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astranva · 4 years

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Reason To Hate You.

// masterlist //

Word Count: 5k

Category: Angst

Warning: Some strong language, as usual. Just angsty. It’s good for the skin and some soul cleansing.

Summary: He loves her, but has no time to show it even when she asks him to. But she’s had enough, and Harry writes a song.

Based on Reason To Hate You by Rhys Lewis.

You were sure when Harry sang “comfortable silence is overrated” he wasn’t joking, because maybe your boyfriend appreciated the uncomfortable silence more, or at least he had been showing so.

Familiarity was out of the window when it came to the both of you, because that would be an understatement. Your friends and families had joked about it for the one year and 7 months of your relationship, about how you were one soul in two bodies, how alike you and Harry were and how the differences completed one another.

You knew when he was stressed, sad, nervous, even when he was a combination of every emotion there is and it had always assured you that he, too, knew you like the back of his hand.

One look at you and he’d offer the best support; let it be a shoulder to cry on, a celebratory dance, or a shared cup of blueberry yogurt.

But quietness had barged in like an univited guest, one you weren’t ready for and the more you thought about it, you would have never been ready for it.

Empty was one word to describe it; the bed, the kitchen, the living room, the balcony, the house, the trips to the grocery’s – the relationship.

It began around the time of Fine Line’s release. Biting back your tongue, you had managed to not feel small whenever you listened to all the tracks on there that Harry had on his ex, especially the one that had his ex talking at the end of.

But Harry had showered you with love and assurance, telling you that he couldn’t believe he had ever lived without you by his side and how he had never felt this sort of love with anyone.

You, too, had showered him with affection and the undivided pride you felt for him, making sure all your friends and family purchased the album, playing it at all times, working online so you could accompany him to some of his press because he needed you there with him.

“Mom’s birthday is coming up. I think we should get her that dress she talked about last time, remember it?” You had asked one night as you lied in bed, eyes on your boyfriend as he moisturized his face while standing in nothing but his boxers.

Harry glanced at you before looking back at the mirror one final time before walking to the bed, “I don’t, no.”

“The Marc Jacobs o-“

“When is it?” He rushed, getting under the cover, turning away from you before turning his head back to look at you.

Your lips parted before closing again, before you replied. “Friday.”

“This Friday?” And at your nod, Harry pursed his lips, “I’m sorry, baby, I can’t make it. Have a meeting all day to talk about tour.”

“But H, you knew about this for two weeks.”

“I did?” Sheepishly, Harry asked.

You slumped before shaking your head, “It’s alright. I’ll just tell her you had an emergency or something.”

“You do that.” He nodded, reaching behind him to give your thigh a squeeze, “Get whatever gift you want, pay with my card.”

You didn’t reply, watching as he let his head down on his pillow, back to you as he got comfortable, the only light in the room coming from the lamp on your bedside table.

On the day of your mother’s birthday, you remember the halfhearted smile you offered to her when she asked you where Harry was,

“Says he’s really sorry. Family emergency, but this is from the both of us.” And then you had given her the neatly wrapped present, a card attached to it with a birthday message from you and Harry, only that it was only you who had written it because Harry was up and out of the house the minute you opened your eyes that morning.

And then it happened, again, and again, and again,

and some more.

“Good morning,” you had smiled at him one morning, watching as he rubbed his face before he approached you, capturing your lips in a kiss that had the butterflies in your stomach cheer and dance, “How did you sleep?”

“Fine, love. What about you?” He smiled tiredly, hands on your waist and chin on your shoulder from behind as he watched you flip the cheddar cheese and omelet toast on the pan.

“Great.” You smiled when you felt him rub your skin from over your nightgown with his fingers. You turned off the stove before turning, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck, leaning to peck his lips, “Hey, I know we always get Chinese takeout for our Sunday night date but how do you feel about Thai?”

And instantly, Harry tensed, guilt already taking place on his face and the smile on your face faltered at the change of demeanor, “Y/N, I’m sorry, lovie, I can’t make it tonight.”

“What? Why? We never skip on our Sunday night indoor date.”

It was a ritual you and Harry were devoted to since the very beginning of your relationship, and not once had neither of you flaked on it, always having plans around it but never during it because it was when the both of you would kick your heels up, pig out, watch a movie, talk, and just get ready for the start of another week.

“Told you I’m going to Miami for a few days to meet with the director for Watermelon Sugar, baby.”

“You’re travelling?” You frowned, “You never told me.”

Harry paused, eyes going slightly big before he looked away for a moment before looking back at you, “I’m sorry. It must have slipped out of my mind with how hectic everything has been.”

You didn’t reply, suddenly feeling a tad uncomfortable with your position which had you remove your arms from around him and turn, holding the pan and moving out of his grasp to put the toast on his plate.

“I’m really sorry, Y/N. It’s just my job and I can’t reschedule.”

You sighed, feeling as if your heart strings were being tugged at. Nevertheless, you managed to give him a small smile. “It’s alright, H. I understand. You gotta do what you gotta do.”

To be honest, if anyone had a say in this, they’d say Harry took advantage of how accepting you were, but you would never. You would never say – nor admit – that he was taking advantage of all your “I understand”s and “I get it”s, because you knew he was busy. You knew he loved you. You knew it, until you weren’t so sure anymore.

Standing in the corner of Adam and Emi’s living room, you sipped on your Sprite as you watched people from Harry’s band and those behind the album mingle, your boyfriend standing out of earshot but in front of you, conversing with Tom – Kid Harpoon – and Naomi, his hands moving around as he talked which made you smile a little.

“Why are you standing here all lonely?” You felt a nudge to your shoulder before you looked beside you, seeing Sarah leaning on the wall beside you.

You shrugged, “Just watching.”

“You never texted me yesterday after your date. How did Harry react to your dress? Did you end up wearing the white sh-“

“We didn’t go.”

“-oes? Or- Wait, what?” Sarah frowned.

“We didn’t go on the date.” You repeated, avoiding her eyes by looking down at the small soda bubbles in your cup.

“Oh,” Sarah’s shoulders slumped, taking notice of your gloomy mood, “Oh, um,” she cautiously looked at you, “You were dressed.” She mumbled with a frown, genuinely sad for her friend.

You chuckled, putting your weight on one leg, “So was he, but we had different intentions, I guess. He had a meeting with Jeff.”

“Y/N…” Sarah, with a frown, offered a hand of support on your shoulder.

With a small, very fake smile, you looked at her and shook your head, “It’s alright, really. He’s been busy with tour and the press and all that.”

“Doesn’t make him less of an arse, you know?” She raised an eyebrow.

You only chuckled, looking down at your shoes, “Don’t worry about it. Hey, at least I got to watch that show you’ve been bugging me with.”

You were patient; something many of the people you knew in your life always praised, some even were in disbelief at how patient you were with the shit life threw at you. Like that one time your laptop lagged in the midst of your presentation at uni and instead of freaking out, you remained calm, collected and patient, and it was why you ended up acing that presentation.

But that didn’t mean you didn’t feel like crap, because you did.

Since communication was key, you had decided to do just that – communicate. Harry was better than you when it came to confrontation. For a long time, you had trouble with approaching anyone and telling them that things weren’t fine, but as yours and Harry’s relationship blossomed, you learned to.

It was why you had decided against going to bed early one night and opted to stay and wait for Harry’s return, knowing that it was the only time you would be able to see him with how tight his schedule had been.

In a crewneck of his and plaid pj pants, you sat on the couch with a cup of green tea in your hands, watching a talk show that you mentally criticized as shit in your mind before you heard the click of the door.

Taking a breath to steady your heartbeat and breath, you put aside your tea before you clutched your hands together, cracking your knuckles nervously as you heard the sound of Harry’s home sliders against the floor.

His face showed confusion at the light being turned on, knowing that by that time, you usually slept, but he saw you sitting there, too in your head as you looked at your fidgeting hands to notice that he was a few steps away.

“You’re still up.” He stated in surprise, watching your head snap to look at him.

“Um, yeah,” you nodded, “Was waiting for you.”

Unknowing why, Harry smiled to himself as he approached you, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple, “Yeah?”

You nodded, “Can we talk?”

And then his smile slightly faltered, eyebrows furrowing in slight worry before he sat. “Are you alright?” His hand reached up to brush your hair.

You hated how loving he was that moment, how he made you feel. How he showed you care when he was there for a few minutes, but you hated how he had trouble showing you that by making time for you.

“Harry,” you began and he immediately felt like shit because you rarely use his name, “Are you ever not going to be busy?”

“What?”

You felt stupid, not knowing how to articulate how you’re feeling but gave it another go anyway. “It’s just that, you’re never here anymore. It’s always the album, meetings, press, and when it’s none of those, then you’re out with your friends-“

“Is this about me cancelling that date?”

And you knew he was starting to get defensive and you made note that you hated that, too.

“Which one?” You asked tiredly before sighing, turning fully to look at him, “I’m not asking you to choose between me and your job, your life, but I’m just asking you to make time for me. I just feel out of place, Harry, and it sucks.”

“You know this album is important to me, everything about it.”

“And I absolutely love all that for you, I’m so proud of you,” you held his hands, “I just miss you, that’s all.”

“But Y/N, that’s-“ Harry let out a deep sigh, closing his eyes for a moment, “That’s my job.”

“It’s not your job to cancel on our quality time more than twice to be with your friends, all of whom you see everyday.”

“I see you everyday.”

“Seeing me when I’m sleeping or kissing me goodbye is hardly anything, Harry.” You said gently.

He contemplated it, staying silent for a few moments as he looked down at your joined hands. “What do you want me to do?”

“Just, make time for me, for us – please?”

You had kissed then, almost like a promise, and for the first time in a long time, you cuddled.

You wished you received enough assurance that he was trying, wished to see it, but it seemed like too big of a wish to come true.

You had a career of your own, one you were proud of and worked hard for, so when one day your boss asked you to their office to break the news of your promotion, your smile might as well have resembled a painted one like the Joker’s, from ear to ear.

Your colleagues had cheered for you, even interns approaching you to tell you that you deserved it, and they had all decided that a celebration was due. While they were planning for the celebration, deciding that it would take place at a nearby pub the following day as it Saturday and Friday was a good day to recover from hangovers, you took out your phone, composing a text to Harry.

‘H, please be home early tonight. Big news! 🥳 Love you!’

“You sure you don’t want to join for a quick drink? You earned it.” Your colleague Mariah asked as she walked you to your car.

“I’m sure. You go have fun and we’ll meet tomorrow.”

“Hey, tell your boyfriend to tag along!” She said as she waved before leaving.

That day, you went back home, showered and changed before cooking a nice meal for yourself and Harry.

You had checked your phone multiple times, checking if you might have missed a response or missed a call but granted, your phone only notified you of few congratulatory messages from people in your workplace and your family’s Whatsapp group after you had shared with them the news, none from the one person you longed for.

When the clock struck 8 that night, you found yourself grabbing your phone, tapping on it until you were calling his phone. One missed call, you called again and that time, he answered.

“Baby, I’m in the middle of something.” Harry rushed.

“What is it?” You found yourself asking.

“Mate! You fucking cheated!” You heard him laugh, sounds of different people in the background, “Don’t wait up, yeah? I have to go now. Love y-Wait, I’m coming!” And with one final laughter from him – a sound you had always loved and cherished but that moment, it only made you feel like crying – he hung up.

You stared at your phone, eyes stinging and nears getting itchy, swallowing the lump in your throat before you angrily tossed the phone onto the couch before walking to the kitchen to eat your share of the food. No way in hell were you going to sleep sad, angry, and on an empty stomach.

You hated how small you felt, how you felt unwanted in his world. It wasn’t like you wanted much either, just some time.

It was why the following morning as you got ready for your day at work, you might have loudly closed a drawer or two before looking over at Harry’s sleeping figure.

Huffing as you looked into the mirror while adjusting your top, you were unaware to Harry stretching and rubbing his eyes before you heard him.

“Good morning, love.”

Your heart raced, turning instantly to look at him. You tried to smile but when that failed, you turned back to give yourself a final look before grabbing your bag, mumbling a halfhearted “good morning.”

“Leaving early?”

You nodded, “Yeah, I want to grab donuts before I go.”

Harry smiled sleepily, “You usually get them donuts when there is good news.”

“I got promoted.” You said, still avoiding looking at him as you walked towards the door, lingering by it before you finally looked at him, finding him looking at you with a grin.

“Really? Baby, that’s wonderful! Congratulations, Honey. You deserve this. C’mere.” And he opened his arms, making grabby hands at you.

That moment, you also hated how you couldn’t fight the urge to go to him because that was exactly what you did. You walked towards him, sitting beside him and letting him embrace you, peppering kisses on your head.

“I’m proud of you.”

You sighed, wrapping your arms around him as you closed your eyes. “You are?”

“Of course. Always am.”

You smiled, nuzzling your head into his neck.

Harry wasn’t dumb – he felt it. You missed him, and he, too, missed you. He just couldn’t seem to say no to all the plans that he was invited to – except yours.

“They’re celebrating me tonight. Do you want to come?” You said, and although it was a little muffled, he heard it.

“Tonight’s Steve’s birthday. Remember hi-“

“Oh my God.” You rolled your eyes, pulling away from his embrace, shaking your head at yourself before letting out a chuckle, “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

“Why? What did I- Y/N, you know I can’t miss it. Steve has helped a lot with the album, it wouldn’t be right.”

“He helped with-“ You laughed bitterly, “Right, and I have never helped you with anything. Nothing at all.”

“Don’t take it like that, Y/N.” Harry huffed.

“I’m not taking it like anything, Harry. It doesn’t matter. Don’t wait up. Oh wait,” you stood, giving him a sarcastic smile, “You never do.”

And with that, you were out.

Any other time, you probably would have felt guilty. You would have felt like running back into his arms the moment he opened them. Only, he hadn’t called you, nor had he opened his arms.

There you were, sitting on a stool at the bar as your friends danced and drank, sulking with an untouched cocktail glass, staring at the door every time someone walked in.

But 7 became 8, 8 became 9, and before you knew it, you had driven one of your very drunk colleagues home at 12 and you were back home at 12:30, too sober for your own liking. That was a pathetic celebration, you thought.

You weren’t sure why but the moment you stepped foot inside your shared home with Harry – it was initially his but by the 12th month of your relationship, he had asked you to move in – you couldn’t stop the tears.

Ugly sobs broke the silence in the house, your body shaking with the extra weight of emotions it carried for months.

Maybe it was because even then, Harry wasn’t home and surely, he wasn’t beside you as your friends celebrated a big event in your life. Maybe it was because you received a notification that Harry had posted to his close friends story list on Instagram, the story being him holding his phone with the front camera, Harry singing along to a Queen song with Alexa Chung as she had one arm around his shoulders, her other hand holding a cup that resembled the miserable cocktail you had earlier to celebrate yourself.

But you were packing a suitcase.

You were neatly folding some of your clothes in it, putting some of your undergarments in the zipped-up area. You hadn’t bothered to quit crying, you figured that you owed that yourself.

One thing Harry didn’t expect to return to was to see you out, closing your car’s trunk as you stood in your black sweatpants and a grey hoodie, comfortable sneakers on your feet and your hair left with no hairbands or as much as a clip as if you hadn’t bothered to do anything with it.

Quickly parking and turning off his car, his eyes had glanced at the time quickly, finding it reading 2:21AM. Harry was quick to get out, noticing your movement to your driver side halt as you heard so.

“Where are you going?” He asked as he approached you, feeling worried and scared as he stared at the back of your head as you were yet to turn.

But you did, and Harry found himself staring your puffy eyes, tears in clouding the color he loved too much and his heart broke.

“I’m leaving.”

If it was possible, his heart would have beat its way out of his chest.

“L-Leaving wh-where? What?”

You sniffled, wiping your eyes with your sleeve, “I’m leaving, Harry. I’m done.”

“Y/N, baby,” he cooed, stepping closer, “Let’s talk, alright?” He gently put his hands on your arms, only to have you shrug them off, breaking his heart even more and causing a lump to form in his throat.

“No! We’re not going to talk, Harry. I’m done talking. I’m done waiting. I’m done being alone in this fucking house – in this- this fucking relationship!” You cried.

“Baby, please,” his jaw clenched as he tried to control his breathing and to push back the tears, “Y/N, please. Don’t do this.”

You shook your head, “I gave you everything. I tried everything and it’s just not working. I’m done giving, Harry. Please, just understand.” You stepped closer to him, cupping his face, “You’re never here for me anymore and I’m done holding on to the ghost of you.”

