!” Leo replied easily, running off, and Carol did kind of tear up now, despite herself.
Because he hadn’t spoken to her. Not out loud, anyway. They weren’t there yet, and she was fine with that.
But she had never heard Donnie’s voice before. Not in words.
He was in her home, and she was watching him, and he trusted her enough to let her touch him. He was comfortable enough with her to come to her and sign with her.
He felt safe enough that he could speak out loud to his brother in her home.
She resisted the urge to whip out her phone and call Yoshi right this very moment so she could tearfully and proudly report this to him. She would tell him everything later. But right now, she had a job to do.
She took a deep breath, settling herself. She finished cutting up the fruit she had been working on, leaving them out on a plate on the kitchen table for easy access for anyone who wanted it.
And, so as not to leave Donnie waiting, she made her way into the living room to get to work.
#sorrywhatnowau#rottmnt#rise of the tmnt#tmnt#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles#rottmnt fluff#tmnt 2018#turtle tots#rottmnt au#rottmnt donatello#rottmnt donnie#rise donnie#rise carol o'neil#rottmnt carol o'neil#carol o'neil#aprils mom#rottmnt fanart
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SKZ DRABBLE-OT8
The one where honesty is always the best policy. Except when it isn't?
Or
Part One of the Twenty Second installment of the Skz!pack Prequel Series.
A/N: We're back, bitches. Buckle up.
Tags: SKZ, Stray Kids, Stay, OT8, skz!pack, skz!abo, poly!skz, omegaverse, skz x you, skz x reader, ot8 x you, ot8 x reader, bang chan, lee minho, seo changbin, lee felix, hwang hyunjin, han jisung, yang jeongin, kim seungmin, y/n, skz angst, skz fluff, skz drabble, skz imagines, skz reactions, skz scenarios, Skz!pack prequel, pack!prequel, prequel series
Genre: Angst, Light Fluff
Warning: Past Trauma, Fear of Thunderstorms
Title: Lie To Me; Part I
“So we can all agree that we’re struggling with this, yeah?” Chan asks, tapping his fingers along his glass in a sort of anxious motion, his expression serious.
You can see the weight on his shoulders from across the table.
Minho takes a sip of his own drink and replies back casually, “Not me. I’m fine.”
Changbin immediately scoffs and you snort, narrowing your gaze on the alpha leaning against the counter, your voice sharp as you retort, “You’re so full of shit. We all know you’re on edge. You and Changbin haven’t been at each other’s throats this much since we started dating.”
Minho shrugs, but doesn’t offer a defensive quip in return, and that tells you all you need to know.
He’s notorious for trying to act like shit doesn’t bother him, stubborn as a mule when it comes to keeping things ‘normal,’ but you know him too well by now, you all do.
He’s just as uneasy as the rest of you.
Changbin drums his fingers on the kitchen table, looking slightly annoyed. “It’s such bullshit that it’s even a thing in the first place.” He sighs, reaching up to run his hand once again through his already disheveled hair, and when he continues, his voice is softer. “But I can’t just keep ignoring him, you know? I’m going to go fucking crazy.”
You and Chan nod in agreement, in understanding, and you find Changbin’s fingers under the table, wrapping them in the safety of your own and giving him a squeeze.
“Trust me. Nobody gets it more, Binnie.”
Minho sets his empty glass in the sink and approaches the table, leaning his hip beside Chan as he moves his piercing gaze between the three of you, lips pulled into a thin, stern line, arms crossed over his chest.
“Moping about it isn’t going to do anything. We need to do something. Decisions have to be made.”
Changbin scoffs almost tiredly from beside you. “So what, we just, cut him off? Forbid him from being around?” He narrows a glare on Minho. “That’s gonna fucking hurt a lot of people we care about, Minho.”
Minho remains unyielding, holding the other alpha’s gaze. “If that’s what we have to do, at least until he presents, than yes.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Chan holds out his hands between the two, as if worried one of them is going to leap over the table and go at it right here in the kitchen.
With how on edge everyone currently is, they just might.
He blows out a long, controlled breath through his nose, and sits back in his chair, still eyeing the two of them warily before he says firmly, “That’s not what anyone’s suggesting, Bin, okay? We just need to figure some shit out.”
“Yeah.” You nod seriously, your fingers still gripping a little bit tighter than necessary around Changbin’s forearm, his skin warm and flushed beneath your hold. You glance between the two of them, softening slightly. “I know he’s become an important part of our lives, of the pack’s lives, and we’re not trying to sever that or undermine it in any way. Minho-” You glance up at the other alpha, his expression unreadable. “-you can try to deny it all you want, but we know you have a soft spot for the kid. You’re not as impenetrable as you lead everyone to believe.”
Minho’s chest rises and falls with a breath, and he looks away from your gaze.
Chan sighs heavily. “So what the fuck do we do?”
“Our alphas don’t like him around because he’s unpresented.” You muse, thinking hard, playing with the condensation on your empty glass as you go over options silently in your head. “Because of that factor, there’s no way to establish set pack order, too many uncertain variables, and alphas aren’t recognized for their love of the unknown.”
Chan nods thoughtfully, steepling his fingers in front of his chin. “Right. But everyone else is okay with things being up in the air for now.”
“So maybe.” Changbin cocks his head, eyes lighting up with an idea. “Instead of removing the kid from the equation until he presents, we remove ourselves.”
“It’s gonna fucking suck.” You admit, glancing between them all. “But it might have to be done.”
Minho scoffs beneath his breath, his fingers gripping the back of Chan’s chair until they turn white. “So what, we just make excuses every time the kid’s around?”
“Basically.” Changbin stands up, dropping his used glass into the sink next to Minho’s, before he leans against the counter and crosses his arms over his broad chest. “We avoid interactions that involve him until further notice.”
“Do we tell them?” Chan asks suddenly, eyes skimming over you all, looking for reactions. “The rest of the pack, I mean.”
Changbin shakes his head, and you immediately reply, “No. Because word will get back somehow, and that’ll just make him feel worse about the fact that he’s not presented. And I’m sure he gets enough shit from the freshman at the dorms over that already. I’m not gonna add to that.”
Chan nods in understanding, and Minho pops his jaw in open annoyance.
“Keeping secrets is gonna fuck us over in the end, you know.”
“You have a better idea?” Changbin challenges, as they glare each other down, and the tension in the room rises noticeably once more.
“Please, try me right now, meathead, I dare you.”
Chan sighs tiredly, and you stand from the table, glaring back and forth between the two tense alphas.
Wisteria blooms warningly in the small kitchen.
“Fucking knock it off, will you? This situation sucks enough already as it is. We don’t need the two of you coming to blows in the middle of the kitchen like two grade school kids who can’t control their temper tantrums.”
Changbin drops his gaze, but Minho remains rigid beside you.
You turn to him.
“Min.” You lower your voice, your words firm. “It won’t be forever. And none of us are thrilled about this, but we’ve gotta think of the pack.”
He flicks his dark eyes to you, but says nothing.
A calming wave of petrichor replaces your scent in the air around you, and Chan’s fingers find Minho’s on the back of his chair as he says quietly, “C’mon, Min. It’s not us against you here. We’re on your side. Drop the hackles please?”
Minho’s shoulders relax a margin of an inch, and his chest heaves with a deep breath, but he doesn’t look like he immediately wants to murder Changbin anymore, so you guess that’s as good as an answer for now.
Footsteps sound, and Hyunjin appears in the doorway, features disgruntled, and lemony scent unusually bitter, as he quickly surveys the four of you and then pushes past to the fridge without another glance.
“I wasn’t aware there was a meeting of the big bad wolves scheduled for this morning in the middle of my fucking kitchen.”
Changbin cuts his gaze to the clearly annoyed omega sharply, watching with narrowed eyes as Hyunjin violently pours himself a glass of orange juice, slamming the fridge door shut for emphasis.
“Who pissed in your cheerios?”
Hyunjin levels the alpha with a glare, so unlike his usual self, and shakes his head, already headed for the door.
“Forget it. I have a headache. Don’t let me interrupt.”
He disappears without another word, and Changbin glances to the three of you in open disbelief.
You shrug, just as lost as he is. “Hangover?”
Changbin clenches his jaw, a muscle ticking beneath the tan, stretched skin.
At the table, Chan sighs deeply.
“Okay, so we might have to avoid two people for the time being.”
*******
Hyunjin hasn’t said a word to you since your lab started twenty minutes ago.
He took his seat in silence, he pulled out his supplies in silence, and now he’s taking notes-in silence.
You give him another sidelong glance-probably the fiftieth in five minutes-and he sighs, voice irritated, but pen still writing, as he snaps out without looking up, “Stop staring at me.”
You clear your throat and try to focus on your own paper.
But when, in five minutes, your pen stalls in scratching out notes, and you find yourself back to staring at his side profile, lingering for a little longer than necessary, you know it’s no use.
Hyunjin’s body tenses, his fingers whitening around his pen, as if he can feel your eyes on him once again, but before he can say anything a second time, you blurt out, “Are you okay?”
His pen trails to a stop.
And then he says, “No.”
And goes back to jotting down notes.
You fiddle with your own pen for a minute, warring over whether you should push him on this, the scent of lemons bitter in your nose, and then finally you ask, softer this time, “What’s wrong, Hyunjin?”
His pen comes to another halt, and he lets out an annoyed huff of air from his nose, turning to face you as he arches a brow, anger flickering across his dark eyes.
“You mean, besides the impromptu meeting of the Big Bad Wolf Brigade in my kitchen this morning?”
You hold his gaze, not backing down in the face of his obvious agitation, and he sighs again, reaching up to rake a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots slightly, before he fires back with, “I don’t know, okay? I just feel-” He shrugs helplessly, throwing his pen down on the half finished page of notes in disgust. “-off.”
You study him for another long moment, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths, and then ask again, “Are you sick?”
Hyunjin shakes his head jerkily. “No. I just-” He rubs at his temples with long fingers. “-don’t feel like myself.”
“Okay.” You nod once, picking up your own pen once more and turning back to your notes, feeling slightly better now that he’s answered you. You scratch out another sentence before you glance sidelong at him. “Well, let me know if I can help, yeah?”
Hyunjin stares down at the table, making no move to pick back up his own writing utensil, as the silence stretches between the two of you.
Finally, he heaves another sigh and reaches for the discarded pen.
He doesn’t look at you as he says defeatedly, “Movie night.”
You hum beneath your breath, not looking up from your notebook, but your wolf chuffs in approval at the omega’s concession, before you repeat back in confirmation with a nod, “Movie night.”
*******
“You are literally so fucking pretty.”
Hyunjin scoffs at your words, but you don’t miss the slightly pink hue to his cheeks as he glances up at you where you play with his hair from his spot in the omega dorm’s large, communal tub.
“Shut up.”
“No, seriously.” You protest, letting the long, soft strands of his hair sift through your fingers, admiring the way the dark color shines in the soft light.
“I know I’m pretty.” Hyunjin remarks flippantly, eyes blinking up at you innocently. He gives you a lopsided smirk. “How else do you think I bagged all you dumb alphas?”
You lean down and flick some of the warm, scented bath water up into his face in retaliation and he splutters dramatically in response.
“You’re right, because it’s definitely not your personality.”
The omega glares at you halfheartedly, and you laugh, leaning over him to reach for the shampoo you had brought with you, pouring a dime sized portion of the sweet smelling soap into the palm of your hand.
You begin to work the shampoo through Hyunjin’s hair, working it into a lather, your fingers scratching along his scalp, and he relaxes back into the touch, even though he’s still clearly pouting, arms folded across his chest.
You lean over to catch his gaze, and he sticks his tongue out at you.
“You have a great ass though.” You offer as a sort of olive branch, and Hyunjin rolls his eyes, but you see some of the dramatic offense from earlier fade from his expression at your words.
“I know that. Obviously.”
You hide a smile and go back to shampooing his hair.
There is silence for several long minutes, your fingers working through Hyunjin’s hair over and over, as the omega grows more and more relaxed beneath your touch, sinking into the cooling water of the bath, and then finally, he says, “I’m sorry. About earlier.”
“It’s fine.” You reply back easily, because it is, and then hum under your breath as you take your hands from his head, gesturing for him to hand you the cup resting on the side of the tub, “Time to rinse.”
Hyunjin leans his head back, closing his eyes, and you rinse his freshly shampooed hair clean of all the suds, watching as the water turns clear, before you set the cup back in its spot.
It takes him another moment to open his eyes, his head still leaned back on the lip of the tub in front of you, staring up at you from his reclined position with an unreadable look on his face.
It’s your turn to stick your tongue out as you ask, “What?”
He furrows his brow and shakes his head, sitting up again as he leans forward in the perfumed bath water.
“Nothing, okay? I’m just being weird. Forget it.”
You shift around the edge of the tub so you can meet his gaze again, expression going firm as you flick more water in his direction. “Nuh uh. That’s not gonna fly. Spill.”
Hyunjin sighs-heavy and dramatic-and rolls his eyes heavenward, before he says with clear, awkward resignation, “I guess I’m kind of in love with you or whatever.”
You giggle, and Hyunjin slides his gaze to you, lips pulled into a clear pout, eyes wide and dark.
“What the fuck, noona? Is this how you responded to Changbin spilling his guts too?”
“Nah.” You shake your head, still laughing, warm head to toe, as you lean forward and pull the plug on the now lukewarm bath water. “But I kinda said it first in that situation, so.”
Hyunjin is still staring at you, wet hair plastered to his shoulders, and you decide to have mercy on him, leaning forward to press a kiss to his lips before you stand to retrieve the towel.
You give him a smile over your shoulder.
“Baby, I’ve been in love with you since the moment you sat down beside me and introduced yourself during our first lab freshman year. And that’s never gonna change.” You fling the towel at him, holding out your hand to pull him up. “Now come on, let’s go watch a movie.”
***************
Hyunjin is still grumbling-but dry and fully clothed-when you make it back to his apartment.
“Fuck, I have a headache.” He complains, slumping down on the pile of blankets creating a makeshift nest on the couch.
You stare at him for a moment, your wolf whining that something is off, but shaking your head, you give him an easy smile and head for his bathroom, calling over your shoulder, “I’ll get you some painkillers. Queue up the movie.”
You’re digging through Hyunjin’s messy bathroom cabinets when you hear a knock at the door, some shuffling, and then the low tones of Hyunjin’s voice talking to someone.
You’re sure it’s just one of the pack Hyunjin probably forgot to tell you he invited over to join in on movie night.
You perk your ears in interest, though you haven’t caught a scent yet, and head back to the living room, pain killers held triumphantly aloft in hand.
“I found the-”
Everything inside of you freezes, your words dying off, as you catch sight of a head of shockingly red hair peeking over the top of Hyunjin’s couch.
Jeongin.
“Oh, hey, noona!” Jeongin turns at your entrance, face split with a smile, eyes screwed tight, and it takes everything in you to not turn and run.
Because while the wolf part of you is growling in unsure warning-antsy and nervous-the human part of you is very much begging for you to close the distance and take the red headed boy in your arms, pressing your nose to his hair and cuddling his warmth.
It’s a war you’re not entirely sure can be won.
“Oh. Hey.” You stutter out, carefully skirting around the couch where Jeongin currently sits, your eyes never leaving his face.
You shove the painkillers into Hyunjin’s hand without really looking, and he pauses in picking a movie, looking at you sharply, and you’re sure he can smell the way your scent has suddenly gone haywire.
“What-” The omega starts to ask, but before he can, you stumble over yourself, suddenly desperate to get out of there.
“I didn’t know you were coming, Innie.” You force a smile that you don’t feel, the words from this morning ringing loudly in your head, your blood whooshing in your ears.
We remove ourselves.
Hyunjin is staring at you like he knows something is wrong, but can’t quite figure out what.
“Yeah, I invited him.” He finally says, and Jeongin’s smile has disappeared off his face. “Is that okay?”
“Sure, sure.” You wave your hand, not looking at either of them, shoving your feet into your shoes with clumsy, numb fingers.
Your wolf is snarling now, teeth bared, warning you not to leave your omega alone with an unpresented outsider.
Your scent is sickly thick in your own nose as you make a dive for your keys and fumble with the doorknob.
“I just forgot, I have something tonight. I’ll see you guys later, okay? Another movie night. Rain check. Have fun though.”
Hyunjin’s lips have pursed into a thin line, and Jeongin looks openly hurt-large eyes wide and dark-but you force yourself to ignore them both, and not waiting for a reply, hurry out the door.
You breathe easier-out of the apartment, away from the two boys-and as you take the steps two at a time down to the lobby and shove open the doors of the omega dorm, you take in a deep, gasping inhale, slowly letting it out as you head off down the sidewalk, away from the building.
Your heart slows in your ears as you walk aimlessly, no real destination in mind, and your breathing grows less ragged, but your wolf is still irritatingly antsy.
The look on Jeongin’s face-
You shake your head violently, pushing that thought from your mind, and urge yourself into a sprint, taking the sidewalk that leads down to the quad and the woods without really thinking about it.
It’s nice, to get your blood pumping and the wind in your ears, your feet slapping the pavement in an easy rhythm, and by the time you reach the edge of the forest that borders campus, you’re breathing hard again, but from exertion this time.
Bending over, resting your hands on your knees to catch your breath, you feel your phone chime in your pocket.
You bite your lip, toying with the idea of not looking at it all, but finally pull it from your back pocket and glance at the lit up lock screen.
Hyunjin.
You blow out the breath you’ve been holding-long and slow through your nose-and without reading the text, stuff your phone back once more into the safety of your pocket.
You’ll apologize and explain later.
Right now, you just need to clear your head.
You start jogging again, dodging trees and low hanging branches, and fall into a nice rhythm.
It doesn’t matter where you’re going right now-the cool, dark air of the woods feels good against your heated skin, and the slight fog that always clings to the ground here, regardless of weather or time of day, slithers around your shoes like an old friend welcoming you home.
You’ve maybe been running for fifteen minutes when the first drop of rain hits your face, sliding down the bridge of your nose and dripping off your chin.
You slide to a stop, glancing up at the sky through narrowed eyes, and the dark gathering of puffy clouds above your head signals more rain is about to hit any second.
Dammit.
You heave a sigh, and turn back the way you came.
The slight misting of rain turns to a torrential downpour before you even reach the edge of the trees, and when a sharp crack of bright lightning lights up the sky above you, the thunder roaring behind dangerously close overhead, you dive beneath the safety of a nearby river bank without even thinking.
Your heart is pounding once more in your ears, and you swallow hard, mouth and throat suddenly very dry.
Your blood roars, pounding in your head into the start of a headache, and you squeeze your eyes shut as another flash of lightning turns the trees around you into twisted, distorted shapes in the quickly dwindling light.
You fist your hands into the pocket of your hoodie and count to ten in your head, lips trembling and teeth chattering as another round of thunder shakes the ground beneath you.
You know the signs. You’re dangerously close to a panic attack.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” You swear in a constant, vehement stream beneath your breath, tucking your dirty sneakers beneath you as you curl your legs protectively to your chest.
Resting your forehead on your knees, you try to take deep, slow breaths, and force yourself to picture Chan, the scent of petrichor filling your nostrils coming from the alpha you love and feel safe with, but his influence can only do so much against the onslaught of the storm roaring around you.
It’s one thing to feel comfortable around another alpha’s scent, it’s another thing entirely to forget everything in your life that has happened in the rain.
Another clap of thunder, and you’re huddling into yourself, slapping your hands frantically over your ears.
The wetness on your cheeks is tears, not rain.
Just like before.
‘You don’t have to go!’ Your fingers are grabbing the hem of his coat, and though he doesn’t look at you, he stops, which gives you hope.
‘I do.’
‘No!’ You cry out, and your ten year old voice is high and shrill, a loud boom of thunder drowning out your wails. ‘Please don’t go. Don’t go.’
Your cries turn into whimpers, and he still doesn’t turn.
Instead, he shakes his coat free from your fingers and opens the car door.
‘Please.’ You sob, and he shakes his head, before disappearing into the car.
Your mother pulls you back-drenched and shaking and crying-into the safety of the house, and he drives out of sight.
Your fingers find your phone in your pocket somehow, and you manage to unlock it, squinting against the bright screen, your hands shaking so badly that you’re not even sure you can type, let alone find your contacts.
You’re soaked through, even hiding under the minimal cover of the embankment, and you’re shivering so hard your teeth feel like they’re going to chatter right out of your head.
You curse yourself for not checking the weather before your little spontaneous run.
The rain dripping from overhead makes your phone screen slick, and you swear in frustration as after several fruitless attempts to type, it slips from your fingers, sinking into the mud at your feet.
“Fuck!” You scream back at the whipping wind, and pouring rain, and bright flashes of lightning and terrifying thunder.
Your fingers curl into fists at your side, and you can’t hold back the sob that wrenches free from your throat.
No one knew where you went after you left Hyunjin’s. You hadn’t even bothered to answer his text.
You were alone, and you’d just have to wait out the storm.
You shove yourself as far back against the embankment as you can, huddled into the fetal position, and screw your eyes shut, trying to think of something, anything, other than the sounds of the storm swirling around you, the feel of your heart pounding wildly within the walls of your chest.
“Breathe.” You tell yourself, but your voice wobbles, and your words tremble, and you’re crying again.
Crying, crying, crying.
‘Why are you crying?’ He asks with such cold haughtiness that you stop for a moment and stare at him, mouth agape.
‘Why am I crying?’ You repeat back in disbelief, and you force some of the wobble from your voice as you straighten, glaring him down. ‘Why the fuck would I not be crying? I love you!’
He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, and the water dripping from the dark strands of his hair trace their way across his high cheekbones, the expensive, crisp lines of his suit.
‘It never would have worked anyway.’ He stares at you, sharp, angry, and it’s a far cry from the soft, affectionate man you thought you knew. He takes a menacing step toward you, and you take one back. “Alphas don’t belong with other alphas, (Y/N). You fucking know that. Regardless of whatever shit your radical equality college courses are brainwashing you into thinking.”
You open your mouth to respond, but he’s holding up a hand, silencing you as easily as if he’d just slapped you.
Lightning crackles over head, illuminating the hard expression on his face, the hurt on your own.
‘My parents have found me a suitable match-an accomplished omega from a good family. I’m sorry, (Y/N).’
He’s not. You know he’s not.
So you stand in the rain, and you watch him get into his fancy car and drive away, leaving you behind.
You’re not sure how long you’re crouched there, hidden in on yourself beneath the fake safety the embankment at your back affords, but it feels like years have passed when you feel someone shake you, and your name sounds from far away, like someone is calling out from underwater.
“(Y/N)!”
You force yourself to open your eyes, and the face swimming before you slowly comes into view.
The downturned lips, the worried expression in the dark, serious eyes, the panicked, furrowed posture of the brow.
Chan shakes you again, not as violently this time, and his mouth forms words, but it takes a moment for your brain to catch up and decipher them.
“-going to get you warm. Can you walk?”
Every inch of your body feels like it’s been soaked in cold, wet concrete-your limbs numb, your lips trembling-and so you shake your head tiredly, slowly.
Everything feels too heavy.
Chan glances over at someone, and it’s then that you notice he’s not alone, Minho and Changbin crouched at either shoulder, their expressions of open worry mirroring his own.
“What were you fucking thinking?” Changbin leans around Chan to frantically rub at your upper arms, trying to spark some warmth back in your skin as you continue to shiver, wet clothing weighing down your useless limbs.
You want to shrug, want to tease and tell him ‘oh, you know, just thought I’d go running in a rain storm and catch hypothermia and maybe die, and oh! I saw Jeongin today. Probably ruined that relationship indefinitely.’ but instead, you can barely shake your head in response, lips moving weakly, but no sound coming out.
Fuck, you’re cold.
“We need to go.” Minho tells Chan and Changbin seriously, and they nod in response, Chan carefully pulling you out from under the embankment and settling you into his arms, Changbin throwing his jacket over you as he stands, tucking it around your violently shaking body.
Minho keeps pace beside Chan as he carries you through the forest, and he reaches out to brush a hand down your cheek, his skin pleasantly warm, so much so that you whine and seek after it even when he pulls back with a tight smile.
“Blue’s not your color, sweetheart. We need to take care of that.”
You snuggle into the warmth of Chan’s chest, like a moth chasing a flame, and you note offhandedly, fuzzily from somewhere far away, that the rain has stopped, dripping slowly and rhythmically from the trees overhead.
Changbin jogs ahead, and you realize, at the sound of an engine turning over, that they’ve brought Chan’s car.
Your mind immediately goes to the delicious thought of the heater, your skin prickling painfully at the idea.
Everything is slowly coming back to life.
You’re no longer numb, but maybe you’d prefer that, because now, now everything just fucking hurts.
Minho and Chan sandwich you between their warmth in the backseat, and Changbin drives like his ass is on fire straight back to the alpha dorms.
You don’t even protest when they carry you up the stairs and into your apartment, Changbin rustling through your closet to find any and all blankets you own, piling them on top of your still shaking body, one after the other.
“Fuck, baby girl.” He mutters, crouching down in front of you where you lay on the couch, teeth still chattering loudly. He tugs a blanket up and tucks it beneath your chin, concern etched across his face. “You’re still fucking freezing.”
“It’s probably the shock.” Chan replies worriedly, pacing behind Changbin, his lower lip pulled between his teeth.
If you weren’t currently unsure of whether or not you could speak, you would have congratulated him on his astute, and very scientific, correct conclusion.
Minho stares at you, hands on his hips, and then he whips into action.
“Go turn on the shower. Make it as hot as you think she can stand.” He motions to Chan, and the other alpha disappears down the hallway without another word. “Changbin.” He glances at the alpha crouched beside you, feeling your forehead with his large, warm palm. “Help me get her undressed.”
In any other situation, Changbin probably would have made a suggestive joke about Minho’s choice of words, but now, he just silently helps you sit up, propped up against his chest, as Minho removes all the blankets and begins taking off your clothes slowly, starting with your muddy, wet sneakers.
By the time he’s laid you bare, there is a drenched, heavy pile of dark clothing sitting on the living room floor, and your shuddering has resumed violently, goosebumps pricking over every inch of your exposed skin.
Changbin rubs his warm palms up and down the skin of your arms as your teeth chatter, and Minho grunts, standing up and motioning with his head to Chan, who’s reappeared in the mouth of the hallway.
“Let’s go.”