“What can I do? Anything, please,” his nose reddened, eyes going tearful as he was just about to melt in your hands, watching you shake your head, “Please, lovie, anything.”

“I’m done.” You whispered in the midst of a sob, leaning forward to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, “I tried.”

And with that, you got into the car before speeding off, leaving Harry standing there, his heart seeming to wave him off as he watched your car disappear.

He was shit.

He had tried to contact you, even tried to visit you at your work only to get told that you were taking a few days off.

He messaged you everyday for 3 weeks, called and left voice notes.

His friends felt bad for him when they knew, but they felt worse when he broke down one day when his band visited to check up on him,

“If only I wasn’t part of all of this! If you didn’t drag me into all of this shit, she would have still been here! Right here in her fucking home with me!”

“Hey! You got no one to blame but yourself. You’re the one who decided to blow her off every time, even when Mitch and I asked you about her and gave you an earful so don’t fucking put the blame on anyone but yourself, Harry!” Sarah had knocked some sense into him, “I love you and all, but this is all you and whatever will happen next will be you. Don’t wait for anyone to pick up your mess because it’s about time you act and show her you love her.”

He deserved that.

Harry had tried countless of times, visited your old apartment only to face an old man holding a puppy who had no idea who you were.

He found himself sitting in his studio one night – where he slept because he couldn’t bring himself to sleep in your bedroom – his journal perched up as his pen worked on it. It was like he didn’t need to think about it, he went on auto-pilot and before he could realize it, he had written a song.

You weren’t any better. 2 months later and you were still avoiding his calls. It didn’t help that you got another phone and number but kept your old one, only to know that he still remembered you and you felt pathetic for it.

His fans were bombarding you with questions on yours and his whereabouts, saying that you’ve been inactive for way too long and it wasn’t like you to not interact with them, but you couldn’t. You couldn’t pretend that everything was fine when it wasn’t.

By the 3rd month, you began to go other places than your workplace.

You met up with 2 of your friends, giving them short answers and “yeah”s as they talked. With your mind being somewhere else, you unlocked your phone and opened Instagram, checking your explore page.

And there it finally was; a picture of him. His beard and moustache had grown, untrimmed and messy as his hair. His eyes were hidden behind a pair of sunglasses, yellow sweatpants and a grey hoodie worn along with his running shoes while he walked.

Your breath hitched in your throat as you opened the photo, checking the caption to read it;

‘Harry out a few minutes ago!’

As fresh as your favorite home baked pastries this photo was. Your eyes moved from him to the shop behind him, zooming with your fingers before letting out a gasp.

“Y/N? Is everything okay?” One of your friends asked.

“I have to go.” You quickly said, slinging on your bag before you shot out of your seat and outside, frantically looking left and right before walking towards the shop you had seen in the picture.

You didn’t even know what you were doing. Hell, you shouldn’t have been doing that, looking for him like that.

You panted, reaching up to place a hand on your rapidly beating heart as you stood in front of the shop.

God, you felt stupid.

“Y/N…”

You heard it, then you felt it; his hand, gentle on your shoulder.

You turned, coming face to face with the man you had sworn up and down was the love of your life – and you knew he still was.

He snatched off his sunglasses, as if they played a trick on him but they weren’t because you stood right there.

“You’re here.” He breathed out.

Harry’s green eyes were staring into yours, hand still on your shoulder.

At the feeling that rushed through you; one that made you feel that one more minute and you would be in his arms, kissing him and going back home with him, you slowly shook your head. “I have to leave.”

“No, please, please, a minute. Just a minute.” Harry pleaded with wide eyes, desperation in his voice.

“If I stay for one more minute, I won’t control myself. Please let me go.” You closed your eyes as you spoke softly.

“I can’t.”

“You can. You did it more than once.”

One final jab to his heart, you turned, rushing to cross the street before getting in your car.

The news of a sudden single drop was everywhere.

Friends and family texted you to ask if you had heard the song, most asking you to “please talk it out with Harry, he seems really sorry.”

Your coffee, sat waiting for you as you read the wave of tweets that crashed on you from fans, most of asking you what your friends and family asked of you, some others apologizing on his behalf, some others questions if the song was about you to begin with, and some others giving you shit for “breaking Harry’s heart.”

You were quick to click on a YouTube link that was attached to a tweet of a fan reacting to the song, sitting up straight and suddenly feeling nauseous as the screen changed.

Harry Styles – Reasons To Hate You.

Your stomach dropped as you saw him. In a white tee and black shorts, his hair was held back with your light blue clip while he sat in a chair behind his mic in the comfort of your home studio, holding the black guitar you had gifted him for his 26th birthday.

“Can you just lie to me

And ruin these memories

'Cause I've gotta forget somehow

So I'm begging you, burn us to the ground,” Harry sang as he played the guitar.

“Cause I know it's over

But I don't know what to do

So help me get over

Help me get over you,”

With no intentions to stop the tears, you let yourself cry, reaching up to stifle a sob by putting a hand to your mouth.

“And tell me you love somebody else or something

Or say you've been unfaithful to me

'Cause I need a reason to hate you, a reason to let you go

A reason to move on 'cause without one I know I won't

So tell me you love somebody else or something

Or say you've been unfaithful to me.”

He had looked up to his camera, and as he did, you felt like he was physically there and singing for you.

“Where do we go from here?

Do you just disappear?

'Cause I don't think I can be your friend

When it feels like the break isn't gonna mend.”

You stopped questioning your moves, and as proof, you had no idea what you were thinking when you grabbed your car keys and bolted out of the studio apartment you had rented, the song still playing.

“'Cause even after all this time, I'm hoping I can change your mind

'Cause hope's the only open door left to choose

So let me out for good because I know that I'm not strong enough

To stop myself from feeling things for you

So don't give me the truth.”

And you drove to him, right back to your home.

The song had replayed itself 4 times before you were finally out of your car and rushing to the door, ringing the bell and knocking, cursing yourself for forgetting your keys back at that apartment.

The door opened and there he stood, in the same clothes with the same clip holding back his hair.

Harry didn’t have time to comprehend before you threw yourself at him, crying into his chest.

“You’re such an asshole.” You cried, “How can you release something like that, you shit?”

He held on to you, hiding his face in your hair as he took you in.

“Next time, even an album won’t bring me back, you understand?” You mumble, feeling his arms tighten around you as he kissed your head then shoulder.

“There won’t be a next time.”

#wellbeafinelime #reason to hate you #harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles angst imagine #harry styles angst #harry styles one shot #harry styles fiction #harry styles angst one shot #angst #angst imagine

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absolutebl · 3 years

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This Week in BL

April 2021 Part 3

Being a highly subjective assessment of one tiny corner of the interwebs.

Ongoing Series - Thai

Second Chance Ep 3 - this is proper YA, they are dealing with actual high school issues, picking uni, first crushes, online dating, etc... We even got a senior prom trope which almost never happens in Thai stuff (just the freshman uni competition variant). Standard plot pacing means PaperFah’s kiss was too early, might indicate we’re moving to uni in the second half of the series? Tropes included: let me feed you, hand hold, black & white striped shirt, floppy drunk & first kiss.

Y-Destiny Ep 3 - the first MaxNat ep. Such fun to see them playing different characters. This one is enemies to lovers, tutor/student, but it’s using the “poor little rich kid loose cannon” archetype. Nat is doing his best, but it’s leaving me cold. Lots of tropes tho: boyfriend’s closet, floppy drunk, pillow clutch, the loom & water bottle.

Lovely Writer Ep 8 - solid installment, good use of many tropes. I really like the leads and I’m glad there isn’t much side dish action, SibGene gave us: punish, touch your face, boyfriend claiming, kissing, sleep cuddling, symmetry, rooftop, cheek kiss, hand hold, and pillow clutch.

Call It What You Want Ep 3-4 - couldn’t find the subs, don’t really care, will watch if it crosses my radar, otherwise I’m just not into it.

Brothers Ep 11 - the “everyone wants Chol” show continues (but WHY?), he and Tri are cute together, and now I kinda just want Prab to end up with the twins. I’m confused by the teachers, but Boston showed up (from UWMA), and my boys KhunKaow got together (YES!), so I’m ultimately delighted with the episode.

Fish Upon The Sky Ep 2 - the makeover happened, and we go from cute with glasses and braces to cute without them. (I’m reminded of those 90′s Pygmalion teen movies where the girl has glasses + ponytail and then *GASP* does not and *GASP* she’s HOT. This was the BL version.) Meanwhile, writers better be careful with Pi, he’s getting too tsundere to like. Did you see they gave AJ a 2gether music intro & pick up line? Well, it’s actually his brother JJ who plays Ohm in 2g. I cackled. GMMTV - you so cheeky.

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

HIStory 4: Close To You (Taiwan) Ep 5 - half way point. My poor confused babies. It was a really sweet episode... if what happened before hadn’t happened in the way that it had. Also, these boys have a GREAT friendship but are probably the worst advice givers ever.

Most Peaceful Place (Vietnam) Ep 3 fin - so cute! Our boys confessed and got together. There was an adorable mutual kiss (I love me a mutual, like Ingredients). Afterwards, they actually seemed to communicate with each other about both sex and their relationship. OMG. How original for BL! This was the last episode, so the series is short, but I still enjoyed it very much. RECOMMENDED.

My Lascivious Boss (Vietnam) Ep 1-2 - oh boy this one is rough, we started out with homophobia child abuse and moved on to family drama + drunken dub-con one night stand. But production values and subs are better than normal for Vietnam (You Are My Boy levels) + our queer babies are out & proud + it’s higher heat + I’m weak. So I’m watching.

Word of Honor (China) Ep 25-27 - honestly not much happened, lots of back story. Things are looking dire for the ghosts unless they can turn the Scorpion (I LOVE HIM, he’s my precious deadly baby). Don’t know how they managed to make loosing a battle with an immortal sword god ex-friend cute... but they did. Did some calculations and at 36 eps, mathematically speaking, ep 30 will be the equivalent of a standard BL ep 11. Should I be scared for next week?

Nobleman Ryu’s Wedding (Korea) Ep 1-2 - it’s so effing adorbs, soft bois do old fashioned tropes like arranged marriage + evil stepsisters meets the more modern fake relationship + secret identity in a surprisingly comfortable mix. It launched with baby is a floppy drunk, forced proximity, performative I saw you feed him, and some fun gay panic. It’s a lot lighter and faster paced than I was expecting, but this is Korea so I don’t know why I’m surprised.

Stand Alones

K-pop band OnlyOneOf dropped a new MV that is basically BL bait, using many of the tropes we know and love. I promise I’m not trying to lure anyone into K-pop I just thought it was interesting how consciously they’re yaoi dipping.

Spin-off We Best Love Fighting Mr. 2nd, Shou Zhen | the Only Love Letter Once Written (SERIOUSLY WITH THE TITLES TAIWAN?) anyway there’s a something or other 25 minutes featuring Pei Shou Yi and his boy that aired Friday. It’s about 10 minutes of reboot footage with 15 min of new content, mostly set in the past. It entirely rests on Chih Tian Shih’s acting, fortunately for us he’s great. However, it doesn’t substantially change or add to these characters’ arcs from the finale of WBL season 2. I don’t know if there will be more or if this was just an extra footage fan service.

COLOR RUSH GOT ITS MOVIE!!! Okay this is almost the tipping point for me to get Viki Standard. It’s listed at 1:56 minutes long but the original series had only c.120 running time - that is a lot of new content. Although i was disappointed by To My Star’s movie I loved Wish You’s, so I am hoping Color Rush got Wish You level treatment. That said, I feel Color Rush the series is damn near perfect already, hard to improve on perfection.

Breaking News

Close Friend the series got an updated trailer featuring MaxNat (no subs) so if you like them in Y-Destiny or in Why R U get ready for them to play different characters again, this time for a sports romance segment. Like Y-Destiny, Close Friend looks to be another series of vignettes (Original trailer) coming April 22.

2gether the movie (Thai trailer) was intended release April 22 but is now postponed due to a surge in C19 cases in Thailand.

Tell the World I Love You, a Thai BL movie that was supposed to release last week, is similarly delayed.

My Ride has been postponed indefinitely with no airing date.

The Miracle of Teddy Bear got a teaser vid, no eng subs.

Gossip

Thai BL actors Nanon (Bad Buddy), Yoon (YYY), and Mark Siwat (LBC, Bite Me) have tested positive for C19. Press releases stated they’re fine, tho filming has paused fore their various projects, obvs. (No word on whether Nanon’s current project was Bad Buddy or not, although it seems likely given his recent Arm Share episode.)

Next Week Looks Like This:

Some shows may be listed later than actual air date for International accessibility reasons.

Upcoming 2021 BL master post here.

Links to watch are provided when possible, ask in a comment if I missed something.

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atiny-ahgase · 3 years

Text

The Promise And A Stray Pup

Title: The Promise And A Stray Pup

Chapter 2: Promise You’ll Be Good

Author’s Note: Okay so I usually write the author’s notes before I even write the story idk why… I just do. Anyway, I had no idea how this is gonna turn out soo..yeah.

Summary: Y/n returns home in search of a hybrid friend that she had left oh so long ago. Will she be able to help him? Did their friendship withstand the hands of time or did it crumble from the pressure?

This is chapter 2 of the Series “A Pinky Promise And A Stray Pup, you can read chapter 1 here.

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

Pairing: Hybrid Yunho x Gender Neutral Reader

Word Count: 4.1k

Genre: Hybrid au, Fluff, Smut

Warnings: Smut, Dom Reader, Sub Yunho, Edging, Controlled Orgasm, Masturbation

Contains: Hybrid Yunho, Gender Neutral Reader, Fluff, Smut

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

You paced through the narrow hallway of your one-bedroom apartment for what seemed like the millionth time. Releasing a loud groan you dove unto the soft cushions of your couch, burying your face in one of your many throw pillows. It had been exactly 2 days,14 hours, and 27 minutes since you had last seen Yunho...not that you were counting or anything. He seemed kinda off during your last interaction, his breathing seemed strained and his cheeks were a bright shade of pink, granted his face seemed to be tinted that light shade of pink quite often. His voice wasn’t the smooth sweet melody that you had already become so used to, it seemed deeper, almost huskier. Sure, he had just woken up but still, something felt off to you. Maybe you were overthinking it, over-analyzing the situation as you usually did but how could you not? He hadn’t contacted you for two whole days. Sure, he could be busy with work but when you visited his workplace they said that he hadn’t been in on that day. Then where was he? What could he possibly be doing?

What if he was sick? What if he had realized that you weren’t the same kindergartener that he had met so many years ago? What if he didn’t want to be friends with you anymore? What would you do then? Everything that you had done since the moment you and Yunho had parted ways was all done to meet him again. You studied extra hard to get a scholarship, you worked extra shifts to pay off apartment expenses, you settled on choosing this apartment because it was closer to your old school. Everything that you had done was all for him but...what if he didn’t want that? What if he was having second thoughts? Where would that leave you? What would you do when your entire reason for bettering yourself decided that you weren’t enough?

He said that he’d come to visit you again but it's been two days and still nothing, you were starting to worry. Sure you hadn’t seen him for twelve years prior but now even a day without him feels unbearable. You’d wondered how you had survived so long without having him by your side. Even your tiny apartment felt as though it had tripled in size since his absence, the walls seemed to have expanded overnight, feeling far too large for just you. Yunho seemed to fit so perfectly in your life so the fact that he wasn’t there next to you felt like such a foreign feeling even though he had only recently reentered it.

Your worrying carried on for the remainder of the week and before you knew it classes had begun. The first couple of days were pretty basic; mostly consisting of introductions and lesson plans. You had even somehow managed to befriend the bespeckled hybrid boy who sat next to you in your Math class. His hair was dyed a soft orange which highlighted the warmth of his smile, he wore an oversized hoodie and round-rimmed glasses. Even seated he towered over you, and to be quite honest you were originally incredibly intimidated by his large stature but that lasted a solid two minutes. His dog-like playfulness immediately shining through, casting away all of your prior fears. You had both managed to get pretty close before your class had started, him laughing at all of your jokes, his tail happily wagging behind you as he clutched his stomach, tears springing from his eyes.