Changbin picks you up easily without another word from Minho, and even in your partially out of it state, you pick up on the way their scents sour with worry, sharp and acrid on every inhale.
You don’t like it, and you try to say as much, but only a whimper comes out, and Changbin ups his pace to the bathroom.
The air inside the little room is pleasantly humid and warm thanks to the already running shower, and you start to feel your muscles prickle to life painfully once more as the blood starts to return to them in response to the change in temperature.
It’s still not enough though, and your jaw is starting to ache from all the shivering.
Changbin carefully deposits you in the shower, and you hold onto the wall desperately as the support of his arms leaves, willing your legs to keep you standing, your entire body still quivering, even under the unending stream of the hot water from overhead.
Changbin leans inside the shower once more, Chan and Minho watching you warily from over his shoulder, and places his palm on your bare skin.
His hand is warm, and you desperately seek after the contact as he pulls back and swears under his breath.
“Fuck.” He glances at the other two alphas, and the bitter scent of smoke burns your lungs, making your throat even drier than before. “It’s not enough. She’s still chilled.”
Without a word, Chan shucks off his sweatshirt and drops it to the bathroom floor, pushing past Changbin to step into the shower, pulling you into the warmth of his bare chest, the water instantly drenching the sweatpants he still wears without a thought.
You want to tease him, tell him you’d never thought of showering with your clothes on before, but the warm, persistent heat of his body against your own, slowly thawing your bones, is enough to keep you silent, snuggling in more against him instead.
You glance up at him, the water dripping from his curls and down his nose, as he motions to the other two alphas with a jerk of his chin.
“Get in. C’mon. The more body heat, the better.”
Changbin and Minho take off their own sweaters, leaving them bare chested, and squeeze into the shower beside the two of you.
It’s a tiny shower, and it’s not made for four bodies, but they make it work, squishing you between them, their arms linked in a close circle around you, and slowly but surely, the combination of all of their alpha body heat-higher temperature than betas or omegas-starts to warm you from the inside out.
Changbin smooths a hand over your wet hair, and his face grows slightly less pinched as he nods over your head to Minho and Chan.
“She’s getting warmer.”
Your brain is mush, warmed between your three alpha mates, and the smell of their combined scents-slowly returning to normal now that they know you’re not dying-is like a balm, washing over you and making your eyes instantly heavy.
You sigh and let yourself sag in Chan’s hold, content they’ll hold you up.
“I didn’t do it on purpose y’know.” You finally say, words slurred and heavy with exhaustion, and you feel them all heave a collective sigh of relief at your first coherent words since they found you.
“What, trying to get yourself killed and fuck us over with worry?” Minho chuckles with no humor and his words are sharp and dry, but his tender, affectionate fingers on your hip soften the searing tone to his response.
You nod against Chan’s chest, and his arms tighten around you in response.
“Yeah, I-” You swallow, desperately needing a drink now that your body is going back to normal, and avoid their gazes, glancing down to study the way Changbin’s rough knuckles look covering Chan’s hand splayed protectively across your bare stomach.
Honesty is the best policy right?
“-didn’t know it was supposed to storm.” You finish lamely, because fuck honesty right now, you don’t think you can handle thinking about the betrayal on Jeongin’s face, the disappointment on Hyunjin’s.
“I’m sorry.” Chan murmurs beneath his breath, pressing a soft kiss to your upturned forehead.
You glance at him in surprise, slowly regaining cognitive abilities.
“Why are you sorry?”
“We should have looked for you sooner.” He replies tightly, eye’s dark and lips pinched. He shakes his head slightly. “Hyunjin said he was worried about you when you left his place, but we just thought you’d gone for a run, needed some time, and then it started to rain-”
You shrug, and try to make your tone light. “It’s not your fault I’m terrified of thunderstorms.”
“Yeah, but it is our job to look out for you.” Changbin says resolutely, placing a finger beneath your chin and making you look up at him.
His expression softens slightly as he stares down at you, and suddenly, you feel a lot more warm than before.
“I’m sorry.” You whisper out, because suddenly, you don’t know what else to say.
Minho shifts behind you, leaning his cheek onto your drenched hair, and you feel his sigh against your back, his breath brushing across your cheek.
“Why are you apologizing, sweetheart?”
You glance down at your hands covering theirs, resting around your waist, and you experimentally flex your fingers, the blood flow restored.
Physically, you feel loads better already, emotionally, not so much.
You bite your bottom lip and focus on the way the water swirls around your feet.
“Because I make it really hard to look out for me sometimes.”
Their responding silence speaks eons more than their words ever could.
Outside, the rain continues to pound against the window panes, and the crack of thunder can be heard even over the sound of the running shower.
'It never would have worked anyway. Alphas don't belong with other alphas, (Y/N).'
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To Be Continued
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quick bright things - teaser 2 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
"So quick bright things come to confusion.” - William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream Act I Scene I
MY TOP SECRET WIP HAS A NAME NOW!!! welcome to the world of quick bright things !! here is a little sneaky surprise :) i still don't know when it will be done or even if i should be posting this but i can't stop myself i love you guys i love this eren i never want to shut up about it ANDDDD i think part 1 should be postable soon.....if only you guys knew what i had in store for this uni truly. anyway.....tell me what u think hehehee enjoy<3
teaser 1 here if you missed it
⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆
“Open up.”
You’ve been enjoying this game of trading one sense for another, and you keep your eyes shut firmly, letting your jaw fall open and your tongue hang out. A piece of peach, fleshy and dripping with juice, finds its way onto your tongue, pinched too roughly between strong fingers. When you close your lips around the fruit, the fingers stay with it, frozen in their pinched position and forcing you to suck the peach from them, to swallow around them, to run your tongue along them and get as much of the meat as you can. When the fingers withdraw from your lips, you open your eyes and gasp quietly.
Eren’s leaning over you, a solar eclipse that smells like tan skin and sounds like Campari, and in the silhouette of the sunlight, you think he’s smiling.
“You’re still hungry,” he says, a question that’s left its punctuation mark behind. You think of Historia, of the shame of revealing your appetite. You dodge.
“I’m never hungry.”
“Never?” Eren crawls over you to kneel between your legs, propping one of your ankles up on his shoulder. The game you started is ripped out of your hands, chess pieces flying into the pool, scattering across the table, knocking over bottles and matchbooks. It’s so silent out here in the sun it hurts, and you almost miss the constant buzzing horseflies of early summer.
“Never.”
“If you’ve never been hungry,” Eren muses, tilting his head so that his cheekbone fits into the sensitive arch of your foot, reaching a hand down to splay it wide on your belly, “you’ve never been full.”
“How do you figure?” Your words come out throaty, waterlogged.
“Can’t have one without the other.” Eren shrugs, turning his head to the side. His lips brush against your heel, your Achilles’, the swirly seashell dangling from your anklet. You dig your teeth into your bottom lip, toes twitching behind his ear. “I don’t believe you, anyway.”
“No?” You try to tilt your head coyly, like your heart’s not clawing and scratching against your throat to get to him. Hungry, indeed.
“You wouldn’t stare like that if you didn’t want to.”
You’re taken aback, but not enough to fall out of the moment, Eren’s lips closing around the knob of your ankle slowly, like the pit of a fruit, make sure of that.
“Didn’t want to what?”
Eren’s hands meet the cushion on either side of your head hard enough to rattle the chair, his long, tanned body stretching over yours. He’s close enough to brush his nose against yours, but you can still see the hazy green of his eyes flicking here and there on your face: from your eyes to your lips to the beauty mark on your cheek. Your poolside lounge feels more like a butcher’s block under your taut spine.
Sasha’s told you about the wolves in these hills, that they howl murder at night, but they’re sleepy and indulgent in the heat of the sun. One of Eren’s canines catches the light and glints at you as he grins.
“Eat yourself sick.”
-
come hang in my inbox if u have questions or thoughts or literally anything at all hehehehehehe i love you guys!!! enjoy him <3
#quick bright things#I CAN'T WAIT TO POST THIS WHOLE FUCKING THING LIKE-#no one understands but shep and mel#qbt#eren jaeger x reader#rage.rambles
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Fort Frolic is becoming more and more popular the longer the games are out, much to my thill, as this means people are looking more and more into the muses, the Disciples, the quartet. Which is delightful. I have seen a lot of posts ranging from early 2015 blogs and art pieces as well as forums to modern, recent takes and character dives.
Of course, fandom is a space in which to explore and grow our own thoughts and theories. Some of the posts I have seen are certainly… choices. I have been putting off a brief character study of the muses until my wife and I have finished editing and splicing together our complete comprehensive history of the Disciples.
I have been working on breathing life into these characters for years now. Pulling from every media as well as looking into any rabbithole I could.
The reason behind this post is not to claim others work and ideas as incorrect but instead is to bring my findings to light. Share with you what is one of my two life’s works.
A brief character study of Kyle Fitzpatrick
Oh where to begin with my beloved boy. His canon appearances are so short lived. With three canonical lines I all but built him from the ground up. He is mentioned during DLC Burial at Sea 1 with no voice lines BUT that does give us where he was on New Years Eve, which I will talk about later in this post. He is not mentioned at all in Rapture by John Shirley. But this doesn’t mean that we don’t have clues and context for him as a character.
Let’s start with his name, Kyle Fitzpatrick.
Kyle is a Scottish-Gaelic name and FItzpatrick is an Irish surname. Coincidence right? No. Based purely on his name we can place his origin in either Ireland or Scotland, which comes into play when we dive further into his place within Rapture’s society.
Now I know what you’re thinking, “Oh but he doesn’t have an accent! In his voice lines he doesn’t have an accent.” and you’re right. He doesn’t. Let’s talk about that.
Kyle was employed by Sander Cohen, we know that as a hard fact. We also know as a hard fact that Sander Cohen was heavily on the side of Andrew Ryan when it came to the Ryan vs Fontaine bias. After the Death of Frank Fontaine who rose up in his place to challenge Andrew Ryan? Atlas. Atlas is a working class Irishman. Now, don’t you think it’s rather unseemly to have someone who is in the inner circle of Ryan supporters having a similar accent to his biggest adversary?
Of course, the scottish-gaelic accent is actually quite different from Fontaine’s accent as Atlas, but we also know for a Hard Fact that there is still racism within Rapture. Therefore by piecing together the racism as well as Cohen’s connection to Ryan we can deduce that Fitzpatrick was trained to cover his natural accent to keep up appearances within Fort Frolic and Rapture as a whole.
Next, Let’s talk about his age. We know Cohen referred to him as “Young Fitzpatrick.” I have seen a million and a half headcanons and ideas on how young “young” is. For this I’m pulling from the book, Rapture, with Martin’s POV. While the Rapture book is not considered Canon, it played a very important part in my construction of Kyle. We know from that that Cohen and by proxy, his disciples, are not only privy but are actively involved in a lot of skeezy, under the table, unorthodox practices and circles. Why does this matter? Because it feeds directly into Kyle Fitzpatrick’s age. In my construction of Kyle I placed him very firmly at the age of 21 when he died. So young right? Yeah I agree, but I have several reasons behind this. The first being that I do not believe that his prefrontal cortex is completely matured; I will touch back on this later. It’s not unknown that I am an avid fan of BaS and I really liked Elizabeth’s line of “This city values children. Not childhood.”
Kyle is the youngest of the muses. Being 17 at the time of Cohen scouting him, 18 when he was made an official disciple and 21 at the time of his death. I’d like to explain my reasoning behind the gap between him being scouted and him being debuted as a proper disciple. We know for another Hard Fact that all four of Cohen’s disciples (as well as others) had a physical, sexual relationship with their employer. Martin mentions it, Silas mentions it. Hector’s audio diary mentions it. Kyle was not excluded from this though I think he was not actively sought after by Cohen as much as other muses were. Cohen is smart, very smart, he knew that bringing on someone under the age of consent would not go over well with Ryan nor a number of the other key players within the social hierarchy. Kyle was groomed for the months leading up to his official debut. Which we know many went through but only 4 have managed to pass. I can go into further detail into his test. But I will spare you the details. He was pushed into the spotlight the second he turned 18 in 1956.
Let’s talk about why he was so young. Kyle is nothing less than a musical protege. He is incredibly talented, especially at such a young age. He is *young* he is not *stupid*. I’ve read a lot of people saying that they think that he’s naive or trusting and I’d like to counter that by saying that he’s impressionable, not naive. Cohen chose him because he knew he could mold him into something special. Which he did. Kyle is brilliant. But don’t think for one second he was stupid. He had three people constantly telling him that he was being manipulated by Cohen, by his Sponsor, by several players in Rapture. But he *chose* to ignore them.
Let’s break that down. Kyle was a victim of love bombing and near constant manipulation from almost everyone around him. I plan on doing an indepth dive into the mental illness within Rapture and the effects it had on those within the city.
Kyle was pulled in two separate directions. After working extensively on fitting him into the world created by 2K as well as John Shirely I chose to have his Sponsor be no one less than Frank Fontaine.
I do have a reason behind this. We know from all media types that Fontaine is an opportunist. Ryan always kept him at a distance. Never really trusting him. Not allowing him into the proper inner circle of Rapture like some of the other businessmen. I think especially in 1956, once things were properly starting to get heated, Fontaine would have looked for a way to worm his way into the inner social circle. He had a lot of people on his payroll, this we know for another fact. But how far did that really spread?
In order to explain the next part of Kyle’s backstory I have to derail to talk about Frank Fontaine. I can cite several occasions where Frank Fontaine openly or internally admits to blackmail, manipulation, sexual favors and paying off several people within Rapture in order to get ahead or get his way.
We know for a solid FACT that he had someone in nearly every part of Rapture with the exception of Fort Frolic. I always found that interesting. Why would the person with his hands in nearly every part of Rapture not be actively seeking out someone within the gossip hub of Rapture.
Unless he did.
I pride myself on fitting my work into being completely canon compliant. Fitting Kyle into the greater canon of Rapture was… difficult. I had to play fast and loose with a lot, backbending and jumping through hoops in order to bring such an insignificant character.
Kyle was young, this we know. Impressionable. I believe that Frank Fontaine saw him as someone he could easily get information out of.
Another solid fact we know is that Cohen didn’t care much for Fontaine or later Atlas. But Sander Cohen is a connoisseur of the arts. He can appreciate people with money, especially when it comes to funding his projects. Fontaine being interested in sponsoring his youngest disciple would have been too tempting a lure to ignore and so Kyle’s ties to Fontaine began.
Let’s dive into the manipulation and abuse within Fort Frolic and Rapture as a whole. Yummy, right? I see again and again people claiming that Kyle was stupid or that he loved Sander Cohen and I firmly stand against these claims. Kyle is young but he’s not blind. Do I think Kyle was once infatuated by Cohen? Yes. He was. Especially for a kid who came from a rocky background. But I think many people forget that Martin had been with Cohen from day one, working for him topside before he joined him in Rapture. Kyle had access and very close relationships with people who had been around Cohen for a lot longer than he had been. But knowledge and outside perspective doesn’t always protect someone from gaslighting, manipulation and abuse. I think that the dynamic between the key players was… difficult. A lot happened out of the public eye, within Fort Frolic, within the Disciples relationships and most certainly the interlocking dynamics between sponsors and their subtle or active gathering of information.
I’m about to step out of my semi-formal setting to get down and dirty real quick. I know y’all Sander Cohen kinnies gonna hate me for this one but that man is absolutely an abuser. We know this. He’s a sadist. And while I *love* that for him, he absolutely took out his artistic (or personal) rage on his disciples. There is a lot of room for disdain between disciple and artist. The prime written example of this is Martin considering just fucking killing Cohen when he first started to splice in 1956. The next example I’m going to pull is from the game with Hector Rodriguez. He says, and I quote, “the things that man made me do”. Which I always found interesting, saying as until the closure of Fort Frolic on New Years, they had *every* opportunity to leave all together. Of course, I could go into heavy detail into why each of the muses stayed but I will spare you. I’m here to talk about Kyle. Why did Kyle stay?
By 1958 Kyle was very firmly rooted within the upper class of Rapture. He was renowned as a musical genius as well as held a lot of social power from his dealings with Fort Frolic as one of Cohen’s Disciples as well as his ties to the essentially untouchable Empire that Frank Fontaine had created.
He was 19 years old and was untouchable by consequences for his actions. If Cohen didn’t bail him out of sticky situations, Fontaine would. Their dynamic is extremely interesting to me and I’d love to really get into the meat of it, but again, I will spare you in this short dissertation. Kyle was feeding Fontaine information he got while in Ryan’s social circles and he was well paid for it. It was an investment, of course, but Kyle gave him valuable information on Andrew Ryan and the inner workings of Fort Frolic as well as started giving him the seeds of ideas for Atlas. Though that’s another rabbithole for another day.
Kyle was very dangerously intertwined with Fontaine, which did not go unnoticed by Ryan nor his associates. After the ‘death’ of Frank Fontaine, anyone who had any ties to him were detained and questioned extensively. Kyle being one of them. But again, a story for another day.
Kyle was young and impressionable, as I have stated before. But he was also constantly being manipulated, gaslit and abused by those who saw him as an asset rather than a person. They took advantage of his love and lust for life. Kyle was burned out in record time but that does not mean that he wasn’t an absolutely awful person. He was a teenager given an outrageous amount of power. He was making extremely questionable decisions and was facing very few consequences for his actions.
I am not defending him as a good person. Anyone who enjoys Bioshock knows that these characters are extremely flawed and that is what makes them so fucking interesting.
I can go on and on about how everyone in Rapture was a simple pawn in a bigger game in a city that was destined to fail, but that’s the beauty of Bioshock.
Kyle Fitzpatrick was not a good person but he was the PRIME example of what Rapture was made for. He was a kid who came from a backwater town in Ireland who clawed, bit and fucked his way to the top. He loved too much and it was taken advantage of, brutally. Do I think that love extended to Sander Cohen? No. Kyle recognized him as a genius, albeit an outdated one, but he did not love him. Not like he loved his fellow Disciples or his work. Cohen was a security blanket for his debauchery, he signed paychecks and Kyle was willing to entertain him until New Years.
It is my belief that it was Kyle’s plan to bail from Fort Frolic after the Civil War started. He was in too deep with Atlas and Ryan knew it. His choices had landed him directly in the spotlight. Secrets were exposed and Kyle was brutally punished for it until his death in 1960.
I plan on posting a complete comprehensive history of him as well as the other Disciples.
TLDR:// Kyle Fitzpatrick is a dirty little bastard man who’s age is being confused for him being naive or stupid. He doesn’t really love Sander Cohen and he got exactly what was coming for him.
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nnoitra is my absolute fave and i adore your art!!! id love to see some kind of dynamic fighting pose of him in your style, but im also curious about any art or headcanons you might have about him if he had experienced the living world somewhat- like what foods would he like, or hobbies, or how would he spend time w others? sorry for the long ask love you bye!!!!
Thanks🤧❤ !!! And ohh that's a good ask!
I have like a couple of answers for different turns of events on this one... Might as well also share some of the other ideas I have so it's a lot and even more.
But well if we're talking about regular hollow Nnoitra I think he'd be interested in all kinds of entertainment. Mainly music. He always struck me as a music person tbh especially since I firmly believe he'd be involved with goth subculture in some way or the other. I can see him collecting CDs as a hobby. Considering that my version of Nnoitra absolutely HATES thinking into things too much if they have something to do with his relationships, himself or the hollow existence as a whole I guess doing nothing when he's not asleep is hell for him because there's not much to think about in Hueco Mundo anyway. Maybe background music would give him some peace of mind while he's musing to himself. I mean even if his mind would wander back to these topics AT LEAST it won't be as painful to think about it as doing the same while you're surrounded by silence and lying on a hard surface locked up somewhere in Las Noches so no one would gnaw into your damn throat on your free time.
Him being a melomane/an avid music lover would work in any AU or story. I think he'd love A Perfect Circle. You know... considering the crescent moon and circle patterns and the music theme Kubo chose for him.
If we're talking about a bit worse turn of events where - let's say - he ends up in someone's home in the world of the living after he got his ass handed to him by zaraki, had to flee and now he feels worse than ever... watching TV is his other go-to. He'd be in front of it 24/7. It's stupid, sometimes even curious, sometimes confusing and he can either catch up on things or just complain about something to himself. His mind is occupied with something all the time either way.
I also think hollow Nnoitra would be very sceptical about trying human/shinigami food. It doesn't seem appealing to him, unnatural even. Especially if he has someone to feed off of. I believe that arrancars can work like vampires. Shinigamis are just compressed spiritual power so transfusing reiatsu would have the same effect as actually eating a shinigami. What's the point of choosing between flesh, blood and reiatsu if it's all the same in their case 😭. If he ends up living with a human then. Well. Blood sucking it is I guess lmao.
Anyway yeah when it comes to food he's more prone to sticking to his hollow side. Though maybe he'd be tempted to try a soda or two.
If he's human/a shinigami then this guy would eat and/or drink literally anything. Especially if it's sea food, meat or something spicy. I had an AU where he was a captain in Gotei 13 and one of his hobbies was visiting karakura and other cities just to absolutely rob food establishments of their supplies. If a restaraunt has an "all you can eat" offer then it might as well be fucking bankrupt. If a cute cafe has a special Valentine's Day offer where couples only pay half the price then "Well I guess I could give someone a call".
Cooking though..? Nope. Can't be bothered enough to cook something for himself.
Someone I know also had suggested once that in this AU he'd have a shit ton of hair products. And well it does make sense.
In a Shinigami Academy AU I had he's much younger and edgier LMAO. Goth enough to care about his appearance and wear makeup but too insecure to not stick out too much. He'd love collecting good cool-looking clothing but would literally bite off his own limbs if he had to wear something skin-tight or god forbid skinny jeans. Him and his toothpick legs could never!!
Anyway there he wasn't so wary and disdainful towards other people. Desperate for some affection but sadly too air-headed to care enough. So he was sleeping around a lot just for funsies with Shinji as his partner in crime (sorry).
I think that's about all I have on this topic!! Tnx again!
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summary — after a mighty win Ted needs to burn off some adrenaline and he does so buried between your legs.
warnings — Ted Lasso x afab!Reader. pussy eating galore. oral sex on a work desk. dirty talk. coming untouched. spit play. no beta.
word count — 1.6k
author’s note — 😅 first time writing Ted. this is for everyone who loves Ted Lasso (but mostly for @sudsevans ily). A million thanks to @evanstache for the “coming untouched” idea. gif credit: @sudsevans
☽ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ♁ 𝐎𝐳𝐳𝐢𝐞'𝐬 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 ☾
𝟏𝟖+ 𝐎𝐧𝐥𝐲. 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈. 𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝/𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦. 𝐑𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 & 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝!
“Oh doggy!” Ted hollers as you walk hand in hand quickly through the nearly empty locker room. “Did you see those magnificent beasts tear up the pitch?! It was like God was playing his very own foosball match.”
“Yes, silly. I was there to witness the amazing comeback.” You muse before waving at Will who nods politely. The young kitman gathers some remaining towels and exits towards the boot room with a shout, ‘goodnight!’.
Ted smacks his homemade “BELIEVE” sign with a thwap as he crosses the threshold into his office. Your core clenches like a vice at the sound. Oh how you wish it was your pussy on the receiving end.
He quickly tears off his black sports coat and adjusts the collar of his button up before smoothing his hands over his gray sweater. “Man, I feel like I just ran a mile. Except my feet don’t hurt and I’m not all sweaty.” He breathes sharply through his nose as he rambles, pacing back and forth. “I mean I’m a little sweaty but not too sweaty.”
You push yourself up onto his desk and watch him like an excited puppy. You loved when he bounced off the walls. No one does happy quite like Ted. He deserved to shine and you weren’t ever going to stamp out the light.
But then he does that one thing that always gets you hot; comb back that flirty strand of hair that always falls out of place.
He stops mid sentence and flicks his eyes curiously at you when a low moan tumbles from your open lips at the mundane action.
“You okay, Sweetheart? Or did somethin’ catch your eye?” He croons knowing he’s got you wrapped around his finger.
“What? I can’t help myself. If only you’d stop being so freakin’ attractive all the time!” you exclaim feigning exasperation as he settles between your legs.
Ted tips your chin up with a tender, unyielding finger and presses his lips to yours. Your lips slide over his with ease as he gets bolder and deepens the kiss. His finely shaped bristles tickle your upper lip and it makes you half laugh, half moan as he brushes his tongue over yours.
His arms wrap around your torso pressing you firmly against his heated body. His heart beats like a hummingbird in flight against his ribs, thumping wildly under your palms.
Your left panting as Ted breaks the kiss with a raspy groan. He looks behind you into the locker room for a moment and then to the left like he was weighing his options.
Ted drops to his knees in a flash and flicks his hungry yet timid eyes up at you. “This ok, Darlin’? I’m sorry I just gotta have a taste. I’ll be real quick.” His hands tenderly smooth up your bare legs and push your skirt up your thighs a few inches.
Your heart leaps into your throat at the idea of Ted eating you out in public. He was never one to do such private acts out in the open, let alone at work and on his desk. He must really be aching and who were you to let him suffer?
“Eat up.” You purr with a wink.
With a sly grin he throws your legs over his shoulder and shoves your panties to the side. You slump onto this desk like a rag doll when he slots his searing mouth over your core and licks a hot, wet stripe up your pussy eliciting dual groans from the two of you.
You whine as Ted pulls away just as soon as he began. “Honey, you gotta be quiet. I’m like 92% sure we are the only ones left in the building but you’ve gotta keep it to a dull roar in case that 8% get suspicious and come to investigate.”
You clench your jaw and nod while shoving his head back down. “Yes, Ted. I’ll be as quiet as I can. But will you?”
His brows shoot to the ceiling. “Well, I’ll be. Are you turning this into a game?”
“You and I both know you get off on eating my pussy as much as I do. So yeah,” You shrug your shoulders with a smirk, “let's give it a go.”
His lips curl into a devious grin. “Ok, Hot Shot.” He says calmly, “Do your best to keep quiet as I make this pretty little cunt come all over my tongue.”
Oxygen is forced from your lungs by his filthy words but you gasp the air back in as he slots his mouth onto your clit and begins his sweet torture.
Your head drops back hard onto the table but you don’t register the pain as he swirls the tip of his tongue around your clit. He assaults the tiny bundle of nerves with sharp flicks and tight circles as your spine arches off his desk.