He introduced himself as Mingi, a dog hybrid who only moved in a few months ago, apparently he wanted a fresh place to make a new start and opted for somewhere quiet. Surprisingly you both shared a lot of the same courses which was great for you because now you had a seat buddy. The rest of the day went by pretty smoothly and it was finally time for lunch, you and Mingi sat on the wooden benches across from the school library, taking in the way the yellow leaves danced in the wind as the breeze sang a gentle song. Your shoulders brushed each others’ as you listened to his stories about his hometown, your attention hanging on to every single word that he spoke. His way of telling stories captivated you, it was as though you were watching a movie, every scene that he set was so vivid, it was as though you were living through each moment. Before long your school day had ended and it was finally time to go home. Walking out from your final lecture for the day you looked up at the sky “, Looks like it’s about to rain,” you hypothesized.

“Please don’t jinx it, the UNI’s Shuttle doesn’t drop me off at the front of my house and I really don’t wanna walk through the rain,” he explained with an exasperated sigh. Soon after his words were uttered a thunderous roar was heard from the sky and raindrops began falling unto the earth below. You could hear the displeased groans from your friend beside you which caused you to let out a small laugh. “Alright Mingi tell me where you live and I’ll think about giving you a ride”, you jokingly said while pulling him in the direction of your car. “You’re the best Y/n,” he said before engulfing you into a hug from behind. “Mingi you’re gonna crush me then I’lldie before I drive you home,” you exclaimed while trying to control your laughter. Were all dog hybrids this affectionate?

Mingi lived fairly close to the supermarket where Yunho worked which was great for you since you found yet another excuse to ‘drop in’ after you had dropped Mingi off. Unfortunately, Yunho wasn’t there yet again and quite honestly it was starting to get on your nerves. You released a loud sigh before heading to your car and driving home. It was only upon arriving home did you notice Mingi’s jacket seated comfortably on your back seat. You playfully rolled your eyes before retrieving it and bringing it into your apartment. Pulling out your phone you sent him a quick text informing him that you were holding his jacket for ransom and if he doesn’t buy you breakfast tomorrow then he’ll never see it again. You know just a basic text. After that was done you decided that your couch was as good a place as any for Mingi’s jacket to rest for the night.

Not long after getting comfortable, you heard someone knocking at your door. “Who could that be?” you thought. You didn’t know that many people from around here and even if you did they didn’t know where you lived. Getting up from your couch you walked over to the door pulling it open to reveal who was on the other side.

“And here I thought that you forgot where I lived,” you remarked as you looked up at the dog hybrid towering above you. Of course, it was Yunho, the only other person in town that knew where you lived was your landlady, and something was telling you that she had little to no reason to come knocking on your door at this hour. “I’m really sorry Y/n,” you heard him say softly, if it had been any quieter you would not have heard him at all. Looking at his face it seemed a lot paler than you remembered and he wore a tired expression as though he hadn’t slept for days.

“I wanted to come to see you sooner but I was really sick and I wanted to call but I didn’t have your number,” he began to explain in a voice that was even gentler than what you were used to. Even the yellow of his eyes seemed to dull significantly, how could you stay mad at someone in that state. To be honest, he could have shown up at your doorstep in peak condition and no excuse, and you’d probably still forgive him. For the longest time whether you were together or apart you had the softest spot for Yunho, even with the greatest determination once you looked into those golden eyes your heart would surely falter.

“You should probably come in, it’s getting pretty chilly these days,” you smiled up at him before further opening the door allowing him inside. Closing the door you sat on the couch and patted the spot beside you expectantly. Yunho taking that as his cue quickly filled in the empty space next to you engulfing your body in his warmth. You had quickly become used to having him next to you so much that his absence for those few days had you feeling incredibly cold. “I really am sorry Y/n, I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he explained as he placed his head on your shoulder nuzzling into your neck.

Placing your hand at the nape of his neck you were about to comfort him about the situation; since he seemed to be beating himself up quite a bit. However, before you could otter a word you could feel his grip on you tightening slightly.

“Y/n” you heard him say no louder than a whisper, his voice deeper than you were used to, “Whose jacket is this?” Referring to the green jacket which was placed on the couch.

“Oh, that’s Mingi’s he forgot it in my car-,” you began but before you could finish you felt a sharp pain at your collar bone followed by the soothing sensation of his warm tongue gliding over your bruised skin. You could feel it caressing your skin so tenderly that goosebumps began to form all over your body. “Yunho,” you whimpered in his arms while struggling to escape his grasp.

“I don’t like it. Why are you spending time with other hybrids when you already have me?” he calmly stated, punctuating each word with gentle kisses running along your throat. “I’ve only just found you, I’m not letting another hybrid take you away from me. You’re mine and I’m yours” he continued on while tightening his grip on you even more. His body pressed firmly to yours as he continued to nip on the tender skin of your neck.

The area began to burn with the most pleasant of pains, your body aching in the best way imaginable. But you knew that you couldn’t stay like that otherwise he would just continue to misunderstand you. “Yunho could you just listen-,” you tried to reason with him as best as you could even though you could hear your voice falter as his lips reached your collarbone. This was the second time he had done this and as pleasurable as it is also beginning to get tiring.

You kept on telling yourself that this was bad no matter how good he made you feel. You couldn’t deny that you could easily become addicted to the sensation of his body on yours; completely trapping you in its warmth. But you couldn’t just let him do as he pleased. It’s true that hybrids have a more difficult time controlling their emotions but this is not an excuse. He couldn’t just continue to act on impulse every time his emotions get too strong. It gets easier with time and a hybrid of Yunho’s age should already be adequately good at it.

But I guess that’s the difference between Yunho and other hybrids his age, they were probably trained better than Yunho. He lived his younger years on the street so there is a possibility that he still hasn’t perfected self-control. He was like a puppy in an adult dog’s body; succumbing to every urge that comes his way. Gathering your thoughts you took a deep breath before speaking. “Yunho sit,” you said in a stern voice, much more than you ever thought you could muster up. You felt his body become rigid against yours but he made no actions to remove himself from you. “Yunho sit!” you said with a little more force; your eyes piercing into his. You heard him whimper before he peeled himself away from you to have a seat. You had expected him to return to his previous spot beside you but he didn’t. Yunho opted to sit on his heels at the base of the couch; right where your feet had lain. His head hung low as his palms gently rested on his knees.

Seeing the sight before you left you struggling to remain seated, he looked so ductile, so obedient and something about it made you feel so hot. He wouldn’t even meet your eyes and you loved it, although you had been the one to stop his previous advances it was almost as though you were at the mercies of your instinct, you wanted nothing more than to completely devour him. You took a deep breath in the futile attempt to gather your thoughts before speaking to him, he’d probably let you.

“Yunho I let your behavior slide twice before, but at this point, I’m beginning to think that you want to be scolded by me,” you stated while coking your eyebrow up. “No I don’t I’m sorry,” you heard him mumble towards the floor. Placing your hand on his cheek you felt the way his body shivered at your touch. “Puppy shouldn’t you look at me when I’m talking to you,” you whispered your face only a few inches from his. You could clearly see his lips quivering as you took in the strained features of his face.

“You’re right I’m sorry,” he whimpered, his fists clenched against his jeans. “And exactly what is my puppy sorry for?” you inquired, your lip twisted up in a slight smirk. It amused you; someone so much smaller than him, could have so much power over him, just the thought had you shivering in your seat.

“I’m sorry for attacking you and for not coming to see you,” he stated, his pleading eyes drowning in your own. “And what was the reason that my dear puppy couldn’t come see his owner?” you continued on loving the pure look of ecstasy on his face when you referred to yourself as his owner. His knuckles tightened as his body began to tremble, clearly holding itself back from the pleasure that was clearly bubbling inside of him. “I was sick,” he said in a hushed tone.

“Oh were you now?” you edged on, your pointer finger gliding across his adam’s apple. “Please,” he whimpered before he began to hunch forward in an attempt to ease the pressure building up at his crotch. “You say that you’re sorry but apparently that doesn’t apply to all of you,” you confessed before gently placing your foot on his crutch. The sound that he released was probably the most beautiful you’ve ever heard; it almost made you want to end your teasing, almost.

Removing your foot from his crutch you stare in awe at the thin thread of clear liquid which connected your toes to the ever-growing bulge in his pants. “For someone who is soo sorry you seem to be enjoying yourself quite a bit,” you stated as you wiggled your toes, almost playing in the precum coating them. From your seat above him, you could see him frantically shaking his head as he rocked in place on the floor beneath you. “Oh, so you’re not,” you inquired as you brought your face on the same level before you continued, “then maybe you should start answering me honestly? There is no need to be this stubborn with me”.

“I was in heat,” he replied; his head hung low as his ears began to redden. “So my puppy left me worried and alone cause you couldn’t keep it in his pants? Seeing the state that you’re in I can’t say that I’m surprised,” you replied, your eyes never once leaving his quivering body. Leaning back into your seat you took one final glance at him before speaking, “Take it off.” You could hear him release a sigh before reaching for his shirt. “No,” you interrupted him mid-action, “just your bottoms.” With crosswinds coming in so quickly Yunho was dressed in a caramel-colored knitted turtleneck and a pair of black jeans. You didn’t think that turtle necks could turn you on to this extent, just the thought of Yunho wearing turtle necks to hide the marks that you’ve left on his neck got a fire burning deep into your core.

You were so lost in your thoughts that the only thing pulling you away was the load, animalistic groan which escaped the hybrid’s lips as he slowly touched himself. His nimble fingers teasing the tip of his erect cock, urging it to release even more precum than it already was. The clear liquid flowed from the tip of his reddened cock down his hand, coating it in the perverse liquid. “I don’t remember telling you that you could touch yourself now did I puppy,” you stated watching as he briskly removed his hand from his aching cock; wincing as the cold breeze caressed it. “Do you want me to touch you?” you inquired.

“I do,” he began; his breathing short and strained, “but I’ve been bad.”

“That’s true but that doesn’t mean that my puppy doesn’t deserve to be cared for now does it?” you rhetorically asked.

Finally leaving your place on the couch you crept beside him, grasping his dick in your much smaller hand, your mouth watering at the sight. Almost immediately you could feel Yunho bucking his hips upward, chasing his much-desired release with great intensity. Taking your free hand you gripped his hip harshly, your nails grazing along his side. Yunho moaned at the pain, his body shivering as his head dropped to rest on your shoulder. “Stay still for me okay baby,” you whispered, your breath tickling his ear. Continuing at a rather snow pace you ran your hand along Yunho’s engorged dick, tracing its veins with your fingers and watching as his entire body twitched in response. You could feel him leaving tentative kisses along your shoulder but you didn’t stop him this time, he was finally being good so he deserved a little treat. Right?

You tightened your grip as you continued to pleasure him, enjoying the sweet sounds of his moans in your ear; you could listen to it all day but that might actually break him and you couldn’t do that to your puppy. “Close, I’m close. Please can I come,” he begged into your shoulder as his hands caressed your sides ever so slightly; the searing heat radiating from his entire body paled in comparison the that of his pulsating dick. He looked as though he was ready to burst but resisting until you gave him the go-ahead trying with the utmost desperation to be good for you. Should you allow him to release or should you let that pressure build up inside of him just a little longer to see how long he could fight against his instinct?

Your thought process was interrupted by your phone ringing on the couch cushion behind you, you weren’t all that interested to answer but you had an idea of who it might be so you decided to play with your puppy just a little longer. “Yunho could you grab my phone for me please,” you asked, your free hand caressing his back to get his attention. Looking at his face caused shivers to run through your spine; it was nothing like you’ve ever felt before, your body was screaming with pure ecstasy. His face was flushed pink and glistening with perspiration, his teary, yellow eyes were almost engulfed by his dilated pupils and only heavy breathing could be heard from his swollen lips. Yunho was always irresistible in your eyes but seeing him in this state; he looked absolutely delectable.

You had expected him to put up some sort of resistance but he didn’t, he simply stretched forward; groaning at the new angle in which you were holding his dick, and grabbed your phone. “Who’s calling?” you inquired, already having a decent idea of who it is. From the growl that escaped Yunho’s lips, you already knew that you were right but you still wanted to hear him say it. You didn’t say a word to him you simply stopped the movement of your hand and looked at him, your eyes boring into his in an attempt to deduce his next move. Was he really that against you talking to Mingi? Or was it just because of the timing of the call? “Mingi,” he whispered before handing me the phone. Taking it from his hand you could see Yunho attempt to fix his clothes. “Stay,” you simply said to him before answering the still ringing phone.

To be quite honest you weren’t really paying any mind to what Mingi was saying; your senses focused on the whimpering hybrid beside you. You had already begun caressing his dick once more while still being on the phone with Mingi, you didn’t mind too much if Mingi found out what you were doing but Yunho on the other hand tried his absolute best to keep his noises at bay. This continued on for a few more minutes as you tried your best to keep Mingi on the phone, testing how long Yunho could hold out. Quickening your pace on his ever-flowing dick you could see Yunho convolve as he clung unto you, his teeth threatening to tear through his lush lips. He was almost at his breaking point.

“Mingi could you just hold on please my friend is calling the apartment phone,” you lied, “oh no you don’t need to hang up it will only take a minute.” Placing your phone against your shoulder; but not really attempting to muffle any sound, you turned to Yunho, “Are you coming today or not?” you enquired in the best nonchalant voice you could muster up. To Mingi it would just seem as though you had a friend over but Yunho knew better, his needy pants and muffled whimpers understood all too well. Looking up at you he nodded his head frantically before burying his face into your shoulder once more in a desperate attempt to muffle his sounds. He couldn’t hold it in any longer, if he was asked to his entire body would have surely combusted right there and then.

“Okay then hurry up,” you replied before returning to your phone call. “Yeah I’m gonna watch a movie with a friend in a bit, you should come next-,” you continued your conversation until you felt a sharp pain on your neck causing you to yelp, followed by a splash of liquid landing on your hand. “Are you okay?” you heard Mingi ask. “Yeah I’m fine I just bumped my toe,” you explained with a slight laugh trying your best to calm your breathing. “Well that’s good then,” he continued, “but please be careful else you’ll make me worry.”

“You don’t need to though, I already have someone like that and he’ll be here soon so I should go,” you stated before saying your goodbyes. You could sense a slight opposition from Mingi on the phone but that didn’t bother you much cause you had someone else to worry about. You look one last look at the quivering hybrid who had collapsed on your living room floor before you stood up.

Rushing to the restroom you began filling the bathtub before retrieving a damp cloth and heading back to the exhausted hybrid in your living room. After cleaning up most of the mess you told Yunho that he needed to take a bath which resulted in him releasing a groan before attempting to get up. Standing beside him you watched as his legs shook releasing a small giggle at the sight. “Shut up,” he said with a slight pout on his lips. “I really did a number on you didn’t I,” you continued.

“Please stop talking,” he groaned as he slowly made his way to your restroom. “Are you going to make me?” you pushed on loving the personality gap that he was displaying. You loved how he went from a whimpering mess to the playful yet slightly defiant Yunho that he currently is. You felt his grip on your arm, pulling you closer to him until your bodies were connected. “Do you want me to?” he inquired, his golden eyes searching yours. “Huh?” was the only thing that could leave your mouth, unbelievable, even after all that you’ve just done to him he can still reduce you to a deer in the headlights that simplicity? “I’m yours,” he whispered just softly enough for you both to hear; like it was a precious secret only to be shared between you too, “I’d do anything you want me to. Whatever you want from me I’ll give it to you.”

#ateez #ateez au #ateez hybrid au #hybrid au #ateez fanfic #ateez hybrid fanfic #ateez hybrid #ateez smut #ateez fluff #yunho hybrid #yunho fanfic #jeong yunho #jeong yunho fanfic #gender neutral reader #I honestly dont know what else lol I havent done this in a while

141 notes · View notes

viastro · 4 years

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tastes like cola | lee jihoon

ミ★ synopsis: in which you force jihoon to be your fake boyfriend in order to finally beat your cousin at something.

ミ★ genre: fake dating!au, humor, fluff

ミ★ warnings: none!

ミ★ word count: 2,250

ミ★ pairings: jihoon x female reader

ミ★ notes: this one is dedicated to my luvie @urlocalcaratclown !! don’t think i forgot you mentioning this is one of your favorite prompts >:D i hope you like this one lucy <3

“Absolutely not.”

“But Jihoon!” He lets out an exasperated sigh, stepping out of the kitchen to go into his studio. You trail after him like a lost puppy, planning not to leave him alone until he says yes.

“Yn I said no. I’m not going to pretend to be your boyfriend just to prove to your cousin that you can, in fact, find someone who’d want to date you!” You press a hand to your heart, ego slightly deflating at the comment, but you choose to ignore it. “Pleaseeee?”

“No.” You run up so that you’re in front of him, stopping him from walking. He glares at you, and you give him the best puppy eyes you can muster.

“I will literally buy you cola whenever you want for the rest of the year if you do this for me.” He raises an eyebrow at the offer, and you internally smirk.

“... I’m listening.”

“I just need you to go on one double date with her and her boyfriend. She’s been making fun of me for so long, we have this eternal competition that we’ve never actually vocalized, but I swear it’s a thing.” Jihoon blinks at you, and you give him a big smile.

“So will you do it?” He stares at you for a moment, watching the way your nose scrunches up as you await his answer.

Cute.

“Make it cola and kbbq and you got yourself a deal.” You scowl at the addition to the original offer, but still outstretch your hand towards Jihoon.

“Alright, deal.” Jihoon grins, softly shaking your hand.

“Now can you come sing background vocals for the song I’m making for my class?” Rolling your eyes, you nod, stepping out of the way so that the two of you can walk to his studio room.

“Should we run through it again?” Jihoon nudges you, giving you a smile in an attempt to offer some reassurance. “We absolutely do not need to run through it again. I’m very sure that we have our first date story memorized yn.”

You nervously bite your lip as the sight of the arcade draws nearer with each step you and Jihoon take. Your cousin has practically made everything between the two of you a competition since you were kids. If you got a dollhouse? She’d beg her parents to get a mansion for her dolls. You decided to grow out your hair? She grew hers longer. You were a cheerleader? She became the cheerleading captain. You lift a hand up to your mouth, about to nibble on your nails when Jihoon reaches up and takes it. He lets your hand fall, and intertwines your fingers with his.

Your eyes widen, and you turn to look at your pretend boyfriend, who is looking at anything but you. “J-Ji?”

“You gotta break that nail biting habit of yours when you're nervous. It’ll all work out yn, and besides, the arcade is like two steps away and it’d be weird if we walked in without holding hands.” You stare at him for a moment, before letting out a breath and looking forward again.

stop falling for him you absolute buffoon, you think to yourself as your face gets warmer. Jihoon is biting back the smile from breaking out onto his face, trying not to focus on how your hand seems to just… fit.

He opens the door for the two of you once you reach the arcade, and you step in. Immediately the feeling of dread hits you when your cousin turns around and smiles at you. “Yn!”

“Hi Mina.” You greet, lack of enthusiasm really showing that even Jihoon picks up on it. You let go of his hand to return the hug she gives you. He muffles down a chuckle when Mina turns to him, an indecipherable look appearing before she changes it back to a happy expression. “Yn, is this your friend?”

“He’s actually my-”

“I’m her boyfriend, Jihoon. It’s nice to meet you.” Jihoon interrupts, stepping over and holding your hand once again. Mina’s eyes practically bulge out of her head as she glances between the two of you.

“N-no way..” She mumbles as she takes the chance to quickly do a onceover of Jihoon. His blonde hair is parted to the side, showing off his forehead and strong eyebrows. He’s wearing a simple white shirt and black jeans, slightly revealing his muscles.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” You ask, snapping your cousin out of her drool fest. She lets out a grin, turning around right as a tall guy walks over. He wraps his arm around her, giving you a kind smile.

“Bong-pal, this is my cousin yn and her boyfriend Jihoon.” He extends his hand out to shake, and you outstretch yours, eyes widening at the firm grip he’s got. “Nice to meet you guys.”

“Should we go play some games?” He asks, and the three of you nod.

“Well it’d be strange if we came to an arcade just to stand in the lobby.” You joke, to which Bong-pal laughs. Mina’s eye twitches, and she turns to you. “Wanna play basketball?”

Your competitive fire ignites in your chest when you see the glint in your cousin’s eye, so you let out a small smile.

“Sure.”

oh god here we go… Jihoon thinks to himself once you turn away from Mina, catching sight of the furrow to your brows.

“Fuck yeah!” Mina shouts once she gets another point in air hockey, and you clutch the striker tightly in your hand. The two of you have been competing in multiple different arcade games for the past two hours. You’ve won three out of the five games, while Mina has won two. Her poor boyfriend just walked off to play other games by himself because it was clear Mina had one goal and one goal only.

Jihoon reaches out and rests his hand on top of yours, causing you to turn to look at him, snapping out of your thoughts. Your features immediately soften when he gives you a reassuring grin.

“Try and relax yn, you’re literally clutching the paddle so hard your knuckles were white.” You let out a sigh, and he pats your head with a grin. Mina raises an eyebrow at the gesture, turning to find Bong-pal sitting at one of the racing games. She glares, looking back towards you and Jihoon.

they seem more on the friendly side than the romantic side, Mina thinks to herself as she stares at the two of you. It’s like a lightbulb goes off in her head when she comes up with the idea that the two of you might not actually be dating.

“Ji, what do you like about my dear cousin?” Mina suddenly asks, and Jihoon freezes. You curse to yourself when you remember that you and Jihoon didn’t practice any answers for that type of question.

“Where did we meet?” You ask a tired Jihoon. He lets out a yawn, leaning farther back into the couch. He closes his eyes, releasing a sigh.

“At uni.”

“Who asked who out?”

“I asked you out because you were too scared to make a move.”

“How long have we been dating?” Jihoon opens one eye to glance at you, seeing the determined look on your face. He smiles at the sight, finding it ridiculous how passionate you are about a fake relationship.

“Two months now.”

“When did you ask me out?”

“May 27.”

“Perfect.”

“I, uh. I-” Mina smirks, and you feel your heart drop into your asshole when you realize she might be onto your guys’ act. You let out a breath, about to open your mouth to try and change the subject.

“I like how determined she is. When she has her mind set on something, she does whatever it takes to achieve that goal. Even if there’s a lot of bumps along the way, she still perseveres.” Your mouth drops open at the honesty in Jihoon’s voice, warmth rising to your cheeks as he stares at the puck.

“She’s really funny, sweet, and most of all, she’s kind. When we first met,” Jihoon lets out a small chuckle at the memory. “I was really tired that day because I stayed up writing a song the night before. I wasn’t looking where I was going, and I ended up bumping into her, spilling my coffee onto her white shirt. Yet she was the one who kept profusely apologizing to me, offering to get me a new cup of coffee and explaining how clumsy she is.”

Jihoon turns to look at you, letting out a small smile when his eyes lock with yours. “I’d do anything for her, even go on a double date with people I don’t know.” You cough into your elbow, trying to will away the warmth in your cheeks. Mina blinks once Jihoon finishes, looking down at her hands clutching the striker.

“Sounds like you really like yn, huh?” She asks, and he nods.

“Yeah, guess I do.” Jihoon mumbles, quiet enough that you almost don’t catch it, but you do. Your heartbeat is fast and loud against your ears, smile breaking out onto your face.

Mina coughs, taking a sip of water. “Let’s start playing again, shall we?”

“Well, it was nice meeting you Jihoon. Great seeing you too cuz.” Mina says, forcing out a laugh as she gives you a hug. You give her a genuine smile, and Jihoon chuckles about it, knowing that you’re only happy because you beat Mina at air hockey.

“It was great meeting you Bong-pal. I’ll see you at the next family dinner Mina!” You and Jihoon wave at the two, turning around to leave when your cousin stops you.

“Wait! Let me take a picture of you guys.” You and Jihoon pause, slowly turning around to see Mina already holding up her phone towards the two of you. You let out an awkward chuckle, getting ready to pose with Jihoon so that the two of you can fucking leave.

“No be cuter!” Mina whines, and your eye twitches. There’s slight tension between you and Jihoon after he literally poured his heart out about what he loves about you, so now you just want to go home so the two of you can talk it out.

“Is this not cute?” Jihoon asks, arm wrapped around your waist. Mnia shakes her head, giving the two of you a devilish smile.

“Kiss!” You choke on your saliva while Jihoon turns into literal stone right beside you. Your cousin tilts her head to the side at your reactions, feeling satisfied that she’s almost caught you in your lie. She smirks, “Why? Is something the matter? I thought you guys were dating.”

“Nothing wrong! I’ll kiss my boyfriend.” You state, and Jihoon looks at you with wide eyes as you turn to face him. He mouths the words, are you sure? when he tentatively places his hands on your waist. In return, you give him a nervous smile, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck. The two of you stare at each other for a moment, before you close your eyes and press your lips to his.

Jihoon squeezes your waist, feeling his heart practically burst into butterflies at the feeling of you kissing him. He pulls you a bit closer, and you’re so caught up in the fact that his lips are soft and taste like cola due to his obsession, that you’re unable to hear Mina saying she took the picture.

“Uh, yn.”

“Yn.”

“YN!” You and Jihoon jump away from each other, turning towards your annoyed cousin and her amused boyfriend. Mina taps her phone, telling you to turn on your airdrop. Once you do, she airdrops the photos, before bidding goodbye again. Once her and Bong-pal walk out of the arcade, you and Jihoon slowly turn towards each other.

His eyes trail down to your mouth, taking note of your lips being more swollen than before. While you also stare at his, noticing of his lips being a bit pinker than before.

“Let’s get out of here.” You mumble, turning around and walking out before Jihoon can get a word in. He grins, following after you.

“Hey!” You continue to walk, pretending to not hear him calling you.

“Yn!”

“Yn~” Jihoon rolls his eyes, walking a bit faster so that he’s now standing in front of you. “Oh Ji, I didn’t hear you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You open your mouth to protest but he shoots you a look, immediately making you back down.

“You promised to buy me kbbq whenever I asked.” Jihoon says, smirking at you when your timid expression turns into a glare. You let out a sigh, “Fine, fine. I’ll buy you kbbq.”

The two of you begin walking in the opposite direction in a tense silence. Well, the tension mainly comes from you as you are unsure of what to say now that you and Jihoon have kissed and you really wanna do it again. You’re snapped out of your thoughts when Jihoon slips your hand into his, letting out a content smile when he’s reminded of how well they fit.

“We can talk about it when we eat.” He says softly, giving your hand a squeeze. A small smile escapes you, realizing that today was quite a success.

i guess my fake relationship will turn into something real.

#seventeen #woozi x reader #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #seventeen scenarios #seventeen woozi #seventeen jihoon #seventeen oneshot #seventeen oneshots #seventeen x reader #woozi scenarios #woozi fluff #woozi seventeen #woozi oneshots #jihoon scenarios #jihoon x reader #jihoon fluff #jihoon au

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hardkinkbardkink · 4 years

Note

What if geralt puts jaskier’s little cock in a cage. Maybe the smell of jaskier’s lust is getting in the way of hunts, and at first it’s just a practical thing, but geralt ends up loving how desperate jaskier gets and how much he works himself up, unable to get any relief without geralt’s intervention anymore. geralt watches him trying to rub his soft little cock through the cage, whining and begging for geralt to just let him out, and pretends that he's not getting off on this too, but he iiiis

(chastity anon continued) maybe geralt squeezes the cage until the metal creaks, and the cage is the only thing that stops geralt from crushing jaskier's cock with his witcher strength. maybe geralt milks jaskier's prostate with his fingers, acting all aloof while jaskier whines about not getting to come *properly*. maybe jaskier ruts his caged cock up against geralt at night, desperate for stimulation but unable to get any no matter how hard he tries. (is that too much? i'm a bit drunk lol)

you know what is too much babe? me, taking eight thousand years to fill an ask, especially a Magnificent, Amazing, Showstopping ask like this. awful. tragic.

everyone & their mother's done a cock cage prompt and u know what???? they should, it's a good bloody prompt

anyway fuck me sideways this took ages, im sorry x i'll try very hard to get more prompts out before uni starts. sub!geralt has really been haunting my dreams so possibly expect more of that? no promises, love yous x

incidentally finishing & posting this also mildly intoxicated. tumblr formatting is homophobic. here it is on ao3 cos i really need that x

***

Geralt's nose twitches.

The trail is fresh. Impossible to miss. He closes his eyes, focuses his senses.

All he can smell is the heady, overpowering scent of Jaskier's release lingering on the bard's hands.

"Jaskier," he says. Growls, maybe.

He doesn't turn to look at him, though he can hear Jaskier flinch. The spike in his heartbeat makes his blood pump faster, his scent more pungent, like a particularly cloying perfume. Geralt clenches his fists and his teeth and he's strung so tightly he fears his control might snap.

"What? What is it, witcher, I'm--I've been quiet, out of the way, what could it possibly be this time?"

Geralt can't answer. Won't answer. Focus. Focus. The frigid wind pushes his hair into his eyes and the creature's trail comes to him once more.

Sword drawn, Geralt moves forward into the night, irritated and glad to have something to sink his blade into.

***

"Ah, Geralt!" comes a distressed shout, and then Jaskier's half-running in his direction, tripping over his own feet. His doublet is undone, and so is the chemise. A mark sits high on the side of his neck, still wet from the mouth that left it there.

He grabs for Geralt's bicep, claws urgently at one pauldron before shoving himself between Geralt and the wall behind him.

"Nothing to worry about, dear witcher," Jaskier says breathlessly, ducking to peek from underneath Geralt's arm. "Just a--a misunderstanding, is all. Some parties in our arrangement failed to mention they were otherwise, ah--engaged."

"Jaskier," Geralt says as threateningly as he can manage. He's too fucking tired to deal with this again. And again. And again.

"She didn't fuck like a maiden," Jaskier mutters, and, mournfully, Geralt abandons the message board he'd been scouting, heading instead for the stables with the bard in tow and a group of young men yelling their displeasure in the town square.

***

"I don't see how this is--" Jaskier squeals, tries to shrug out of Geralt's grip. "--in any way necessary, Geralt, the silk will crease, gods have mercy."

Geralt pulls the hood lower over his eyes and walks swiftly, one gloved hand clasped tightly around Jaskier's arm, dragging him down the cobbled street. It's busy this time of day. Jaskier's incessant moaning draws them only more attention.

"Another word and I'll have your mouth sewn shut," Geralt hisses privately to spare them the unnecessary scandal.

Perhaps it is only because he finally realises the gravity of the situation that Jaskier falls silent. Geralt doesn't care for the reason. He quickens his pace.

The shop stands where it always had, inconspicuous and private, tucked away in the shadow of a large armourer. Dust rises from the stale clothes stacked on the shelves, tickles Geralt's sensitive nose; he doesn't spare a glance at the gaudy fabrics. A merchant greets them and Geralt nods at him knowingly, walking straight past him to a heavy door at the shop's back.

"Geralt?" Jaskier says tentatively, his voice quivering.

Geralt pushes the door open and shoves Jaskier inside.

The woman is a different one than the last time he'd visited, though it had been many decades since he'd had any need for services of this kind. Never this one in particular, still.

Jaskier stutters at his side, head whipping around wildly.

"Geralt? Geralt, you filthy old man, what--

He sighs in annoyance at the mischievous glint in Jaskier's eye.

"A gag, perhaps?" the woman asks, amused, and Geralt almost considers it.

"A cage," he says instead, grabbing Jaskier's shoulders and pushing him towards her.

Jaskier flails his arms like a drowning man.

"A--a what now? Geralt? If you think you can keep me in a gods-damned cage, you bastard--"

Perhaps the gag would be a wiser choice.

"Just some parts of you, sweetheart," the attendant says calmly, making to tug at Jaskier's trousers.

Geralt holds Jaskier's arms firmly behind his back as he's stripped from the waist down. He can't help but glance down over Jaskier's shoulder when the woman examines his limp cock.

"Such a sweet little thing," she comments with a smile and gives Geralt a nod before disappearing deeper into the shop. He watches the sway of her hips beneath her skirts.

"Geralt?" Jaskier whispers. His heartbeat drums dully in Geralt's ears, too fast, too loud. "Geralt, what are you doing to me?"

Jaskier's stopped thrashing, though the wheeze of his breath remains anxious in anticipation.

Geralt doesn't answer.

The woman returns quickly, a vial of a viscous, translucent oil in one hand and the steel cage in the other. Geralt marvels at how small it is, though he keeps his expression neutral.

"I'll--" Jaskier begins, though the words die in his throat when lithe, slick hands grab his cock abruptly.

"You'll want to watch, master witcher."

Geralt does.

It's a quick affair, now that Jaskier's given up his struggling. He stands still as a statue, head turned away and eyes squeezed shut. His hands shake when the woman threads his delicate balls through the metal ring, and he gasps when she gently tucks his cock into the cage.

"The fit is a bit snug," she says, lifting Jaskier's newly caged prick, turning it this way and that to get a better look. "Would you like something bigger?"

Geralt shakes his head. Jaskier doesn't try to reply.