Your pussy floods with slick as he eats without abandon and swallows down all you have to offer. His hands ensnare your thighs keeping your writhing body still as he laps feverishly at your weeping core.
He sucks your clit into his mouth, humming around the nerve filled button forcing a wrecked gasp from your lips. He strikes with precision, knowing just the right amount of pressure and suction needed to get you off. He was a man of many talents and my goodness, no one has ever been able to get you off so fast and so hard like Ted has.
Your limbs start to twitch from the hypersensual onslaught. The tingle in the base of your spine rises higher and higher until your orgasm explodes behind your eyes.
Arousal pours from your petals as he tips you over the edge. You bite back a scream as your legs lock around his head and he drinks up the creamy spend with a deep chest rumbling growl. “You taste so fuckin’ good. I can’t stop myself.” Ted confesses as he pulls away to take a breath. The lower half of his jaw is coated in a thin, shiny layer of come and he couldn’t look more pleased with himself.
He drags his fingers along the inside of your thigh while you catch your breath before he latches onto your swollen nub again. Your body jolts from the overstimulation as he sucks on your swollen clit like a piece of candy.
Your nerves sizzle as the pleasure escalates to new heights and you feel yourself already in the blissful clouds.
Your fingers latch into his auburn locks and tug as he forces another wave of pleasure out of your tired body. Ted groans from the ache in his scalp and the deep vibrations make your cunt tremble. His tongue draws deft patterns all over your drenched core before dipping into your heat and catching you by surprise.
He slowly fucks you open with his tongue, taking his time to stretch your velvet walls until your hips are thrusting off the wood desperate for more.
He pulls away a second time with a smug grin. “You gonna be good and stay quiet? Or do I have to put my fingers in your mouth while you come on my tongue?”
You softly whimper at the threat even though you’d love to suck on his fingers. “No, I’ll be good.”
“Atta girl.” He praises before forcing your legs as wide as they’ll go and lewdly spitting on your pussy.
Your body buckles at the shock of his spit hitting your soaked folds. It lands squarely onto your cunt and drips down mixing with your cream. “Gotta make sure this pussy is nice and fuckin’ wet if I’m gonna tongue fuck it properly.”
His mustache prickles your sensitive petals as he shoves his tongue deep into your pussy. His hands keep your thigh spread as the pleasure mounts and races steadily toward your impending orgasm.
Ted grinds his jaw firmly into your puffy core intent on tasting the deepest part of you. His tongue widens your walls as he curls and points the muscle, grunting into your heat as your arousal pours into his mouth.
The tough bristle of his mustache tortuously rubs your clit with every shove of his jaw making your cunt spasm around his tongue as he forces you to the edge in record speed.
A scream is lodged in your throat as your peak crests and you tumble down the cliff. You grind and thrust your cunt hard onto his face as you chase the joyous high. A fresh wave of slick spills from your core and drenches his jaw as you mark him in your arousal.
Ted makes a sputtering noise before grunting loudly, much louder than any noise you’d made the entire time.
“You okay?” You ask out of breath as you push yourself onto your elbows.
His head hangs between your thighs and his fingers are still imprinted on your thighs when you hear him mutter and curse.
“What was that?” You ask pensively as you run your fingers through his hair.
He finally lifts his head and flames paint his cheeks when he gestures down to his lap. “I came in my gosh darn pants! I haven’t done that since I was teenager!”
“Oh Ted, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about.” You offer as you cradle his messy jaw in your hands. “It’s rather hot that you got so turned on by eating my pussy.”
His big doe eyes stare up at you anxiously, “Yeah?”
“Yes.” You firmly state with a searing kiss. You taste yourself on his lips and you have to press your thighs together to quell the ache.
“Now let’s get home so I can clean up the mess you in your pants made with my tongue.” You say, cheekily as you slip off his desk and fix your skirt.
“Here.” You toss him the black sports jacket he was wearing during the game. “Tie it around your waist and I’ll go make sure the coast is clear.”
“You are a wicked and tempestuous creature. I don’t know how I’d survive without you.” He muses before tugging you into another infatuating kiss.
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The Wolfbred Chronicles - The "Lost" Tribe - Part One - Moonlight, Markings and Musings
“You're… Wolfbred?” Zelda couldn't help herself but laugh.
Her bodyguard looked up at her. His face looked like he wasn't sure whether he was offended or very, very confused by her laughter.
“No, no… Father hates Wolfbred. He said he'd never knight another one. You're a personal bodyguard knight, Link. Father would never.”
Urbosa watched as the small, previously-assumed-to-be-Hylian man just looked at Zelda with a completely blank stare. The moon was on his head, painting his eyebrows white along with the mythical swirl of a wolf long gone that was shimmering on his forehead. She pressed on her temple as she tried to recall how her dearest friend interacted with these creatures, and how she determined that they were Wolfbred. Eventually, she bent down to his level and pointed firmly at his hand. “Give, Link, give.”
Almost instantly, Link offered up his hand.
“Wow! How did you do that? I've never seen the Tiny Princess get more than a black stare.”
“Wolfbred were a passion project of my dearest friend. I remember she gave them orders in a particular format. Simple orders in a simple format. I also remember something that could prove… particularly challenging in our future here with Link.”
“But what's with the hand, Urbosa?” Revali tipped his beak from her. “Did you just want to order the guy around?”
“The Queen told me a Wolfbred could be identified by the wrist. I needed his hand to check his wrist to see if he is truly Wolfbred, like I believe he is.” Urbosa retrieved her scimitar. “Catch, Link, catch.” She gently tossed the blade, handle outwards, to Link. A soldier like himself should catch it no problem.
And he did catch it… at first. His hand grasped the handle, but he dropped the blade when he turned it over.
Urbosa snatched his hand back, he leaned away from her.
“Okay, so the so-called hero is clumsy, what does that tell us?”
“He's not clumsy. He's Wolfbred.” She held up his hand. “See?”
“What in the-?” Revali muttered. “Those are some messed up thumbs. No wonder he couldn't hold onto your dumb sword.”
Urbosa bit her tongue. “His thumb is set back, partially on the wrist here.” Link yanked on his hand, she spoke soft. “Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you, Link.”
“Is that all, Urbosa? I fail to see how a simple mutation of the wrist was enough for exile.”
“No, of course. That's just a unique trait of the Wolfbred. He's got the marks on his face too.”
“But… he looks so much like a Hylian.” Zelda wanted to touch his markings, but Link kept pulling his head away when she reached out. “I'd expect him to have fur, or a tail at least.”
“But of course! They're supposed to be super soldiers. Part of their charm was that you couldn't identify them from afar, which meant enemy armies couldn't target them as easily. Once upon a time, the Hyruliean army was primarily Wolfbred.” She sighed. “We Gerudo were nearly ravaged by the Wolfbred of those days.”
“Oh boy, wolf in the name and descended from war crimes? Wouldn't be surprised if he was Rinkū's son.”
Link turned his head to Revali after hearing that name.
“R-Rinkū's… son? His father is named Ordon!”
Link whipped his head back to Zelda.
“Ah, Tiny Princess. Revali's not talking about a literal son. More like a descendant. A great warhound from ancient times. He was basically the pet of an ancient queen. When she was killed in battle, he… kinda went on a rampage. Goron, Rito, Zora, Hylian… but especially the Gerudo. He and his pack of warhounds slaughtered without mercy… much like this Calamity Ganon is planning to do now.”
“We… Gerudo have since come to forgive. His queen is believed to have been slaughtered by Ganon, who is believed to have once been Gerudo. If we will not stand to have Ganon's actions associated with our people… then we should not do the same to the descendants of Rinkū. However, I know not all of Hyrule feels the same way. My dearest friend risked her reputation to free the Wolfbred from exile…”
“It is said that the queen's sole female relative was the only one who could command them to stop. The king himself found his orders on deaf ears. Probably why your father dumped him off on you. He has the Sword, so we have to keep him around, but hey, the female Royal will keep him in line.”
Zelda's face exuded fear, disgust and anger.
Urbosa bent down to her. “Don't listen to Revali. Hyrule is known for its bloody history. This is simply his. But of course, if Gerudo and Hylia's own can commit atrocities and not be remembered by them, then Link here shouldn't either. He's a sweet boy. I assure you, his fear of you greatly outweighs your fear of him.”
“You… said there was a complication with him?”
“Ah, yes. You see, because the Wolfbred were exiled for so long… ah, this might be easier to show you.” Urbosa looked towards Link. “Link, there's a carriage with horses near the stable. It will hurt if you get hit.”
Link turned his head at his name, but didn't respond to the rest of the sentence.
“Urbosa, where are you going with this nonsense?”
Urbosa held her hand up to silence the bird. “Link, there's a hit with stable near the hurt. It will horses if you get carriage.”
Link continued to stare at her, staying perfectly still and emotionless.
“As you can see, little bird, Revali, Daruk… plain and simple, it doesn't matter if I speak coherently to him. Link can't speak Hylian.”
~~~~
Hyrule's Final Stand Masterlist
#fanfiction#booksivewritten#legend of zelda#breath of the wild#hyrule's final stand#my stuff#the legend of zelda#if it helps#zelda's like 12 here#miscommunication is the name of the game#wolfbred#wolfbred line#link imperial hyrule#zelda esmerelda hyrule#urbosa#revali#the wolfbred chronicles#if this has already been posted then my bad#couldn't find it in the tumblr archive#very vague totk references
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Hell Hath No Fury (2/?)
Wow…I cannot believe the response to this fic! I want to thank everyone so much for reading and reviewing, especially to the anonymous reviewers whom I could not message back to thank personally. I love all the theories and comments you all have made, and I hope I can continue to live up to what you want!
That said, angsty Beckett has extended her lease in my head, so apparently there is more to write on this story. For those of you interested in my other story, no worries! I promise I am working on that as well, but angsty Beckett is pushy…and louder.
I have absolutely none of this story planned out, so it’s up to the characters and the muse to speak to me to see where this one goes.
I still do not own Castle or the characters.
xxxxx
Beckett didn’t stop on her way out of the hospital, didn’t wait for the boys to follow her. She’d meant what she said; she was going to hunt down the shooter, and then she was going to put a bullet in him. Even though she hadn’t asked them to, Ryan and Esposito exchanged a look after seeing the look on her face and quickly followed, catching up with her outside.
“Beckett, what are you doing?” Ryan asked.
She simply gave him a determined look. “Exactly what I said. I’m hunting him down,” she answered in a dangerous tone. “I’m not asking either of you to risk your life in this.”
Ryan’s eyes met Esposito’s. “You don’t have to. We’re a team. You just tell us the plan. We’ve got your back,” Esposito stated firmly, to which Ryan also nodded his confirmation.
Beckett’s eyes traveled between the two of them and she nodded. “I need to see the cemetery,” she stated calmly, but she was anything but calm on the inside. A raging inferno burned inside; whomever was behind the shooting was about to find the full wrath of Katherine Beckett at their doorstep. If they wanted a war, she would bring them a war.
“Car’s this way. Let’s go,” Ryan gestured to her then, leading her toward the parking garage. Both of the men accompanying her knew they couldn’t come up empty on this one; they would do whatever they needed to in order to have her back and get this guy. Beckett was their leader, their friend; this case was different. They also knew that they were going to have to make sure Beckett didn’t do anything that might cost her her career…or her life.
After a solid day of almost no leads and very little to go on, Beckett pinched the bridge of her nose and tried to massage away the headache she had. “Why don’t you guys go home,” she suggested with a deep sigh.
The two men exchanged glances. “What about you?” Ryan was the one who was brave enough to ask.
“I’m going to go through it again; maybe I missed something,” she replied. Sensing reluctance from the boys to leave her alone made her temper flare. “I said go home!” she said much more firmly. She didn’t need a babysitter, and she wasn’t going to break. If anything, she was more focused now than she’d been since the shooting.
“If you find something, you call us before you do anything,” Esposito stated firmly, not looking away from her.
Seeing that they weren’t leaving until they had that promise from her, she gave them a nod. “Yeah…yeah, okay.” She breathed deeply, turning back to the murder board then to begin reviewing the evidence from the beginning. She went through all the information she had for what must have been at least 3 hours before leaning back in her chair and rubbing her eyes. Once again, she had nothing more than when she had started.
Her gaze moved to the empty chair by her desk then. What she wouldn’t give to hear one of his crazy theories now, to bounce ideas off him, to try to make something in the evidence make sense. It was well past midnight by now, and she was basically alone in the precinct, so she didn’t bother to hide the stray tear that slipped down her cheek as she couldn’t bring herself to look away from his chair. Wiping it away after a moment, she stood and grabbed her things, striding toward the elevator; she needed to see him.
xxxxx
She stopped at her apartment to shower and change into some real clothes that were not NYPD issue sweats. Between the shower and being able to slide into her own jeans and shirt, she felt much more like herself. Grabbing her black leather jacket, her badge and her gun, she headed back to the hospital.
Having no trouble finding her way back to his room, she stood outside for a moment before taking a deep breath and slipping in quietly. Alexis was sleeping in a chair with her head resting on top of her folded arms on a table, and Martha was asleep in a chair with a spare blanket pulled over her. She remained silent, moving closer to Castle’s still sleeping form, quietly pulling the last chair up to his beside. Taking a deep breath, she sat down and ever so delicately took his hand in hers. “Rick…” she breathed as a few tears slid from her eyes, her thumb delicately sliding across the back of his hand.