The attendant hands him a small padlock with a key in it, and Geralt has to take his gloves off to fasten it on Jaskier's cage. The key goes around his neck, safe beneath his armour.

Geralt tugs Jaskier's trousers up, ties them roughly and perhaps too tightly. He can just make out the cage's shape under the fabric, an obscene bulge that's sure to get Jaskier longing stares.

He hands over most of his purse and urges Jaskier out, back into the world.

***

The bard is silent for three days.

They trudge the path in blissful peace that Geralt will yearn for when it breaks. When they make camp, Jaskier refuses to help. He sets up his bedroll as far as he can, shivering through the night, huffing indignantly. He won't eat until he thinks Geralt is asleep.

The atmosphere is so tense Geralt wonders why Jaskier won't simply leave, until he remembers the little silver key around his own neck.

They get to town, eventually, and Geralt sets out on a contract almost immediately. He doesn't hesitate to leave Jaskier at the inn, for once confident no trouble will befall him. The assurance is a surprising comfort.

On the fourth night Jaskier rouses Geralt from a fitful sleep, perched carefully at the edge of the bed.

"It's enough, isn't it?" he says softly, his expression shattered and pained. "I've learned my lesson. You can--please take it off."

Geralt blinks a few times. Takes a deep breath that chokes him with the urgent scent of desperation, unresolved lust. He thinks, and he thinks.

"No."

"Geralt--"

"No," he repeats calmly, closing his eyes again. "You wear the cage or I cut your useless cock off."

Jaskier gasps, and stutters, and goes quiet again, though not for long.

"If that's what it takes to stay with you then I--I will. I'll do it. But you--" A hand settles lightly on Geralt's abdomen. "You will take it off? Eventually. Right?"

Geralt hums dismissively. He revels in the neediness in Jaskier's voice, his uneven breathing as he settles back on the floor. It nearly rocks him back to sleep, until--

The whimper is a soft thing, barely audible, and yet it's enough to hurl Geralt viciously into wakefulness. He cracks an eye open, breath caught in his throat.

The darkness does little to hinder his sight; he gets a perfect view of where Jaskier's sprawled out on his bedroll, legs spread obscenely, hand desperately clutching his trapped prick. Geralt watches as he tries to get his fingers between the bars, tries to touch his swollen cock through the unforgiving metal. He whines again, louder this time as his head rolls from side to side.

"Jaskier," Geralt says abruptly. Jaskier jumps, though his hand doesn't fall away.

"Sorry," he breathes, voice thick like he might cry. "Sorry, I need it so badly, Geralt--"

And Geralt can smell it, is the thing--the salt of Jaskier's tears and the crushing, overbearing desire that now clings to him. He can't escape it, and maybe--maybe he doesn't want to.

He wouldn't ever admit it, but Geralt's cock grows unreasonably hard as he watches Jaskier frantically try to get off. He'd never thought about it, how good Jaskier would look, how good he'd sound--how achingly wanting he'd become after just a few days in chastity. It almost tempts Geralt to unlock the cage, so he can watch Jaskier's tiny prick bounce when Geralt spreads him out on the bed and fucks him within an inch of his life.

Almost.

"Go to sleep, bard."

***

The cage, Geralt comes to find, does not work as he'd hoped.

Yes, Jaskier's overeager cock can't get him in trouble anymore, and Geralt's glad for that, truly--fending off angry cuckolds never was his favourite pastime.

As far as distractions go, however--well.

The persistent, all-consuming scent of unfulfilled arousal so intense it nearly knocks Geralt to the ground is a slight problem.

He doesn't mind, really, when Jaskier looks so tempting biting his lip and rubbing his thighs together, so delicious pawing at his own prick and his swollen sack. When he begs and pleads and a whine slips into his normally sure voice, turning it thick and watery with tears.

Geralt refuses, refuses, refuses.

Jaskier does not ask to leave.

He gets drunk a lot, now. A cup of wine turns into three and then the whole carafe, and for once Geralt doesn't feel the need to keep a watchful eye and a hand on his sword. He leaves Jaskier to his will and heads to bed, calm and content.

Sleep doesn't seize him for long hours, so when Jaskier makes it back, stumbling noisily through the door, Geralt hums to let him know he's awake. He keeps his eyes shut.

It's a while before Jaskier climbs into bed beside him. The warmth of his bare skin pressed close against Geralt is a shock; the realisation that the cold, hard shape digging into his thigh is the metal of the cage trapping Jaskier's prick is--

Fuck.

His heart doesn't stutter when he feels the hot puffs of Jaskier's breath on his neck, but it might have, were he a weaker man. A hand creeps tentatively over his chest, limbs winding around him until Jaskier lies halfway on top of his supine body.

"Geralt," Jaskier breathes, sounding wrecked, and his hips move abruptly forward, clumsy thrusts against Geralt's side that make Geralt feel the curved steel even through his clothes. "Please, Geralt, please let me get off."

No, slips right to the tip of Geralt's tongue and stays there, unsaid and distant. The way Jaskier's words bleed together sets Geralt on edge. He doesn't dare move a muscle when Jaskier keeps rutting the cage against his body, keeps trying in vain to seek his pleasure. Dry lips settle on the edge of his jaw, grow wet with sloppy kisses. Geralt's own cock swells in his smallclothes, unrestrained.

"I'll do anything."

A hot rush of power hits Geralt head-on, nearly steals his breath away. The word echos in his head. Anything. Anything.

Jaskier moans faintly, right into Geralt's ear. The arm thrown across his chest moves lower, and for a moment he thinks Jaskier is going to touch his frightfully hard cock and it'll be over. He wouldn't have enough restraint to stop himself, then.

But Jaskier merely reaches to touch his own prick, like he did so many nights before; desperately trying to fit his long fingers between the bars, caress his plumped, reddened, tortured cock. Geralt releases the grip he'd had on the blankets underneath him, flexing his fingers against the ache in his knuckles. He wonders if--and he wants to--

His sudden movement doesn't startle Jaskier, to the bard's own credit or the wine flowing through him. He groans when Geralt bats his hands away from where he's fondling himself, leans forward and sucks a mindless mark to the side of Geralt's throat.

Geralt thinks of the way Jaskier's whimpers had sounded in the deep nights just as he grabs hold of the cage and squeezes.

The effect is immediate, though he doubts Jaskier gets any physical stimulation off it. Still, he chokes on a breath, and whines, and suddenly he's trembling wildly against Geralt's side.

Geralt tightens his hold just a little. They both hold their breath when the metal creaks pitifully beneath his fingers.

"Geralt," Jaskier says again, but this time his voice waivers with dread.

Geralt's whole body hums, sings, screams at him to grip just that much harder, fuck--perhaps enough to warp the cage, so it always digs into hot flesh and reminds Jaskier that it could have been his bare prick crushed in Geralt's fist instead, perhaps--

He lets go with a shuddering exhale, rolling swiftly on his side, back turned to where Jaskier's gulping down lungfuls of air.

"Tomorrow," Geralt says, all too loud in the darkness. "You can--I'll let you come."

"You'll take it off?"

"I'll let you come."

Geralt doesn't sleep, arousal hot in his core, skin prickling with anticipation.

***

"Fuck," Jaskier whispers heartily. His hands tremble where they rest, bound, at the small of his back. Should've got the gag, too. "Fuck, you bastard."

He's quite the sight, like this, knelt on the bed with his knees spread and his face shoved into the blankets. Open. Presenting. Captive and helpless and entirely at Geralt's mercy.

Geralt has yet to decide how merciful he's feeling.

He gets an eyeful of Jaskier's round arse sloping beautifully into the arched curve of his spine. Geralt aches to touch, yet he does not.

"You said--" Jaskier begins, muffled against the bedding.

"I know. Patience."

His own cock throbs, confined in his leathers, and Geralt reels at the thought that Jaskier's suffered through this for weeks.

He weighs his options. Reaches for the oil he keeps in case he needs to take Jaskier's cage off. Pulls his hand back before he manages to grab it, thinking. Thinking.

Jaskier wails when Geralt buries his face between his cheeks, tongue flat against his tight, untouched hole.

"Geralt, Geralt, Geralt--"

And Geralt never thought he would want this--never thought he could have this--but a flame of possession, of ownership flares bright and hot in his chest, and he knows he won't ever want anything else.

"That's filthy, you--"

Jaskier mewls and gasps, his thighs quivering until they give out, knees sliding impossibly more apart. Geralt fucks him with his tongue and goes near-delirious when Jaskier cries, big, heaving sobs shaking his body. He tastes decadent. He tastes of despair.

Jaskier's bound hands reach Geralt's head, long fingers weaving into his hair, pulling, holding. Geralt works his jaw greedily and Jaskier's body parts for him, unravels and blooms until even Geralt can't stand it any longer.

The outraged huff Jaskier gives when Geralt flips him heavily to sprawl on his back is vaguely amusing; nearly enough to cut through the thick cloud of desire settled over Geralt's mind, though not quite.

Oil spills over his fingers before he knows it, slicks Jaskier's feverish skin, makes it glimmer and glisten. His fingertips caress the steel cage almost reverently. He stares at it, at Jaskier's gorgeous prick flushed an angry red, swelling against the bars. He stares and it's as if a spell carves itself into his bones, heavy and binding and inevitable.

He pushes two fingers inside Jaskier just as he leans in to put his mouth around that cute little prick, cage and all. It clinks against his teeth. Geralt forces his tongue between rigid metal bars, desperate for a taste. Jaskier writhes beneath him, but his arms are still tied behind his back, immobilised between him and the bedding.

The cage is so small it doesn't even reach Geralt's throat and that's--

Fuck.

Geralt pumps his fingers blindly into Jaskier's tight hole, fits a third one in before he reasonably should. Jaskier moans delectably. His pleas grow in volume.

"Please let me come, pleaseletmecome, I'll be so, so good, I--I've been so good, Geralt, gods--"

Geralt presses his hips against the bed and guides his mouth higher, over Jaskier's trembling belly, over the ribs Geralt can now make out beneath his skin. He sucks a mark there, right over the bone. Moves higher. Thrusts his fingers faster, until he feels Jaskier jolt and his moans drip into a constant, maddening staccato. He puts his mouth around a nipple and finds it delightfully sensitive. He'll try, on another day, to get Jaskier to come just from having his tits fondled. Now, though--

Geralt wonders if he can fit a fourth finger without reaching for the oil.

He can.

A bite just below Jaskier's jaw. A hand closing tenderly around the cage. Squeezing. Crushing. Jaskier goes still, silent, breathless--he clenches tight-tight-tight around Geralt's fingers as the sharp scent of his release pierces the air.

"Good boy," Geralt says, watching Jaskier's soft cock spurt pitiful drops of come over his abdomen. Most of it catches on the cage. Geralt yearns to lap it up, but not before--

His own hand feels heavenly around his cock when he finally makes to undo his breeches. Geralt kneels between Jaskier's splayed legs; watches his hole spasm around nothing, the way his prick tries to twitch in its confines. It isn't long before his orgasm creeps up his spine, mind-numbing in its intensity.

Geralt spills over the cage.

Only then does he settle between his bard's thighs once more to lick him clean like a newborn cub.

#cw dubcon #cw chastity #cw bad person geralt?#dunno #honestly luvs #this is a fucking piss take

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vanchlo · 4 years

Text

The Assistant / Chapter Twenty Nine, “Strength In Weakness”

Warning! This story contains mentions of: death, cancer, heart attacks, hospitals, funerals, and brief mentions of end of life care.

Find all chapters by clicking here :-)

Check out inspo tag here! :*

Sneakyyyyyy Peeeeeeeeek

Our tears hold silent words of understanding. Understanding that the other is in pain. Pain perhaps we can’t name, but that of which we share. And they hold the comfort found in that understanding. The pain of watching a sick loved one, because why else would he also be here at 9 pm on a Wednesday night? His sniffles fill my ears, with the movie a hum in the background. I feel everything pour into those tears as I clutch the back of his jumper.

The missing him. The regret. The hundreds of emotions because of that stupid ring. The longing for him. The whirlwind of emotions from when he spoke to my class. The sad happiness at seeing him behind me at the vending machine. The relief. The worry about my dad. The fear from the surgeon’s words. All of the stress. The pain I’ve bottled up from being away from him.

“Harry,” I say aloud, almost on accident. My head would’ve said it, anyways.

“Becks,” he whispers, sounding disbelieving with a shake of his head.

“Do you h-have any recommendations then?” I stutter, blinking hard with a mental curse for not even being able to say three words to him before screwing up.

“Uh, tha giant cinnamon roll isn’t too bad, ‘specially when ya microwave it. ‘s very filling, tho. I doubt ya'll be able t’ finish it all,” he answers with a soft shrug.

I pull my battered purple wallet from my brown purse. Finding my card, I swipe it and press the code for the cinnamon roll. The curly wire holding it in place unravels. It falls with a satisfying thud.

“Maybe I’ll have to find somebody to share it with then,” I quip, turning to face him with the cinnamon roll now clutched in my hand. He wasn’t kidding, this thing is big.

“Well, I might just know where a microwave ‘s,” he replies with a smirk. I nod and follow his long legs clad in fitted joggers.

The silence is unsettling and awkward as I follow him down the length of the hallway. I wonder at first if he knows where he’s going, but after about twenty seconds, we arrive in the family room on this floor. Hmm, perhaps he’s been in this hospital longer than he can remember, too. Sofas and chairs surround a tv. Familiar puzzles, magazines, and books occupy the nearby table. The fridge hums and clunks nearby.

“Think there’s anything good on the telly at this time?” I ask nervously, finding a seat on the comfiest sofa around. Fiddling with my hands, I watch him open the bag and place it inside the microwave.

“Prolly not. ‘s prolly a buncha adverts an’ tha like. Maybe a good movie on somewhere,” Harry answers.

I blink hard, and yet the same unbelievable image still surrounds me.

Harry standing with his back to me.

Black joggers hugging his lean legs.

Black trainers.

A gray hoodie donning his upper half.

His curls are short, but maybe a little longer since the last time I saw him in that lecture hall.

He plays with them, but stops when the microwave announces its ends with annoying beeping. It’s hard, but I rip my eyes away from his body and reach to pick up the remote. I see him out of the corner of my eye grabbing plates and utensils. The television screen comes to life in front of me, and sure enough an advert for a special type of pillow fills the screen.

“Christ, not one o’ those my pillow adverts again,” Harry remarks disdainfully as he sits down on the other side of the sofa with a sigh. I toe off my shoes and let them fall to the floor.

Crossing my legs criss-cross applesauce, I giggle and change the channel. “You say that like you know what he’s talking about.”

“Yeah ‘cause I do, tha bloke’s bloody annoying. I can’t sleep some nights an’ ‘ll accidentally leave tha telly on an’ wake up t’ his bleedin’ voice at 3 in tha morning,” he huffs, pulling a laugh from my lips. “Here ya go, but be careful cuz ‘s hot.”

“Thanks.”

“No, thank you. ‘ve been cravin’ one o’ these, but ‘ve been tryna stay away from those bloody vendin’ machines,” he mumbles, tsking his lips as he cuts a piece of the cinnamon roll.

I prop my plate on my lap and surf through the channels before finding the movie, The Shining, on an odd channel. “Oooooo, this is a good one,” I comment before picking up my plastic knife and fork.

“Yeahhhhhhh. Hey, I wouldn’t ‘ave pegged ya fer a King fan,” Harry comments and I shrug before laughing at him. I watch him blow on the huge steaming bite of cinnamon roll. “What, ‘m hungry an’ tha cafe closed hours ago? Plus, dis floor has tha best vendin’ machines.”

“Nothing, I . . . just can’t remember you ever being patient enough to not burn your mouth,” I laugh, and watch one trickle from his lips. “You were always burning your tongue and mouth on those tacos, and gnocchi soups we had. It looks like nothing’s changed.”

“Oh, but tha churros an’ chocolate sauce were even worse. They were always pipin’ hot,” he adds with his mouth full of ooey gooey cinnamon roll. An uncalled for dirty thought pops into my head, making me clench my fist.

I laugh in agreement, making it hard to blow on my bite of cinnamon roll I hold before my lips. After recovering, the chunk of warm pastry melts in my mouth. “Wow, you weren’t kidding, this is good. How is it always that the trashy vending food tastes the best?”

“I dunno, I reckon they put somethin’ innit t’ make it so addictin’. Tha’s how they make so much bloomin’ money,” Harry comments, cutting another bite as he speaks. My eyes are drawn to his hands. Long fingers, speckled with dark brown hairs. And covered with a couple of rings. When my eyes flit to his ring finger, nothing’s there. My heart does a weird somersault in my chest. At the same time, it pushes away the questions forming in my head.

Surprisingly, a comfortable silence surrounds us as we eat. And our eyes are glued to the screen playing the end of the movie. Harry finishes his plate first, surely burning his mouth at some point. I finish soon after and we just sit there, lost in the movie. I can’t help peeking at him a few times, and that naked finger. Thick stubble lines his cheeks. It suits him. And I like it.

I see tiredness pulling at the corners of his eyes when they look back at me. “What?” he says, eyebrows furrowed. I shake my head with blushing embarrassment as the thought still sits there. His lips curl into a smile that grows teasing.

“N-nothing.”

“I don’ believe you,” Harry continues, refusing to let it go. “Ya’ve neva been a good liar, Becks. C’mon, tell me.”

“Fine,” I relent, watching his face brighten at my words. “It’s just odd. I uh, noticed you were wearing a ring on your ring finger when you spoke to my class back in October. But, now you’re not.” the observation tumbles from my mouth, glad to greet the air. Finally, yet awkwardly.

My heart sprints in my chest, afraid to hear what he has to say. Apprehensive to hear the answer that I’ve been searching for. I try to prepare myself for it, but at the same time, something inside of me tries to keep me rational.

“Oh, ya noticed that?” he smiles, earning a nod from me. “Good, that was tha point. Well, not you, jus’ anybody. Tha bloody uni girls always flirt with me when I do those talks. So I wear dis random ring on that finga, hopin’ they’ll back off. It helps, but doesn’t solve tha problem,” Harry explains. His words wash over me like cold shower on a hot day.

I silently release a breath I wasn’t aware I was holding. Then I hear that familiar chuckle of his.

“What, did ya really think I was married, Becks?”

I finally look over at him. His eyes crinkle with a knowing grin. I shove his arm and he only giggles harder. “I don’t know,” I confess quietly, looking away with embarrassment.

I don’t know how I’m going to live this one down.

But soon a laugh is coaxed from my lips to join his. It’s filled with nothing but relief, and happiness. That though had balled up into a knot in the back of my head. Always bothering me at the worst moments. It worried me, even though I knew I didn’t have that privilege anymore.

Any more thoughts that were coursing through my skull about it, are finished by his words. “No, ‘m not bloody married, or engaged. Although I thought I’d be at 28, ‘m not even close,” Harry divulges, a sad laugh framing his words.

My laugh quiets along with his as we enter uncharted waters. I look at him and give him a sympathetic smile. My eyes leave him, but I feel his on me. I wait, wondering if he’s going to say something. After several seconds, I decide to speak.

“Yeah, well-,” I begin, but I stop when his words tread over mine.

“How ‘bout you-,” Harry tries to say, but stops when we both start talking at the same time. Another laugh floats between us, and ends in an uncertain silence.

“Looks like yer better off than me, an’ met a nice bloke at tha uni.” Twirling a silver ring around my pointer finger, his words root me from my spot. My eyes widen at them and then I squint. I try to think of what he means, but it’s hard.

Unexpectedly, I realize what he’s talking about. And I smile because of the alarm shouting in my head.

Wait, what does this mean?!

You know what this means, Becky! Maybe he has fe-

“You mean Simon?” I ask, cutting them off before I go too far.

I really don’t want to go to that place again. We ran into each other at the hospital during a shit day. That’s all.

“Oh ‘s that his name? I dunno, jus’ looked like ya were with someone. Had his arm ‘round ya,” Harry says in a drawl. Now, his eyes are back on the telly. On Jack Nicholson.

And there, the thoughts come again. They click together like puzzle pieces. But I don’t let them lead me away from this moment. From reality.

But, Becky, he lik-!

“No no, Simon . . Simon’s just my friend. We kind of knew each other in high school back in Madley. We were both surprised to see each other in Crim. and we picked up where we left off,” I tell him, peeking a look over at him. But I have a good feeling he’s pulling a Becky and avoiding eye contact. “Plus, Simon has a boyfriend named Dylan.”

“Ohhhhh, my bad,” Harry replies, glancing over at me. When we meet eyes, his crimson face dissolves into giggles.

They’re contagious and bring one forth from my lips. All of a sudden, I can’t stop laughing. And neither can he, it seems. It feels so nice. The laughs keep coming, rolling over each other. Smoothing over the fissure that ring had eroded inside of me. They make me feel less stupid about the whole thing. Instead, they help me to acknowledge the fact that it was just a misunderstanding. And that evidently, they happen to all of us. I try not to read into it any more than that as our laughs die down. I won’t let myself. A comfortable silence fills the space our laughs previously did.

A scene from the movie catches our attention, and the misunderstandings are seemingly forgotten. I really get into the movie for the next 10 minutes, and I think so does he. I can barely tear my eyes away. But they leave the telly when he pulls his phone from his pocket. I watch his face turn from calm to upset when he reads something. On the other side of the couch, he types something back quickly. But I see the tears soon pricking at the corners of his eyes as he holds his forehead.

I don’t know what to say as I look away, trying to give him privacy. But then I hear him sniffle and try to clear his throat. I know how that goes, and that it doesn’t work. It doesn’t make the lump in your throat go away. He sighs and when I chance another look, he’s looking away from me. But I hear the crying. Suddenly, I feel my heart break, even more than it already has today.

Before I know what I’m doing, I’m scooching over to sit next to him. Seeing his left hand sitting on his knee, I pick it up and lace my fingers with his. I give it a squeeze and return my eyes to the telly. And wait. A familiar scene unfolds in front of me on the screen. I don’t even grimace at the blood like I did when I was a child. I take comfort in the nostalgia tied to this movie for me. But it doesn’t drown out the sounds of Harry crying. And the pain I feel at not being able to help him.

After a few more minutes of watching the movie, no words pass between us. But then I think to check on him again. As I do, he looks over at me with red eyes. Wet from spent tears that keep coming. A shy smile inches up his lips, but it’s an embarrassed one. And so it doesn’t last long.

“You’re gonna make me cry,” is all I say, because the tears are already bleeding into my words. We pull the other into our arms where we go to cry on their shoulder.

The missing him.

The regret.

The hundreds of emotions because of that stupid ring.

The longing for him.

The whirlwind of emotions from when he spoke to my class.

The sad happiness at seeing him behind me at the vending machine.

The relief.

The worry about my dad.

The fear from the surgeon’s words.

All of the stress.

The pain I’ve bottled up from being away from him.

Fistfuls of my hoodie are balled up in his hands. His prickly face is hidden in my neck where he spends his tears. I long to lose my fingers in his familiar hair to comfort him. But I know that I’m already doing that as we share each other’s pain. His clean scent fills my nose as I breathe shakily against his shoulder.

“‘s my granddad, Becks,” he chokes out, coughing. “H-he hadda heart attack this afternoon. Dunno if he’ll make it. He’s onna ventilator with machines keeping him alive. I neva wanted t’ see him like that. An’ tha thing ‘s, he has in his last wishes t’ not live like that . . . A-and now my family’s askin’ me if I wanna be there when he passes,” his words stop, making my heart grow heavy with each one.

“I’m so sorry, Harry. That should never be a decision you have to make,” I tell him in raggedy breaths. “It’s so awful watching somebody die. Not even just in the moment, but after. When my granddad passed, right when I started working for you, I was there when it happened. And it still haunts me to this day. My mum forced me to be there, and I think I wished I hadn’t. It was terrible watching him gasp for air, and not knowing when would be his last breath. But at the same time, I’m glad he wasn’t alone. I don’t know, it’s a hard decision to make. But you need to make that decision for you and what you want, Harry. Not what your family wants.”

He nods into my neck, humming an ‘mmmmhmm.’ “Do you need to decide now?” I ask, words still coated in tears.

“No, I don’ think so. But he had surgery a few hours ago an’ tha doctors are sayin’ it doesn’ look like he’ll wake up,” Harry confesses, words dissolving into more tears.

I hold him tighter against me and cry with him. My tears come from the fear of losing my dad. Remembering being in the same seat as Harry when my granddad passed. And I cry for Harry and the nightmare he’s going through.

“I’m so sorry, Harry,” is all I can say.

I listen to his heavy sobs that make his body shake. Pressing my lips together hard, I shed tears into his hoodie. I feel like I can hardly catch my breath. It only becomes worse when I hear the next words that leave his lips.

“Is yer dad okay, Becks?” he asks, trying to breathe in. But I can tell it’s hard by the shakiness of his words.

“I don’t know,” I sob, my words almost incoherent. He nods into my neck, rubbing a hand up and down my back. “He had surgery to remove the tumor. B-But it took longer than they said it would. And then the surgeon said they don’t know if they got it all. Which means he for sure has to have more chemo. And I’m just so scared. I don’t want my dad to have cancer anymore.”

“‘m really sorry, Becks,” Harry coughs in between tears, his hand rubbing in circles. Uneven breaths leave his lips as choked sobs leave mine. The tears follow one after the other. Ugly sounds follow.

I can’t find the strength to speak again, and so I nod. My arms shake clutching at his sweatshirt. My white-knuckled hands relax and I fall into him. All of my inhibitions and self-made promises are out the window. I told myself I wouldn’t let him in again, and here I am. And I’m glad I broke that promise. Long, broken sobs are muffled into his shoulder. His hands move in circles on my back as my mind finally entertains all of the possibilities.

My dad’s cancer not being cured.

My dad needing even more chemotherapy.

Maybe even radiation.

None of that working.

Everything being the same between Harry and I after this.

And how much that hurts me. All of it.

Talking to my dad about his last wishes.

Watching him take his last breath.

I let Harry hold me as I let myself feel every single raw feeling. Sobs rack my body and make it shake as a steady stream of tears paints my cheeks. I hear his too, and they only make me cry harder.

Wiping my nose with a kleenex, I watch him surf through the channels. Finally, he settles on an old episode of Scooby Doo, Where Are You? The daunting figure of the Wax Phantom materializes in the museum. I lift my head and readjust where it rests on Harry’s shoulder. Before my eyes, the monster trudges around the wax museum. My eyelids grow heavy, but I blink hard trying to wake up. This happens again and again, with my eyelids slowly growing heavier.

But it’s no use. After too many times, I can’t resist succumbing to sleep with my head on Harry’s shoulder and his arm rubbing mine.

I wake up on the surface of the scratchy sofa. The telly is playing an advert softly in the background. Rubbing my eyes crusted with sleep, I groan. With a tired sigh, I try to fall back asleep. I almost begin to, but a thought steals the sleep away. Pulling myself up to sit, I look around with fuzzy eyes.

I’m all alone.

Two blue hospital blankets have fallen to lay at my feet.

And two white pillows sit ignored in front of me.

Checking my phone, I see the time is 3:24 am. And that I have missed calls and texts from several people.

Robbie.

My aunt.

My grandma.

My mother.

And 2 texts from Harry.

Ignoring all of the others, I quickly open Harry’s from 16 minutes ago.

i’m sorry. had 2 go. didn’t wanna wake u. thank u for being there 2night, so much

And there’s another one that came a few minutes later.

im so proud of u becks. u know why

My heart skips when I read his words, and the heart emoji that finishes them like a period. I’m guessing he means the stuff going on with my dad, but more so for going back to law school. It makes my heart swell with happiness. But it beats fast at the sight of them as well, suddenly worrying what happened that he had to leave. And in that same moment, I feel heavy with worry about him. My thumbs dart across the screen, composing a hurried and sleepy reply.

It’s okay I understand. I hope everything is okay. Remember to do what’s best for you. Please let me know if I can help. You’re so welcome Harry and I can’t thank you enough too. And thank you so much. I really want to make you proud. Thinking of you

I don’t bother to read over my words finished with a heart emoji tool. I send the text, and try to go back to sleep. Because I can’t think about everything that happened tonight.

My dad.

Seeing Harry, and sharing what we did.

And him . . leaving.

The sickening worry it fills me to wonder the reason why.

Because now it’s like it never happened.

Luckily, the second my head hits the pillow, I’m asleep again.

I can’t stop looking. I hardly believe what I see, but I know I have to. A stranger stares back at me. Sullen eyes. Shaven cheeks for the first time in weeks. Styled hair. Dry eyes that stare back at me blankly. And a mouth that feels like it hasn’t smiled in months. But I know it hasn’t been that long. But this nightmare feels like it.

“Shit,” I mutter, bending down to pick up the violet tie that fell to the floor. Black wildflowers scatter the fabric. It seemed perfect for the occasion when I picked it out yesterday. But now I’m not sure anymore.

I wrap it around my neck again, for the second or third time. Going through the motions to tie it, I get a little farther than last time. Then my fingers stop, like they keep doing. Huffing, I step back and lean against the wall. I feel the chapped surface of my bottom lip come between my teeth. Oh yeah, I gotta remember to bring chapstick too, I add to my seemingly never ending list.

My thoughts are interrupted by the clanging sound of my postbox outside. Within a few seconds, I’ve opened my door and see my postman walking onto the next house. A stack of letters is what I find waiting for me.

“Great, mo’ sympathy cards an’ bills,” I groan, dropping the mail on the table beside the door. With plans to finally get this damn tie tied, I look back to the mirror above the table. But something catches my eye.

The letters have splayed themselves out sloppily on the brown table. Most of them are white, but one of them isn’t. One is a soft blue. Once again, the words inside of my head are stolen away by a sound. Fishing out my phone from the pocket of my slacks, I answer it.

“Ya, I know. ‘m gonna leave soon, ‘s not like ‘m late or anythin’,” I respond, sifting through the letters. Bill after bill meets my eyes. “I was there all bloody night last night fer tha wake, so why do I need t’ be early t’day?” Tossing the bills to the side, I keep sifting through them.

“I know, alright? But I . . I jus’ can’t alright? I can’t do all tha huggin’ e’rybody right now, ‘m sick of it. There’s plenty mo’ family ‘round who can do it,” I tell them through gritted teeth. The powder blue card is next in my hands. My voice catches when my brain conjures the owner of that bubbly handwriting. “I’ll be there at 2:30 an’ no earlier,” I rush, hanging up on them. Stuffing my phone away again, I instead pick up the envelope.

Within seconds, I pull the card out from the sea of blue. Wildflowers decorate the front along with words card companies think are comforting. All of the other ones have hardly been that, but these ones are closer than before. Just seeing her handwriting peeking at me from the inside is more comforting than all of the others combined. I feel the tears pressing at the back of my eyes, ready to fall at command.

With a deep breath, I’m greeted by her bubbly letters in purple ink. I can’t say I’m surprised, it’s her favorite color.

Harry, It took me twenty minutes to pick out a card, because none of them seemed good enough. None of them said the right words that I wanted to say, so I finally just picked this one. Even if I looked for 3 hours, I don’t know if I would’ve found the “right” one... I hope it’s okay. I saw your granddad’s obituary in the paper today. I don’t even think the words ‘I’m sorry’ are close to what I feel for you and want to say, Harry. They weren’t the right words when my granddad passed. They were what everybody said, and after a while, I hated hearing them. They became redundant and meaningless. But I am sorry, Harry. I’m sorry that you lost your grandfather, and the unimaginable pain you’re going through missing him and trying to live a life that he’s no longer a part of. I’m so sorry that you’re hurting. Some days it seems it gets easier. But other days are hard, I’ve learned. They’re the anniversaries, birthdays, days they enjoyed, family get togethers, or really any day that ugly grief decides to return. We all handle grief differently and so it’s hard to give advice. But take care of yourself. Please, Harry. If that means staying at home watching Netflix, or distracting yourself with work, that’s okay. It’s your pain, it belongs to you. It’s okay to handle the pain however you decide to, but please take care. You don’t have to visit his grave. You don’t have to talk about him again if you don’t want to. You don’t even have to cry if that’s not you. Or you can cry all of the time, or you can talk about him all of the time, too. But you do have to feel the pain, as terrible as it is. I never really found anything that helped, but I like to remember my granddad sometimes by doing things he loved. I go fishing on opening day with Robbie, I stuck one of those suctioned bird feeder on one of our windows, I make or buy a vanilla cupcake on his birthday and sing happy birthday to him, sometimes I visit his grave and bring things he likes but I know I don’t have to go there to talk to him. I know that I don’t have to do those things to make it feel like he’s with me, because he always is. I’m sorry that this card is all about me, but I hope that my words help. Even just a little bit. Please know that I’m thinking of you, and your family. I know what you’re going through, and how hard it is. I’m not going to say ‘things will be okay,’ because I know that’s the opposite of how things feel right now and for the near future. I know how much it hurts. I know that by the time you get this card, the funeral is any day now. That was one of the hardest parts for me, and it made it all the more surreal. I’m sending you so much strength and love, Harry. If there's anything I can do to help, please know I’m here for you. Love, Becks xoxoxo

The first laugh I’ve spent in days greets the air. But it’s ironic and surprising, I’m not sure. Only a few seconds later, tears accompany it. Soon, my phone is back in my hand where I banished it from minutes ago. And my ass is sitting on the bottom of my staircase. And I’m dialing the number I’ve been itching to for the last week.