She didn’t have a chance to get anything else out as Martha stirred. “Katherine?”
“I’m sorry, Martha. I didn’t mean to wake you,” Beckett apologized, keeping her tone low so as
not to also wake up Alexis.
“You didn’t, dear. This chair is hardly made to be slept in,” the redhead waved her hand dismissively.
Releasing his hand then, Beckett sat back slightly in her chair. “How is he?”
“The doctors assured us he’s as stable as they can expect, given the damage. They aren’t surprised he hasn’t woken up yet,” Martha explained to her.
Beckett did her best to not react to the word “damage.” He was damaged because of her, trying to protect her. “I’m so sorry, Martha…if I’d known…”
“Nonsense,” Martha interrupted. “Let me tell you something about Richard. He was exactly where he wanted to be.” She paused for a moment to let her words sink in before continuing. “He wrote 22 best sellers before he met you, dear. You’re a smart woman, Katherine…” she explained in a softer tone, giving the detective a look that would allow her to connect the dots. “And I’m sure you are familiar with my son’s stubbornness and persistence. He wouldn’t have been dismissed quite so easily,” she added in a slightly lighter tone.
Beckett did connect the dots–it wasn’t about the research anymore. He followed her because it was about her. Hearing her talk about Castle’s stubbornness, she looked down with a small smile. “Yeah, I might have noticed he’s a little stubborn.” But oddly enough, as infuriating as that could be at times, it was something she depended on; he was stubborn enough to not let her push him away, to make her face things, to keep her going. She got quiet again, letting her eyes move back to study Castle.
“Have you made any progress finding the man who did this?” Martha asked after a few moments, deciding that perhaps a change of topic might be more helpful to the detective. “I assume that’s why you left earlier.”
Sighing, Beckett ran her hands over her face. “No. Not yet,” she admitted quietly. “But I’ll find him. I promise you that.” Once again her tone took a slightly dangerous edge that left the other woman with no doubt that those words were true. “Do you mind if I stay?” she asked Martha after a few minutes of silence.
“You don't have to ask permission. Richard would want you here,” she assured her with a smile. “But you won’t get much sleep in that chair.”
“That’s okay. I’m not planning on sleeping right now,” Beckett replied, her eyes never leaving Castle. She didn’t think she’d be able to sleep even if she tried. Right now, she just needed to see him, to watch his chest shift as he breathed; she needed assurance that he was alive. It
wasn’t until she was sure that Martha was asleep that she allowed herself to lean forward in the chair and carefully take Castle’s hand in hers again.
xxxxx
Beckett woke up to a few rays of light coming through the window in the hospital room. She’d somehow managed to fall asleep with her head resting on the bed beside where her hand was still holding Castle’s. Sitting up, she could feel both her back and neck muscles protesting from the position they’d been in; she’d work the kinks out later. She watched him still sleeping, watched the heart monitor for a moment to make sure he was still stable. After a few moments, she finally released his hand and stood, stretching out her muscles slightly. She left a note for Alexis and Martha to make sure to call her when Castle woke up, and headed out to work on the case.
Just as she was turning a corner lost in her own thoughts as she tried to piece evidence together in her head, she ran…quite literally…into Josh. “Kate, hey,” he offered her a smile, hands easily steadying her.
“Josh…hi,” she replied with a smile that she couldn’t get to reach her eyes. “I didn’t get a chance yesterday, but…thank you for saving Castle's life,” she said softly.
Josh shrugged. “I’m a doctor, Kate. That’s my job.”
She nodded. “Right…”
They were both quiet for a few moments. Both seemingly knew what was coming. For Kate she knew she didn’t love him…not the way she should considering the length of their relationship; that didn’t make it any easier. And for him, he knew everything he needed to know when he’d seen her reaction the previous day.
“Do you love him, Kate?” Josh finally asked her quietly.
She was silent, neither confirming nor denying the words, but the look in her eyes spoke volumes. “I’m sorry, Josh,” was what she finally settled on. It really wasn't fair of her to lie to him about it.
Josh nodded. “Yeah…I’m sorry too,” he murmured. “I guess I can’t compete with a man who literally took a bullet for you.”
Those words stung, but she knew she kind of deserved them. She’d insisted to Josh for months that there was nothing between herself and Castle, insisted that they were friends, they worked together, but that was it. She’d insisted he had no reason to be jealous, that there wasn’t a competition between them. But during the case she’d worked in LA, she also had realized that
although she may have been committed to Josh physically and verbally, she’d never been able to commit to him emotionally; that commitment belonged to Castle. “I need to go…” she stated then. “I really am sorry.”
xxxxx
Beckett was surprised to be greeted by both Ryan and Esposito when she walked through the precinct that morning. It was still before the start of their shift.
“How’s Castle?” Ryan asked.
“He hasn’t woken up yet. The doctors say he’s as stable as he can be at the moment,” she answered quietly, on her way to the break room for a coffee.
“We got traffic cam footage from around the cemetery. We’re starting to go through it now,” Esposito offered.
She nodded as she silently waited for the coffee machine to finish.
“Beckett…we’ll get this guy,” Ryan promised.
“I know,” was all she said.
The boys exchanged a look, but didn’t really know what else to say to her, so they silently headed back to their desks to work on the traffic cam footage. The best way they could help her was to find something she could go on.
They’d been going through camera footage all day, with nothing to show for it. Beckett finally slammed her hand down on her desk in frustration. “Damn it…there has got to be something. A man cannot just vanish like a ghost!” she stated angrily.
“Hey, we’ll find something. If not from a traffic cam, then from something else. Somewhere there will be something,” Esposito assured her. But he also knew that the skill set of a professional sniper also included the ability to simply disappear.
She sighed, and leaned back in her chair, trying to massage out a kink in her neck. Her back and neck were both still stiff from the hospital chair, and sitting in a desk chair all day staring at a screen hadn’t helped much.
“Why don’t you go get some rest?” Ryan suggested. “We can call you if we find anything.”
“No, I’m good. I’m not tired, anyway,” she shook her head. That was when a text came through her phone. Reading the text caused the first real smile she’d had in days. “Castle’s awake,” she
informed the boys, standing and grabbing her jacket from her chair before heading to the elevator.
“We’ll keep looking and let you know what we find,” Esposito called after her. Both men were glad she was at least getting out of the precinct; checking in on Castle would give her a little bit of a break at least.
xxxxx
I know this chapter is a little short. And I feel it's slightly weak and a little bit filler. But I hope it's still acceptable! Thank you again to everyone for your reaction to a story that I hadn't even planned to write. I look forward to hearing your thoughts on this chapter now that you've all encouraged me to keep going!
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💕x 5
Five amazing people please follow them!
Everyone deserves love!
▴ — @ourowndemise ;; Kohi, Ganon's carrd!
One half of the most interesting gay dynamic I get to watch. I find you very interesting to watch, and the very long very detailed bio you have for your Ganon facinating. I know we haven't interacted or talked and part of that is my fault (I saw when you reached out and I at that time was really struggling RL and just never got back to your message I am so sorry) but I would really really like to try and figure out how Sheik and Ganon can interact. But outside of that I love seeing what you and Al come up with for Ganon and Kohga. I think they're absolutely adorable when they interact.
▴ — @rage-reloaded ;; Eli, muse list!
A very, very lovely and very talented individual that I have completely screwed up with because of my inability to focus lately and respond to poor Ravio. The asks that Eli has answered for me have been on point and fantastic. Ravio is one of my favorite Zelda characters and he is my favorite "version" of Link. I know it gets complicated with him being a mirror conterpart for Link but I firmly believe him to be a "Link" and a "Hero" no matter what Ravio himself thinks and Eli plays him wonderfully in what I have seen. I really want to interact with you and him more, I would love to get a thread with him going properly or just to talk! To work out a plot for the two of them! Thank you so much for still following me and always feel free to pester Sheik too with whatever you want! You are a joy to see on my dash and the art I've seen you do is lovely too!
▴ — @devotedsheikah ;; Liz & Impa's Carrd.
A very new friend, a very new follower, admittedly I have not played much of AOC to know a lot about this Impa and her character but what I have seen of you on the dash has been very entertaining! Sheik will always have respect for Impa regardless of the universe she is in and I truly do believe the two of them can have a very lovely familial relationship if you're ever interested in talking things out about them!
▴ — @twilitae / @legacyshero ;; Kheppie & Twi's carrd , Wild's carrd.
You are a very lovely and interesting individual. I mean the interesting part in the most positive way possible too. Everything you make is so visually appealing and beautiful to look at, your graphics, icons, and even the formating you do on your blogs is incredible. I can't even begin to imagine the work that goes into all of that, I can't even be bothered to format a different color of font than the options tumblr gives us because it's so tedious to me. So I entirely admire the dedication and work that goes into doing all of that. On another note, your style of writing is very creative and eye catching. The poetic aspect of it is very admirable and I know I could never write that way personally it is pleasing to read. Despite following each other for (maybe a year at this point) we haven't had the chance to write together and I really hope at some point we do, or just to plot something out! I love seeing you on the dash and the things you do!
▴ — @skygraced ;; Rinn & Zelda's carrd!
Welcome back! You and Bianca are the entire reason I have attempted to play Skyward Sword (despite struggling to stare at Link's big puffy lips and wanting to choke Fi out). I knew absolutely nothing about that game and from playing it I haven't really learned much more than I started with, so I can firmly say that the context and actual plot you guys have to play off of really doesn't seem like much and what you have taken from all of that and run with is incredible. I love seeing you on the dash, I love the little banter that Sheik and Zelda have developed and whenever you finally settle and back I would love to have an actual thread go! I think Zelda and Sheik can have really adorable interactions with their shared love of the harp. After we get past his panic over her being an actual goddess.
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Hell Hath No Fury (2/?)
Wow…I cannot believe the response to this fic! I want to thank everyone so much for reading and reviewing, especially to the anonymous reviewers whom I could not message back to thank personally. I love all the theories and comments you all have made, and I hope I can continue to live up to what you want!
That said, angsty Beckett has extended her lease in my head, so apparently there is more to write on this story. For those of you interested in my other story, no worries! I promise I am working on that as well, but angsty Beckett is pushy…and louder.
I have absolutely none of this story planned out, so it’s up to the characters and the muse to speak to me to see where this one goes.
I still do not own Castle or the characters.
xxxxx
Beckett didn’t stop on her way out of the hospital, didn’t wait for the boys to follow her. She’d meant what she said; she was going to hunt down the shooter, and then she was going to put a bullet in him. Even though she hadn’t asked them to, Ryan and Esposito exchanged a look after seeing the look on her face and quickly followed, catching up with her outside.
“Beckett, what are you doing?” Ryan asked.
She simply gave him a determined look. “Exactly what I said. I’m hunting him down,” she answered in a dangerous tone. “I’m not asking either of you to risk your life in this.”
Ryan’s eyes met Esposito’s. “You don’t have to. We’re a team. You just tell us the plan. We’ve got your back,” Esposito stated firmly, to which Ryan also nodded his confirmation.
Beckett’s eyes traveled between the two of them and she nodded. “I need to see the cemetery,” she stated calmly, but she was anything but calm on the inside. A raging inferno burned inside; whomever was behind the shooting was about to find the full wrath of Katherine Beckett at their doorstep. If they wanted a war, she would bring them a war.
“Car’s this way. Let’s go,” Ryan gestured to her then, leading her toward the parking garage. Both of the men accompanying her knew they couldn’t come up empty on this one; they would do whatever they needed to in order to have her back and get this guy. Beckett was their leader, their friend; this case was different. They also knew that they were going to have to make sure Beckett didn’t do anything that might cost her her career…or her life.
After a solid day of almost no leads and very little to go on, Beckett pinched the bridge of her nose and tried to massage away the headache she had. “Why don’t you guys go home,” she suggested with a deep sigh.
The two men exchanged glances. “What about you?” Ryan was the one who was brave enough to ask.
“I’m going to go through it again; maybe I missed something,” she replied. Sensing reluctance from the boys to leave her alone made her temper flare. “I said go home!” she said much more firmly. She didn’t need a babysitter, and she wasn’t going to break. If anything, she was more focused now than she’d been since the shooting.
“If you find something, you call us before you do anything,” Esposito stated firmly, not looking away from her.
Seeing that they weren’t leaving until they had that promise from her, she gave them a nod. “Yeah…yeah, okay.” She breathed deeply, turning back to the murder board then to begin reviewing the evidence from the beginning. She went through all the information she had for what must have been at least 3 hours before leaning back in her chair and rubbing her eyes. Once again, she had nothing more than when she had started.
Her gaze moved to the empty chair by her desk then. What she wouldn’t give to hear one of his crazy theories now, to bounce ideas off him, to try to make something in the evidence make sense. It was well past midnight by now, and she was basically alone in the precinct, so she didn’t bother to hide the stray tear that slipped down her cheek as she couldn’t bring herself to look away from his chair. Wiping it away after a moment, she stood and grabbed her things, striding toward the elevator; she needed to see him.
xxxxx
She stopped at her apartment to shower and change into some real clothes that were not NYPD issue sweats. Between the shower and being able to slide into her own jeans and shirt, she felt much more like herself. Grabbing her black leather jacket, her badge and her gun, she headed back to the hospital.