They answer on the third thing.

My aching heart is soothed with the sound of their voice. Like the drought welcoming the rain.

“Hi,” I say slowly, my words sodden with tears.

“Hi, Harry,” she replies, sounding surprised. But her voice brings me comfort, the most I’ve felt in the last 8 days. It’s loud where she is, but in a couple of seconds, it isn’t anymore.

“I got yer card, I uh jus’ read it. It was so sweet, Becks. I don’ think ‘thank you’ could begin t’ cover it,” I tell her slowly, uncertain what to say. I watch my feet grow blurry in front of me, and then refocus when another warm tear hits my cheek.

“I’m glad you got it. You don’t have to thank me. W-what are you doing?” she asks, taking time with her words.

“Tryin’ t’ get meself t’ put onna bloody tie. Ya know, me granddad tried t’ teach me once. But he gave up an’ admitted me gran’ always did it fer him,” I confess, the words falling out fast.

An amused hum comes from her. “That’s funny. My granddad always bragged about being able to tie ties blindfolded, or something. He tried to teach Robbie, but it never stuck. It just ended in tears and yelling,” she comments.

A smile warms on my lips, and I nod. To who, I don’t know, since she certainly can’t see me doing it. Regrettably.

“It’s today, isn’t it?” she guesses softly, earning a confirming ‘mmmhm’ from me.

“I’m wearin’ all black. Seems like too much of tha color, but I couldn’ bear t’ look at anythin’ else in me wardrobe.”

“As long as you’re comfortable, Harry, and black isn’t such a bad color. It fits the emotion, I guess you could say,” Becky says. I sniffle and wish her voice didn’t stop playing in my ear.

“Yer right . . . ,” I agree aloud, not knowing what to say next. I hate this part. “I didn’ stay that night I saw you. I . . . thought I could do it, but I couldn’. I drove ‘round an’ cried, feelin’ all sorts o’ terrible. Terrible fer not bein’ there with him. Terrible as I waited fer tha text that he was gone. Even more so when I got tha text . . . An’ terrible ‘cause it didn’ really feel much different aftawards.”

“That’s okay. Grief doesn’t really follow any rules, Harry. And it certainly doesn’t make any sense. It never feels right. I’m so sory,” Becky tells me, somehow making sense of something I can’t even begin to make sense of.

“Ya ‘ave all tha right words t’ say,” I smile with a laugh that’s out of place, yet sad. My lips quiver as the tears run over them.

“I doubt it, but I hope that means they’re helping in some capacity.”

“Ya always help, Becks,” I divulge quietly, unsure if she heard me or not.

“Can you tell me what he was like?” Becky inquires.

“Ya. He was um, wicked tall. Told tha best stories, but like ya neva knew how much truth there was t’ ‘em. He made tha best grilled cheese, an’ somehow always with bread he made himself. He had this laugh that I loved. It surrounded a room when ya heard it. He always smelled o’ peppermint gum. He was always whistlin’, or singin’ Sinatra songs t’ himself. He made tha best popcorn on tha stovetop, an’ e’ry time I was ova. He taught me so much an’ turned me onto so many things that I love. He’s so much of who I am, an’ I dunno how t’ let him go now.” The memories turn into words, coming easier the further I go. A warmth accompanies them as they pass through. But they’re hard to get out, as the bittersweetness drowns them in my mouth.

“You don’t have to let him go, Harry,” she disagrees.

“B-but he’s dead,” I cry, feeling my body relinquish control to the sobs.

“But that doesn’t mean that you have to forget him like that. He’s still your granddad. You can still enjoy those memories of him. You can be happy he’s not in pain anymore without feeling guilty. You can still hold him in your heart. You can be mad at the world. You can be broken. There’s no right or wrong answer, Harry. It doesn’t feel that way, I know, but however you feel in the moment is okay. It’s okay to feel that way.” her words feel like a warm blanket coming over me after a bad day. They wrap me up in their syllables and hold me together, while I can’t.

I can hardly get out the words ‘thank you’ without my intermittent sobs covering them up.

“Of course,” is all she says. In her voice sweet as clover honey.

Radio silence follows her requital with my occasional whimpers punctuating my tears. This continues for a few minutes, but it’s not awkward. I feel comfort just from knowing that she’s there. But a thought edges its way in, ruining that contentment.

The ticking of the clock peaks my interest suddenly. More time has passed than I thought it had. “I uh should prolly get goin’ soon if I wanna make it on time, so me family doesn’t have a row,” I suddenly say.

“Yeah yeah, of course. Um, drive safe and, I hope everything goes well. You can text me if you want. I’m just, at work,” Becky replies fast, her words stalling at parts. I hear the nerves wired in her buttery voice.

“Thanks, love. I’ll rememba. But uh get back t’ work, kay?” I quip, feeling memories between us seep into my words.

“Yes, sir,” she replies, following along. I welcome it with the smallest of laughs.

“Good,” I exhale, unsure of how to end the call. And unsure if I even want to. Because this was nice, albeit the circumstances marked by hundreds of tears. It was nice to hear her voice, although I know I’ll miss it in a minute. That thought begins a new ache inside of my chest. “I’ll let ya go then. Have a good weekend, an’ take care, Becks.”

“You too, Harry. Thanks for calling,” she says, and I hear it in her voice. The shared uncertainty and nervousness. The awkwardness often there at the end of a phone call.

“And thanks fer pickin’ up, Becks.”

“Bye, Harry,” she almost whispers.

It takes every ounce of strength I have residing in me to echo her words, “G’bye, Becks.”

With every second that passes absent of her voice, the thought grows louder. It’s no longer ignorable. But I don’t let it take hold of me as I’m watching myself in the mirror. Wrapping the tie around my neck, and going through the motions. Tightening it around my neck as the tears begin to dry on my face. Then as I compose a text with forgotten words.

i hope ur dad is doing better. thx for being there becks xxx

The timer on my phone begins to buzz as I shut off the entryway light. Sitting on the steps once more with my shoes in hand, I acknowledge it. The thought that’s been tinkering away in my brain. Gaining speed.

It wasn’t enough talking to her on the phone. I wanted her here with me, again. I wanted to hide in her arms. Her scent of oranges and cloves blanketing me. Her words falling over me like snow, but without a phone separating us. I want her here with me.

I feel my heart lurch deep down as I grab hold of the door handle. The unspoken words settle with me as I attempt to find the strength to leave. Somewhere I find it, buried in the words she spoke into me mere moments ago.

Because that’s all I have, even if I don’t really have her.

32 notes · View notes

illfoandillfie · 5 years

Text

Future Management

Pairing: Roger x Reader

Summery: Roger rewires your mind

Warnings: Smut!, Bimbofication/intelligence play, Hypnosis/trance state, drinking, tickling, oral (m and f receiving), protected sex (yes you read that correctly there’s actually a condom in this one wtf), mentions of spanking/restraints/blindfolds/degradation/public sex but not explicitly, a bit of dom!rog sub!reader, thigh riding.

Words: 6969 (N I C E !!)

Inspired by: Future Management by Roger Taylor (oh my god that video im hhhhHHHhh this song really makes me feel some kinda way)

A/N: So Bimbofication has a bunch of different connotations for different people. For some the emphasis is on the physical shape of a stereotypical bimbo – think big boobs and blonde hair and a valley girl accent - which can lead into body modification stuff. For some it goes hand in hand with hypnosis and mind control. For some it’s about intelligence play - turning a smart person dumb. There are a bunch of different ways to play with this kink and different things to get out of it, especially when you start mixing the different aspects together or connecting it to a dom/sub dynamic. I’ve gone with an interpretation that aligns with what I personally find hot about bimbofication, mostly focusing on the turning a smart girl into a dumb slut/sex object aspect (though I’ve also included a little hint of the physical appearance) using some light hypnosis stuff as gateway to the “bimbo state”. I am by no means an expert in hypnosis (or anything), I just have a passing interest and think it’s kinda hot. A lot of the hypnosis part of the script was inspired by THIS podcast episode which discusses bimbofication/intelligence play and ends with one of the hosts hypnotising the other to make her dumber (it’s a really interesting discussion and FUCK that hypno scene at the end oof its hot).

Also big thanks to @somekindof-cheese @idontbelievethiss and @dtftomholland for being my betas and giving me some great feedback!!

Taglist: @ezmina98 @vee-ndetta @atomic-watermelon @kellypenac @labessieisallama (i hope none of you mind being tagged in this, couldn’t remember if you’d asked to be tagged in all my fics or just the RRL ones lmao, let me know if you wanna be removed from the list!)

To the world at large you are a well-respected, intelligent, and accomplished woman. You graduated university top of your class and head of multiple extracurricular groups. After uni you’d found a job that you loved, working in a law firm, gaining attention as you rose through the ranks and became a prominent attorney. Two years ago you’d thrown it all in to start your own non-profit organisation that aimed to reduce the growing rate of homelessness. It was challenging work but rewarding and you loved it. You’d appeared as a guest on news panels and talk radio programs to discuss the issue and campaign for support which had made you, if not a household name, certainly a recognisable figure in the community. Which is how Roger knew you when you first met. Of course, you’d known him too – how could you not?

You’d run into him at bar, most of your friends having ditched you for the dancefloor or whoever they were hoping to take home. That wasn’t really your scene though so you’d intended to finish your drink and then head home. Before you could leave, he was in front of you, introducing himself and apologising for the interruption. “I wanted to congratulate you on your work, what you’re doing is incredible,” he said earnestly, “the world needs more women like you. More people like you.” “Thank you, that’s very kind of you to say,” “I’ll leave you to your drink now, have a good evening,” “Wait,” you said, surprising yourself, “this seat’s free if you want to join me,”

That introduction sparked a conversation which lasted hours. For the rest of the night you were wrapped up in each other entirely, the flow of conversation never stopping as you covered every topic under the sun – politics and music and food and literature and everything in between – without any awkward pauses or uncomfortable silences. You found yourself hanging on his every word, blown away by his quick wit and intelligence, and that cheekiness that permeated his very being. He kept both your glasses topped up as you talked, well beyond the point where all your friends had left, until eventually he invited you back to his place. You hesitated, the first hitch in your conversation all night. “You okay?” Roger asked after you were silent for a little too long. “Yeah. I just, don’t...know...” “Don’t know if you want to come home with me?” “Yeah.” You nervously chewed on your bottom lip. “That’s okay, you don’t have to. Just figured, we’re having such an amazing night, why should it end now?” he said with a slight shrug, “It does kinda surprise me that you’re unsure about it though.” “What d’you mean by that?” “Nothing bad I promise.” he chuckled, “Just that you’re so sure about everything else. Don’t really seem like the type to not know your own mind.” You exhaled a single breathy ‘ha’, “About everything else you are correct. Not so much with this sort of thing.” “Well, at least let me drop you home.” “That would be nice, thank you.” “You’re welcome.” He stood to call a car since neither of you were in any state to drive, “The offer still stands by the way, if you do decide you want to. You’ve got nothing to lose.” You laughed as he threw you a wink but his words stuck with you, looping through your head as you waited for him to return.

Roger led you out into the street to wait for the car, placing his jacket over your shoulders when he noticed you shiver slightly. He leaned against the brick wall of the bar as you chatted in soft voices until the car arrived. Once you were both tucked away in the back seat, safely hidden from prying eyes and cameras, Roger leaned towards you. His hand came up to cup your jaw, thumb sliding softly over your cheek. Your eyes darted to his lips and then back up to his eyes. “At the risk of ruining an otherwise great night, I’d really like to kiss you.” You nodded, the closeness of your bodies already releasing a colony of butterflies in your stomach, their fluttering only getting faster as he moved closer still. His lips were softer than you’d been expecting, his hands rougher as the one remained on your face and the other rested gently against your arm, though you should probably have realised so many years of drumming would leave their mark. You rested your hands against his shoulders, gradually slipping one up into his hair as he deepened the kiss. Well, shit, if this is how he kisses... You blinked your eyes open as he broke away from you. No one had ever kissed you like that before and there was only one thought running through your head. Roger’s voice. You’ve got nothing to lose. “Take me home with you,” you said softly but decidedly, throwing caution to the wind. Roger grinned and indicated the change of plans to the driver before pulling you into another kiss.

Neither of you even contemplated stopping the whole way to his house, only breaking apart briefly to fall out of the car and hastily climb the steps up to his front door. Even then, his hands remained on you – lightly tracing over the small patch of exposed skin on your back where your shirt had come untucked from your pants. Clutching Roger’s arm, you leaned in to kiss along his neck as he fumbled with his keys. You felt very unlike yourself but it wasn’t an unwelcome difference. You’d never felt such a connection with anyone before. Never found anyone quite as irresistible as you found him. You were glad you’d agreed to this, vaguely recalling the rumours you’d heard about how capable Roger was with women and deciding you could use a little capable. When he finally figured out the keys he ushered you inside and lunged for your lips again, pressing you against the wall as he found them. You’ve got nothing to lose. It was the only thought you had time for as his hands slid down to cup your arse, pulling you tightly against him, and he began kissing down your neck, making your breath quicken. He pushed his jacket from your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor in the middle of the hallway as he found his way back to your mouth, and began walking you through the dark house towards his bedroom. You hit the edge of the bed faster than you’d been prepared for, falling backwards with a giggle and a soft thud. Roger laughed as you scooted backwards towards the centre of the bed, and followed you, slightly more gracefully than you managed. Moonlight streamed through the partially open curtains, bathing you both in a soft light that made him look somehow more gorgeous, and you couldn’t quite believe this was happening. Hovering over you he began unbuttoning your blouse, his lips wandering over your sternum and down towards your chest. You moved to unfasten the buttons and zip on your pants, trying to speed up the process. “Someone’s in a hurry,” “Want you so bad Roger. Been a while since I did this and god I need it.” “How long’s a while?” he paused midway through pushing your shirt down your arms. “Umm... Months, not sure how many.” “Christ. If you wanna slow down...” “Don’t slow down.” You leaned up to kiss him again, to show him how eager you were, “Just don’t try anything too crazy, I’m a little out of practice.” You pulled your shirt off and throw it to the floor. “Noted,” Roger said as he began tugging your pants off and dropped them to the floor as well, “I’m gonna make sure the wait was worth it though.” He lowered his head towards your thigh and you couldn’t stop the giggle that bubbled up in your throat. “Oh, you’re ticklish!” his face lit up in cheeky delight as he brought his hands up to your sides, making you squeal and writhe as you tried to escape the sensation. Every twitch of his fingers pulled more laughter from you until you were panting and struggling to say his name, begging him to stop. “You’ve got such a cute laugh,” he said as he removed his hands from you, dropping a small kiss just below your bellybutton as you tried to catch your breath, “can’t wait to hear what you sound like moaning.” You could feel him smirking as he left another kiss, lower than the first, on your skin and you let out a breathy whine. He kissed lower still, leading down to your still clothed pussy and the small wet spot that had appeared over the course of the night, as you pushed yourself up on your forearms to watch. When a kiss landed over the top of your clit your hips bucked and when he wrapped his lips round the wet spot, sucking the soaked material into his mouth you whined again. He was clearly enjoying teasing you, the tent in his pants more obvious with every passing moment. “You want some help with that?” you indicated his noticeable bulge but Roger told you to hush. “I’m not the one that’s gone without for months. Just lie back and let me take care of you.” With that he finally tugged your underwear down your legs, and you let your head fall back against the pillow.