Having no trouble finding her way back to his room, she stood outside for a moment before taking a deep breath and slipping in quietly. Alexis was sleeping in a chair with her head resting on top of her folded arms on a table, and Martha was asleep in a chair with a spare blanket pulled over her. She remained silent, moving closer to Castle’s still sleeping form, quietly pulling the last chair up to his beside. Taking a deep breath, she sat down and ever so delicately took his hand in hers. “Rick…” she breathed as a few tears slid from her eyes, her thumb delicately sliding across the back of his hand.
She didn’t have a chance to get anything else out as Martha stirred. “Katherine?”
“I’m sorry, Martha. I didn’t mean to wake you,” Beckett apologized, keeping her tone low so as
not to also wake up Alexis.
“You didn’t, dear. This chair is hardly made to be slept in,” the redhead waved her hand dismissively.
Releasing his hand then, Beckett sat back slightly in her chair. “How is he?”
“The doctors assured us he’s as stable as they can expect, given the damage. They aren’t surprised he hasn’t woken up yet,” Martha explained to her.
Beckett did her best to not react to the word “damage.” He was damaged because of her, trying to protect her. “I’m so sorry, Martha…if I’d known…”
“Nonsense,” Martha interrupted. “Let me tell you something about Richard. He was exactly where he wanted to be.” She paused for a moment to let her words sink in before continuing. “He wrote 22 best sellers before he met you, dear. You’re a smart woman, Katherine…” she explained in a softer tone, giving the detective a look that would allow her to connect the dots. “And I’m sure you are familiar with my son’s stubbornness and persistence. He wouldn’t have been dismissed quite so easily,” she added in a slightly lighter tone.
Beckett did connect the dots–it wasn’t about the research anymore. He followed her because it was about her. Hearing her talk about Castle’s stubbornness, she looked down with a small smile. “Yeah, I might have noticed he’s a little stubborn.” But oddly enough, as infuriating as that could be at times, it was something she depended on; he was stubborn enough to not let her push him away, to make her face things, to keep her going. She got quiet again, letting her eyes move back to study Castle.
“Have you made any progress finding the man who did this?” Martha asked after a few moments, deciding that perhaps a change of topic might be more helpful to the detective. “I assume that’s why you left earlier.”
Sighing, Beckett ran her hands over her face. “No. Not yet,” she admitted quietly. “But I’ll find him. I promise you that.” Once again her tone took a slightly dangerous edge that left the other woman with no doubt that those words were true. “Do you mind if I stay?” she asked Martha after a few minutes of silence.
“You don't have to ask permission. Richard would want you here,” she assured her with a smile. “But you won’t get much sleep in that chair.”
“That’s okay. I’m not planning on sleeping right now,” Beckett replied, her eyes never leaving Castle. She didn’t think she’d be able to sleep even if she tried. Right now, she just needed to see him, to watch his chest shift as he breathed; she needed assurance that he was alive. It
wasn’t until she was sure that Martha was asleep that she allowed herself to lean forward in the chair and carefully take Castle’s hand in hers again.
xxxxx
Beckett woke up to a few rays of light coming through the window in the hospital room. She’d somehow managed to fall asleep with her head resting on the bed beside where her hand was still holding Castle’s. Sitting up, she could feel both her back and neck muscles protesting from the position they’d been in; she’d work the kinks out later. She watched him still sleeping, watched the heart monitor for a moment to make sure he was still stable. After a few moments, she finally released his hand and stood, stretching out her muscles slightly. She left a note for Alexis and Martha to make sure to call her when Castle woke up, and headed out to work on the case.
Just as she was turning a corner lost in her own thoughts as she tried to piece evidence together in her head, she ran…quite literally…into Josh. “Kate, hey,” he offered her a smile, hands easily steadying her.
“Josh…hi,” she replied with a smile that she couldn’t get to reach her eyes. “I didn’t get a chance yesterday, but…thank you for saving Castle's life,” she said softly.
Josh shrugged. “I’m a doctor, Kate. That’s my job.”
She nodded. “Right…”
They were both quiet for a few moments. Both seemingly knew what was coming. For Kate she knew she didn’t love him…not the way she should considering the length of their relationship; that didn’t make it any easier. And for him, he knew everything he needed to know when he’d seen her reaction the previous day.
“Do you love him, Kate?” Josh finally asked her quietly.
She was silent, neither confirming nor denying the words, but the look in her eyes spoke volumes. “I’m sorry, Josh,” was what she finally settled on. It really wasn't fair of her to lie to him about it.
Josh nodded. “Yeah…I’m sorry too,” he murmured. “I guess I can’t compete with a man who literally took a bullet for you.”
Those words stung, but she knew she kind of deserved them. She’d insisted to Josh for months that there was nothing between herself and Castle, insisted that they were friends, they worked together, but that was it. She’d insisted he had no reason to be jealous, that there wasn’t a competition between them. But during the case she’d worked in LA, she also had realized that
although she may have been committed to Josh physically and verbally, she’d never been able to commit to him emotionally; that commitment belonged to Castle. “I need to go…” she stated then. “I really am sorry.”
xxxxx
Beckett was surprised to be greeted by both Ryan and Esposito when she walked through the precinct that morning. It was still before the start of their shift.
“How’s Castle?” Ryan asked.
“He hasn’t woken up yet. The doctors say he’s as stable as he can be at the moment,” she answered quietly, on her way to the break room for a coffee.
“We got traffic cam footage from around the cemetery. We’re starting to go through it now,” Esposito offered.
She nodded as she silently waited for the coffee machine to finish.
“Beckett…we’ll get this guy,” Ryan promised.
“I know,” was all she said.
The boys exchanged a look, but didn’t really know what else to say to her, so they silently headed back to their desks to work on the traffic cam footage. The best way they could help her was to find something she could go on.
They’d been going through camera footage all day, with nothing to show for it. Beckett finally slammed her hand down on her desk in frustration. “Damn it…there has got to be something. A man cannot just vanish like a ghost!” she stated angrily.
“Hey, we’ll find something. If not from a traffic cam, then from something else. Somewhere there will be something,” Esposito assured her. But he also knew that the skill set of a professional sniper also included the ability to simply disappear.
She sighed, and leaned back in her chair, trying to massage out a kink in her neck. Her back and neck were both still stiff from the hospital chair, and sitting in a desk chair all day staring at a screen hadn’t helped much.
“Why don’t you go get some rest?” Ryan suggested. “We can call you if we find anything.”
“No, I’m good. I’m not tired, anyway,” she shook her head. That was when a text came through her phone. Reading the text caused the first real smile she’d had in days. “Castle’s awake,” she
informed the boys, standing and grabbing her jacket from her chair before heading to the elevator.
“We’ll keep looking and let you know what we find,” Esposito called after her. Both men were glad she was at least getting out of the precinct; checking in on Castle would give her a little bit of a break at least.
xxxxx
I know this chapter is a little short. And I feel it's slightly weak and a little bit filler. But I hope it's still acceptable! Thank you again to everyone for your reaction to a story that I hadn't even planned to write. I look forward to hearing your thoughts on this chapter now that you've all encouraged me to keep going!
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I find it quite simple
a little Not Me fic about Gumpa and Black (sort of) bonding over being older siblings :
It was an evening like many others. Yok and Gram had already left, Sean with one of them, or both of them, or off to one of Namo’s haunts, leaving Gumpa to clean the table like a dissatisfied housewife. Except this time, Black was still here.
"These fuckers, I swear," he said, contemplating the wasteland of dirty plates and empty bottles, unlit cigarette already firmly in mouth. "This is how you can tell they’re all only children."
Gumpa almost pointed out that Black generally didn’t stick around to help either, but decided against it : the kid talking about anything else than their next move was a rare enough occurrence. Better not nip it in the bud.
"I don’t know about that," he mused instead. "My younger brother has three siblings and I don’t think he’s picked up after himself even once in his life."
"That’s what elder siblings are for."
"Ha ! Good thing my sisters didn’t see it that way. I would have gone mad, always taking care of a four-people mess all by myself."
"Aren’t you taking care of a five-people mess right now ?"
"You’re helping me, aren’t you ?"
Black snorted. They’d brought the dishes to the courtyard and set out to clean them. "So, you’re the eldest of four ?"
"Two sisters, one brother. You ?"
"Eldest too, by an hour. He took his sweet time."
"A twin ?"
"You think ?"
"Okay, smartass." He flicked water at him. Black rolled his eyes, but said nothing. The heat of the day had lessened, and the night air was companionably warm – the silence too.
It remained that way until they were back inside, cigarette smoked, dishes stored, table wiped, and Gumpa took two beers from the fridge.
"About what we do," asked Black. "Do your siblings know ?"
Gumpa opened his bottle and swallowed a mouthfull. It gave him some time. "No. No one does. A few years ago, my sister – the oldest – was arrested for helping women get illegal abortions." He tensed despite himself, bracing for the usual comments and questions, but Black didn’t talk. He just kept looking at him with the aggressive focus typically reserved for their plans. "As you can guess, this was a pretty hard time for the family. Harder for her, of course, she’s not done building herself back up, but – if I can save my parents some worries over another child… I have to try, at least."
"But you didn’t tel your sister either. The oldest, I mean."
"Nah." He couldn’t help but smile. "She’d try to help."
To his surprise, Black was smiling too, and raised his beer in an I’ll-drink-to-that gesture. It seemed as good a time as any to pry.
"And your brother, does he know ?"
The smile vanished like it’d never been there.
"We were separated," Black said, after a long enough moment that Gumpa had wondered if the conversation was over. "When our parents divorced. Father took one, Mom the other. I tried to write, but I assume they intercepted my letters – don’t ask me why, I won’t answer. And don’t tell me that’s fucked up because I already know."
What was there to reply to that ? Gumpa took another beer and held it out. Black nodded curtly.
"I don’t want him anywhere near all that anyway. He’s not like me, he’s..." He gave a vague handwave, leaving it for Gumpa to figure out. Softer. Fragile. Better, maybe, as in worth more. "It’s ugly here, and it’s only gonna get worse."
There they were.
"Things getting worse, is that why you didn’t leave tonight ?"
"Nothing gets past you."
"Come on, Black."
"My roommate, my – the guy I’m crashing at, I told you about him."
"Todd."
"Hmm. He’s more crooked than I believed, I think. Or exactly as much, but I’m only facing it now."
"Black..."
"I don’t need comfort. I don’t need your input at all. I’ll deal with him if I have to, and that’s the end of it. Understood ?"
"Normally I’d tell you off for bossing me around under my roof, but you get a pass this time. Understood, I won’t meddle."
"Thanks."
"Don’t make me regret it."
"Oh, piss off."
The impulse came, unexpected : to ruffle the younger man’s hair, give him an embarassing hug. He didn’t indulge. They weren’t brothers.
"Gumpa ?"
"Yes ?"
"Can I stay here tonight ? I’ll sleep on the couch, and I’ll be gone first thing in the morning."
You can stay as long as you need, he wanted to say, but he wasn’t sure it would be well received.
"Sean might not even come back tonight. You could sleep in his bed."
"I’d rather gouge my eyes out," replied Black quite genially, and they went back to their drink.
"I met your brother the other day."
Black, of course, doesn’t answer.
"Kid just showed up at your uni, all dressed like you and ready to poke his nose into everything. He’s in over his head, and scared shitless, but he holds on for your sake. You should be proud."
Gumpa sighs. He can’t stay long – it was a bad idea, coming here, but he had to.
"I don’t know who told him about you. And I don’t know how to convince him to trust us. But I’ll look after him, you have my word. I’m trying to make him stay at the garage. Let’s hope he’s less of a loner than you."
He rises. There is nothing more to say, nothing more to do. No point in ruminating his failures. He still looks back before he lets the curtain drop.
"If he does take me up on the offer," he says. "I’ll make him room with Sean. With any luck, that’ll piss you off enough fo you to wake up."
#black & gumpa#mayyyybe black/gumpa if you want to read it that way#*pointing at gumpa* this man has siblings you can't change my mind#not me the series#nmrewatch23#title is like that because the wife objected to me calling the fic 'brother complex' so take it up with her i guess#mine
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oneshot! this is the thing i was talking about on the poll,,, fair warning i did delete it and then start planning like 4 chapters but i decided no, brick, keep the original and deal with not liking it :D
so yes, here this is! randomly made a 2k fic after deciding to write down a scene before i forgot it,,,
PLEASE lmk if u want more of this because i do have ideas for it ! ,,
but the smoke clears when you're around
wc: 1837
cw: swearing, slight character panic
—–—
“Technoblade, there is something out there—I swear, Technoblade! It’s fucking gigantic! And you know I don’t throw that word around lightly, Technoblade. It’s fucking huge—hide me, hide me Technoblade!” Tommy pleads, throwing himself into the cabin. Techno grimaces as the sharp air from outside pecks at his face.
Techno turns at him, unamused and startled. As the kid approaches, he instantly catches Tommy’s flailing arms that explain his dire situation in grand detail in his tight fists. His fingers slide seamlessly around the kid’s thin arms and he stops talking, though the uncertainty in his expression never dims.
“Tommy, relax,” Techno instructs.
“But, Techno—”
Techno cuts him off. “If there was something out there, what are the chances of it getting to us?” Technoblade muses, his voice wavering on pure amusement against Tommy’s worry. At the kid's disappointment, Techno sighs. “Where’d you see it?”
Tommy takes in a healthy gasp of air as he prepares to ramble on again, but he quickly shuts his mouth as he reconsiders. That’s not like Tommy. So, Techno does the only sensible thing and urges him further.
“Where did you see it?” he repeats, putting more emphasis on the importance of a response.
The blond is quiet for a moment. The crackling fire in the background is the only thing keeping the voices from overpowering any chance of hearing Tommy’s voice. (That is, the only one he could predict from such a seethingly unprompted mood like Tommy’s.)
Then, finally, Tommy speaks up and his giddy attitude returns. “Heh, Technoblade, I don’t see why a location is in order. I think the more important part is that there’s something fucking gigantic roaming around the server,” he says, mindfully, and smugly before turning around to venture the room.
“Yeah, I get that, but where on the server, Tommy? I can’t do anything if I don’t know where ‘it’ is.”
Tommy’s shoulders shrink, but his posture rightens back up after a pondering few seconds, and as he examines a brewing stand he can see his giddy smile.
“Aren’t you the ‘uman GPS’?” Tommy asks. He puts his stupid spin on the word ‘human’ and Techno shudders at the mispronunciation.
“Not if I’ve never been there,” Techno deadpans.
“I disagree with that.”
“With what? What is there to disagree with? My logic is flawless.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s comm—”
Techno grunts and trails after the kid who’s looking downstairs to avoid eye contact. He grabs onto the kid’s shirt easily, the red cloth pulling against Tommy’s neck as he drags him back. The blond makes an indignant choking noise as he pulls him to face Techno (or rather his fears), one over-forced and one that, once again, makes him shudder.
Cringe, he might’ve said had the moment been crisp.
“Where did you see this giant, Tommy?” Technoblade instead asks, spinning the kid around and keeping his hands firmly on his shoulders to keep him from escaping.
Begrudgingly, Tommy seems to accept his defeat. “Ugh, fine, Techno-bitch. I saw it at Logstedshire,” he says.
And the air in the room comes to a decided halt.
“And I’m sure you have a great reason for bein’ there?” Techno urges, and Tommy shrugs.
“Not really,” he trails off, drawling out the word ‘really’ and leaving space for further explanation. “Uh—I wasn’t really there! I was around…”
Technoblade raises his eyebrows, but he lets Tommy continue.
“Oh, you don’t believe me. Okay, dickhead, I was poking around, looking for—uh….a dog—”
“A dog?” he echoes, frowning indifferently.
“Work with me here, Technoblade. I was looking for a dog, and then this fucking giant-ass thing shook the ground, and I bolted it! What more can I say?” Tommy finishes with a hopeful smile.
“Uhuh,” Techno hums. “Coulda’ been an earthquake,” he suggests.
Tommy frowns. “A what?”
There's a moment of shared silence before Tommy breaks it with, “Whatever. I know there was something there, Techno, it wasn’t no fucking ‘earth-quack’.”
“You never know.”
“You're fucking stupid. Anyway I've come to you for supplies. Gapple’s ‘n’ shit. I want to fight it.”
Techno blinks at him before releasing Tommy’s shoulders (he had seemed disturbed by the entrapment) and folding his arms over his chest. “Tommy, you hear yourself? You're not taking more of my gapples. I need them,” he explains.
“For what?! You live in bare-ass nowhere, Technoblade. Whereas I am saving the world from giants,” Tommy tries.
Doomsday runs dry on Technoblade’s tongue.
“I don't see why my business is your business. No gapples, Tommy.”
“But Technoblade!” Tommy whines, holding his hands in a prayer position and curling his fingers over his palms. “We’re ally's, innit? 'Mí casa es su casa’?”
“No.”
Tommy takes one look at him before bolting in the other direction; towards the ladder downstairs.
He doesn't get very far considering that Technoblade then lunges at him and grabs the kid’s arm, (who shrieks at an ungodly volume that he swears scares the nearby birds away), again before he can even logicate a plan to find the gapples.
Tommy groans as again, Techno turns him around and holds him in place.
The longer Techno stares at him, the further Tommy shrinks. Until finally, Technoblade makes an offer.
“Alright, here me out,” he starts, loosening his grip on the kid, “I go exploring' around Logstedshire and see what I find.” The proposal is out of his league, and it seems even Tommy realizes that as his eyes blow wide.
“Wh—really?”
“Well, you’re kind of makin’ me change my mind,” Techno murmurs, pulling a utility belt around his torso and fastening it. Techno takes an axe from where it lay across the top of a furnace, collecting dust for the foreseeable future—now. He shoves the handle into a pocket on the belt, then turns to Tommy, who’s watching him intently.
“Can I trust you enough to leave my gapples and my supplies alone?”
Tommy blinks at him. “Psh, Technoblade, I’m the most trustworthy person out there. I won’t touch a thing,” Tommy says smoothly, clearly lying, but it satisfies Techno. If he comes back robbed, well, he knows his next target.
“Alright, bye, Tommy,” he says, making a move for the front door and slipping out of it seamlessly. Tommy bids him a goodbye, and he faces the arctic biome. It’s daylight, long enough for the journey over to Logstedshire, at least. His way back may be trickier.
He moves to Carl’s stable, opening the doors to it and approaching the horse. It huffs upon his arrival, allowing Techno to stroke the bridge of his nose before he’s instructing the horse to follow him. Carl obliges easily after having done it umpteenth times, stepping out of the covered stable and into the light snowfall, which crunches under the two’s feet (and hooves) as they walk across the clearing. Near his staircase, Techno shifts onto a step, then hoists himself over Carl, who’d been saddle-less as of now, not that it matters much.
“We’re takin’ a trip to Logstedshire for Tommy,” Techno says to Carl, who in return huffs. “Little fool can’t tell when he’s imagining things,” he murmurs, kicking at Carl’s side gently to get him moving. There’re reigns on him that Techno only tugs at once to guide him in the direction of Tommy’s exile.
The trip is quiet, Techno murmuring things under his breath or keeping Carl entertained with aimless humming, until finally, the arctic turns to a forest, and the forest turns into a beach. He slips off of Carl at the edge of the forest, pulling a spare lead from his pocket and tying it to a tree, just in case what Tommy was saying was true.
His attention turns to Logsted, it’s blown-up remains settling in nicely and giving him a clear view of the nearby beach. But, quickly, he realizes that there’s something rather off—and perhaps that was the giant nestled on the ground, criss-cross, with his hands in his head, and flashing a familiar green getup that made him pause.
“Dream?” he whispers, looking back at Carl before rushing over to the giant form of his friend. “Ah, Dream?” Techno calls out, loudly, loud enough to startle Dream into looking up. His mask covers most of his expression, though he can feel the distress radiating off of him.
“Techno—” Dream says, cutting his own self off.
“Yep. Uh, what are you doin’ all giant?”
As he approaches further after waiting for a response, he notices how miniscule he is compared to Dream at this point—barely the size of his hand. Perhaps if it was someone else, he may have laughed, or perhaps been wary, but with Dream, he found it nothing short of concerning.
Dream would never do this to himself.
“Don’t—Don’t come near me,” Dream warns, and Techno’s eyes shift. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he adds.
“Hurt me?” Techno snorts. “I’m good, Dream, I have thorns. Wanna tell me how this happened?”
Dream shrugs. “I messed up on a potion. I—I didn’t even know this could happen, I mean, what kind of potion does this?!”
“A growth one,” Techno murmurs, finding ease at Dream’s dry huff after his attempt at a joke.
Techno places a hand to Dream’s pant leg, which startles him into shifting further away.
“Why’d you come here?” Techno asks after a moment.
Dream shrugs. “I don’t know. I figured Tommy wouldn’t be here, after…” Dream trails off, motioning vaguely with giant fingers to the remains of Logstedshire.
“Alright, Dream, you’re gonna put your hand to the ground,” Techno orders, waiting for the movement. He can’t do much, but he can try to soothe his friend.
The giant doesn’t move.
“Dream.”
Dream sighs, putting his hand flat on the ground.
“Ah, other way,” he corrects.
The giant flips his hand over.
Techno finds an easy seat in it, to which Dream immediately tenses. “What are you doing?”
“Tryna’ make you less remorseful,” he murmurs, leaning into Dream’s fingers as he curls them up on nothing but instinct.
He puts his hand against Dream’s skin. The giant flinches at the motion, almost launching Techno from his (rather comfortable) placement.
“You’re not gonna be hated by everyone,” Techno tries to reassure.
Abruptly, gravity shifts and he’s left hovering over Dream’s lap, who then shifts him into another hand. He’s left staring at two beady eyes carved into cracked and dusty porcelain.
“I mean, I wasn’t planning on making it permanent,” Dream says softly.
“We can make an antidote. At your supposed house, eh?” Techno nudges his elbow into Dream’s pinkie.
“I have a house!” Dream says defensively, and Techno finds his job well done.
He leans further into Dream’s grip, which he’s noticed it’s become more possessive, his thumbs angling carefully over Techno’s torso to keep him in place.
Awkwardly, he raises a hand to the digit and squeezes it fondly.
“You sure you wanna reverse this? Maybe you can scare Tommy back into exile,” he deadpans. Dream’s head shakes, gentle laughter erupting from somewhere behind the mask.
—–—
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When You Say “I Love You” For The First Time ~ æspa Reaction
Karina:
A frown formed on your face as you continued to reach forwards and wipe the tears that fell down Jimin’s cheeks. You had never seen her so upset, feeling your heart hurt as you knew just how much she was struggling.
“I hate seeing you cry, I love you and that smile of yours so much more,” you hummed.
Through her tears, Jimin’s eyes blinked several times as you spoke. “You just said I love you,” she noted, looking at you in surprise.
“Y-yeah,” you stuttered, feeling a weight lift from your shoulders as you finally told Jimin what you had wanted to say for so long. “That’s because I do, I want you to be happy.”
“Is this your way of cheering me up?” She hiccupped, feeling her tears begin to dry up as your confession made her smile.
“A little, but I mean every word too.”
Jimin smiled appreciatively back across at you, “just when I thought that nothing could make my day better, you go and do that.”
“It made you smile,” you noted, catching her small smile, “I always told you that I’d be here for you to cheer you up.”
“I never really believed that, until now.”
Giselle:
Emotions got the better of you as you found Aeri in the airport, rushing over to her and squeezing onto her tightly. Her grip matched yours as she rested against your shoulder, letting go of a sigh of content.
“I missed you, I love you,” you whispered into her ear, letting go of everything.
Straight away Aeri caught onto what you said, nodding her head back at you. “I missed you too, and I love you too,” she replied with a shaky breath.
“I’m so glad that your home,” you chuckled, not even needing to say anything in reply to her confession, with both of you knowing deep down for so long how you felt.
“I just want to go home and never leave again,” Aeri joked, “I think the two of us should just lock ourselves away forever.”
“You know that I wouldn’t complain.”
You had never seen Aeri’s smile so wide as she pulled away from you, “I never imagined that tour would be so hard, being away from you.”
“It’s not been the same without you,” you mused, “I might ban you from tours so you can never leave me alone again.”
“Next time I’ll make sure that you come too.”
Winter:
She was sure her heart skipped a beat as you knelt down in front of Minjeong and told her just how proud you were of her after watching her on the stage, taken aback by just how amazing the show was.
“I can’t believe I love such a talented person,” you smiled, falling silent soon after.
Minjeong’s eyes widened as she realised what it was that you had said. “Did you just say that you love me?” She gently giggled to you.
“I did,” you confidently responded, watching her smile turn up. “I was sure that I knew anyway but watching you up on the stage has just confirmed everything for me.”
“I love you as well,” she suddenly replied, “for all the times you’ve supported me and cheered me on even when no one else has.”
“I keep telling you I’m your biggest fan.”
Minjeong nodded in agreement with you, “you’ve definitely proven that tonight, seeing your face in the crowd was just perfect for me.”
“I hope that I get to be in the crowd for thousands more of your shows from now on,” you shyly told her in response.
“I hope I can see you in the crowd forever.”
Ningning:
You hadn’t quite realised what it was that you had said until you stopped talking, noticing Ning’s wide eyes looking back at you. You quickly thought back, thinking firmly until you remembered what had been said.
“I just said that aloud, didn’t I?” You asked Ning, a lump running down your throat.
Her head nodded in reply to you, surprising you with the smile that was on her face. “There’s no need to look so scared you know Y/N.”
“This wasn’t exactly the moment that I was thinking of when I thought about telling you that I loved you for the first time,” you replied with a shake of your head.
“That’ll teach you for rambling and stressing yourself out,” Ning joked, “you know that the moment feels pretty perfect for me.”
“You don’t have to just say that Ning.”
Her hand reached out for yours as you spoke, “I’m not just saying it, I’m glad you said it first, so that I can be the one to say it second.”
“Really?” You asked her in surprise, “now I really think that you’re just trying to be nice and save me the embarrassment.”
“I’m being serious Y/N, I love you too.”
---
Masterlist
#aespa#aespa imagine#aespa reaction#aespa scenario#aespa reactions#aespa scenarios#karina imagine#giselle imagine#winter imagine#ningning imagine#karina#giselle#winter#ningning#aespa drabble#aespa one shot#aespa fluff#kpop#kpop imagine
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