Roger didn’t hesitate, pushing your legs further open as he dived in to lick your pussy. He took his time, covering almost every inch of you with his mouth, listening to your whines and whimpers so he could find where you were most sensitive, but steadily avoiding your clit. When he sucked one of your lips into his mouth you moaned and he made sure to repeat the action, sending a jolt through you each time. You were already babbling about how good it felt, breathless words rolling off your tongue with no rhyme or reason, bleeding into each other and the moans that followed, when he began to tease your entrance, pushing his finger tip in and letting it slip back out as you tried to clench around it. “Aren’t you just so needy,” he said as he sunk his finger into you, deeper this time, and let it slip out again, “haven’t even touched your clit and you’re already close to cumming for me,” he continued to finger you slowly, pushing deeper each time until it was buried knuckle deep in your core. Then he began again, adding a second finger, as he returned his mouth to your wet folds. You whined his name as the pit in your stomach began to ache with the need for release, and put your hand on the back of his head trying to press him closer. Roger scissored his fingers inside you for a moment before he brought them to a complete halt. You whimpered at the sudden change but didn’t have time to reprimand him as he finally brought his mouth to your clit, flicking his tongue back and forth over it. It felt fucking incredible but the pressure wasn’t consistent enough to push you over the edge. “Oh fuck. Roger I’m so close,” “I know, can feel you clenching round my fingers.” You bucked your hips again, trying to get the friction you needed and felt Roger laugh, his breath ghosting over your pussy. “Want to hear you scream my name when you cum. Let everyone know who makes you feel this good.” He pressed his tongue against your clit before sucking it between his lips, at the same time he made a come-hither motion with his two fingers. Within seconds you were coming undone, moaning his name loudly, as per his request. He held you there, blissed out beyond belief, eyes closed as you rode out the orgasm, quivering slightly as his fingers twitched inside you. “So was that worth waiting for?” You blinked as you came back to reality and found Roger looking up at you, his head resting against your thigh as he drew random patterns over your stomach. “You realise It’s been months since I last had sex not since I last had an orgasm, right? Like, I do know how to masturbate,” a pause, “But yes, well worth it,” you conceded with a smile. Roger flashed you the cockiest grin you’d ever seen, “told you so.” He crawled back over you and you could taste yourself on his lips as he kissed you hungrily, “and by the way,” he said breaking the kiss, “you masturbating is something I would be very interested in watching. But right now, all I want is to be buried in your gorgeous cunt. The way you felt around my fingers, fuck, want you on my cock so bad.” You hummed as you kissed him, “Think I can make that happen,” you said before rolling the both of you over so you were leaning over him. “Condoms are in the top draw” he pointed at his bedside table as you hurried to undo his fly and pull his pants and underwear down his legs. “I’ll get it, you get those clothes off.” “Yes ma’am,” he said, already ripping his shirt over his head. You saw it fall to the floor as you dug around the draw, followed by the sound of him kicking his pants off his feet. His cock was already standing at attention when you got back to the bed, tearing open the condom wrapper with your teeth. “Might have to take this a bit slow,” you said as you rolled the condom down his shaft. Roger nodded as you took hold of his cock to line him up with your entrance. His breath caught in his throat as you slowly sunk down on him, taking your time as you adjusted to the unfamiliar and complete fullness. “Christ, fuck,” you swore under your breath as you took him a little deeper and paused again. “Stole the words right outta my mouth,” he grunted, squeezing your hips, “fuck, you okay?” “Told you I was out of practice,” your laugh turned into a moan as you lowered yourself the last inch or so, sheathing him fully inside you. Roger moved his hands to squeeze your breasts as your breaths turned to pants. You slowly began rocking your hips, the room filing with your gasps and whines as you picked up speed. “Fuck, want to be buried in your cunt forever.” he gasped out as you began raising and lowering yourself on your knees, needing more more more. “Roger, ohh god, rub my clit, please,” He didn’t need to be told twice, letting one hand drop down where you needed it. His touch sent a shiver down your spine and your back arched as his name dripped from your lips again. This only encouraged Roger who sped up the furious circles he was making on your clit. You felt yourself hurtling towards another orgasm as your pussy clenched. “Gonna cum soon,” Roger’s hips jerked up as he grunted his warning. “Same,” you said as you leaned forward to suck a hickey onto his collarbone. It wasn’t much longer before he was calling out your name as he hit his climax, and pulling you into yours with his fingers still on your clit.

You collapsed on your side next to him, still breathing heavily. Roger left the bed long enough to dispose of the used condom before he was back, pulling you against him and throwing the covers over the two of you. “I’ll call a cab in a moment,” you said, voice thick with exhaustion. “Don’t be daft.” “Not gonna kick me out?” “Course not. Jesus, what d’you take me for.” “Good. I’m too comfy to move anyway.” “Good. I like having you in my bed.” You hummed as his arms tightened around you and you felt him drop a kiss to the back of your neck. You could feel your eyes drooping but fought off sleep for as long as you could, not wanting the moment to end. Letting your fingers trail softly over Roger’s hand which was flung over your stomach, you listened as his breathing slowed and became deeper. Smiling into the pillow you finally let yourself succumb to sleep.

When you woke up you were alone and slightly confused by your unfamiliar surroundings. Oh, fuck... Things started coming back to you as you took in the clothing still littering the floor. You hurried to dress yourself in yesterday’s clothes and then made your way out of the room, wanting to find a phone to call a cab from. You found Roger first, following the sound of the kettle through the house to the kitchen. He was standing over the stove, back to the doorway and you allowed yourself a moment to look him over in the daylight before you caught his attention. “Morning,” He whipped around at the sound of your voice, “Morning. I was gonna bring breakfast up to you.” He held up the spatula he was clutching as proof of his intentions. “Thanks, but I should probably get going.” “Already?” You were surprised by the note of disappointment in his voice. “That’s how this sort of thing normally works, isn’t it?” “Told you last night I’m not gonna kick you out.” You hesitated. “It’s a free meal, love, might as well stay. Nothing to lose.” There were those words again. They reverberated through your head and you found yourself sitting down. Roger smiled as he turned back around to the stove, shuffling fry pans and plates around as he served the breakfast. “I hope bacon and eggs are okay,” he said as he placed your plate in front of you. “Brilliant,” you suddenly realised just how hungry you were, not having eaten properly since lunch yesterday. “Dig in, don’t wait for me. Tea?” “Yes please. No milk, two sugars.” “Can I ask you something? About last night?” “Yeah,” you said, a forkful of food halfway to your mouth as your stomach began to twist with nerves. “What made you change your mind?” He put the tea down in front of you, “You were going to go home and then you changed your mind. What was it that convinced you to stay?” “You’ve got nothing to lose. You said that to me and I realised you were right.” You shrugged as you brought the fork to your mouth, “Plus, no one had ever kissed me like that before.” “I was giving you my A game, had to impress you.” “I was worth A game?” “Course, couldn’t give such an incredible woman less than that” “You flatterer,” you laughed, “It had been a while though, I probably would have been happy with C game.” “Well I didn’t find that out till later did I.” He took a sip of his tea, staring at you over the top of his cup. “Out of curiosity, why had it been so long? Something to do with the lack of A game kissing?” he teased. “I mean, it was a factor.” You could hear the indignation creeping into your voice and willed it away, “Not everyone has mountains of groupies after them.” So much for no indignation. “No need to get defensive,” Roger held both his hands up, palms towards you, “wasn’t judging.” “Sorry. It’s a bit of a sore spot is all.” “No, you’re fine. I shouldn’t pry.” “Truth is I haven’t dated much. And none of the guys I did date were any good. Recently it’s just been easier to put work first.” “Does that mean I’m the best you’ve ever had,” his cocky grin from the previous night was back and you couldn’t help but laugh. “Yes, but it was a very very low bar.” “I’ll take what I can get.” He looked you over, seeming like he wanted to say something else but wasn’t sure how, “I had the best time with you last night and I was thinking y’know...maybe this doesn’t have to end here. Let me take you out tomorrow night on a proper date.” “Let me guess… I’ve got nothing to lose?” you laughed. “That a yes?” “Yes.”

You left Roger’s place a little while later, heading home to sink into a hot bath and relax, and barely thought about anything besides him until he picked you up the next night. Your first official date went well – dinner, drinks, making out in the car before he dropped you home. You invited him inside but he wanted to prove he was interested in you for reasons besides that, instead leaving you with lips tingling from a long deep kiss as he departed, and the immediate need to masturbate. He took you out again the next night and again two days after that. Before you knew it, you were three months into your relationship, spending more and more time with him. You introduced him to your friends and family and met his in return. To the outside world you were still the same intelligent and accomplished woman, but now you also had an enviable relationship which seemed to get you more attention than your work did, though Roger was always the first to brag about it. He loved showing you off, telling anyone who’d listen about your work, pulling you into conversations so people could see you were just as bright and self-assured and brilliant as he’d told them you were. More than once you found yourself in a deep discussion with someone he’d been talking to, and caught him staring at you like he’d never seen anything more beautiful. It made your chest burst every time. The way he celebrated every aspect of you, cared enough to ask about your day and pressed for details about your job. Even when you disagreed about something, he’d hear you out, maybe with an eye roll, but he genuinely cared about your thoughts and opinions.

Which made it easier to take yourself less seriously and loosen up a little. Your work was still incredibly important and something you cared deeply about, but now that you had Roger it was easier to admit you’d been spending too much time at the office. Using it as an excuse to avoid the terrifying unknowns of life and the impending future you hadn’t been able to imagine. Where before the question ‘where do you see yourself in five years’ would have caused anxiety that led to a week’s worth of overtime and insomnia, now you were able to confidently say, “I might not know but I hope it’s with Roger.” You smiled more around him, laughed more. He could turn you into a silly giggling fool with one look, and that was the most freeing feeling you’d ever experienced. You had nothing to prove to Roger. You didn’t have to make him see you how you wanted to be seen, like you’d had to do within your studies and work, because he already saw you as wonderful. And frankly you liked the person you were with him more than you’d liked the person you were alone.

And then there was the sex. You’d never believed people when they talked about the incredible sex they were regularly having. Never understood why everyone made such a big deal about it. In your experience it wasn’t worth it. Roger had quickly changed your mind. On your third official date he agreed to go back to your place but you’d spent most of the night talking about sex rather than actually having any. The topic of your limited experience had come up again and Roger was trying to gauge what you'd already tried. “Yes, I’ve sucked dick before,” you rolled your eyes as you stood to fill your empty wine glass, waving it round as you spoke, “not my favourite thing ever if I’m being honest but no one ever complained about my techniques.” “Hand job?” “Is that a request?” You raised your eyebrows and took a sip of your wine. “Stop trying to get my pants off, love,” he laughed, “You’re the one who keeps saying you’ve never had good sex, ‘m just trying to find out what you have had, so I can decide how to blow your mind next.” “If you really must know, all the guys I’ve been with were fairly bad at it. Only two of them made me cum regularly and even then it was a one and done situation. You did more to blow my mind on our not-quite-a-one-night-stand than anyone else has.” “Keep talking like that and you’ll give me a big head.” “As if you don’t already have one.” You dropped yourself into his lap, giggling at the small ‘oof’ of surprise he let out, and wrapped your arms around his neck. “Alright, alright. So, what’s the kinkiest you’ve done then?” “Does being eaten out count as kinky?” “God, are you serious?” “No, I did convince one of them to spank me once which was fun. Hinted that I might want to try more, being tied up and stuff, but he wasn’t into it.” “Christ, no wonder you gave up on dating,” “I wouldn’t say gave up, just put it on the back burner.” “Well it’s a good thing you met me then.” he said, looking up into your eyes, “I’d be very happy to tie you up, and stuff.” A shiver ran down your spine at the suggestion, “Really? You’re into it?” “Oh, love, we are going to have some fun. You’ve got -” “Nothing to lose,” you finished before leaning down to kiss him.”

The longer you were together the more you found yourself thinking about sex. It was like meeting Roger had flipped a switch inside your brain, set off some sort of chemical reaction that made your blood run hot and your skin tingle with the need to be touched. Suddenly you cared about sex, wanted it, even dreamt about it. You had years of bad sex and dry spells to erase and Roger was only too happy to help. To his credit he never rushed you or pushed you to try things you weren’t comfortable with and he always made sure you were safe as he slowly opened your eyes to new things. It started out small, a light spanking one night, since you already had experience with it and liked it. He used it as an excuse to question you more about what else you’d be interested in trying, promising to reward you with another hit for every answer you gave him. At first you’d felt self-conscious, especially when asked to describe what you’d fantasised about. But soon enough he’d had you admitting to everything you’d ever wanted to try, desperately trying to earn another spank as you slowly dripped onto his knee. And then he’d praised you for answering so well and god you could have cum from that alone, the three fingers he'd pressed into you were just a bonus.

Your answers gave him ideas for what to try next. Adding handcuffs or blindfolds when he fucked you, calling you degrading names while you tried out words like Sir or Master for him, testing how they felt on your tongue and deciding which you liked. Pulling you into public restrooms and other secluded spaces because you admitted that the danger of being caught was a turn on. He’d use your own ideas against you until you were begging, often times for more. He was particularly fond of bringing up the fantasy you’d had of being turned into a silly, giggly, dumb slut – empty headed and eager to please. It was something you’d developed a penchant for back at uni, a fantasy you turned to when the pressure to be smarter than everyone else got too much, though you’d never actually told anyone about it before. The idea of him knowing – of anyone knowing – your desire to be a brainless bimbo was terrifying and exciting and every time he mentioned it you got goosebumps and butterflies. He’d lean in close to your ear, running his hands through your hair, and tell you that a good slut had no use for her brain. That you should just let it go. What could you possibly have to think about besides being pretty and filling your holes however he wanted? It was so easy to sit and listen, let his words fill your head until there wasn’t room for anything else, just the need to please him. It was your favourite release when work was stressful and tough, and for the last week that’s all work had been. Between the land deal you were trying to organise taking longer than you’d planned and the constant juggling of calls to contractors for quotes and calls to estate agents to renegotiate terms, everything was getting to be too much. You just needed to forget about everything for a little while.

So, when Roger got home that evening, he found you waiting, wearing the tightest, skimpiest clothes you owned – a skirt that only just covered your lace panty clad arse, and a low-cut singlet over a bra that pushed your tits together, plus the tallest heels you owned. It was the sort of outfit you only wore when you wanted to be his brainless toy. It helped you drop into your new role faster, helped your brain melt away. “Everything okay?” He asked as he pulled you into a hug. “Yeah, just need a break. If you’re up for it?” “Course, love. You know I love playing with my bimbo doll.” You hugged him tighter, trying to convey how much you loved him with one gesture, already feeling slightly tingly. He led you to the couch, sitting you down to face him.

“Just need a break from all that noise in your pretty head, don’t you?” His voice sounded different to when he’d first come in, softer and calmer but more authoritative, “all that stress from work. Just need to listen to my voice and slowly sink deeper down, away from your brain, away from everything bad and stressful. And the more stressful things are, the more worries and noise in that silly brain, the faster you sink down down down until you can’t remember anything anymore. Down deeper, where there’s nothing to lose. Where there’s no need for big words. Where the only thing that matters is being a good doll for Sir. Pleasing Sir. Because pleasing Sir makes you happy and horny, doesn’t it? “Yes,” you sighed softly, a wet spot already beginning to form as you stared into his eyes. “It’s so simple, so easy, isn’t it my pretty, silly, slut. So simple and easy to leave your mind behind.” You breathed deep as Roger’s hands glided through your hair, gently smoothing it back, his fingernails running over your scalp and down down down to push it behind your ear. “That’s right, just relax. You’ve got nothing to lose by listening and relaxing. Thinking about how fun it is to be simple and easy.” Your eyes were shut, though you didn’t remember closing them. You felt Roger’s hand move further down your hair, splitting it into sections, running his fingers through it to smooth it out. “You like being simple and easy, don’t you? Simple and easy and fun and dumb. My pretty, silly, bimbo.” He was winding your hair round his fingers, moving slowly and gently, sending tingles down your spine as you took another deep breath. A whimper dropped from your lips and you could almost feel your mind emptying with every word he spoke, letting go of the day, the meetings, the harried phone calls, the forms you had to sign. All of it was so unimportant compared to his voice. “And d’you wanna know the best part about you being like this?” “Yes.” If you’d been able to think properly you would have said your voice had changed too. Higher pitched than normal. Brighter and bubblier. “The best part about you being simple and easy and fun and dumb, is how hot it is. How wet you get. Isn’t that right?” “Yes,” you giggled, “hot and wet.” “Good girl,” You giggled again, his praise making what was left of your brain feel mushy and happy. Roger chuckled at your giggly, giddy response, letting his fingers slip out the bottom of your hair and onto your arms. You shivered at his touch, face breaking into a smile. “Feels good being touched when you’re like this. Simple and easy and fun and dumb. You want me to keep touching you?” You whimpered, “yes,” breath coming out in pants as his hands slipped down your arms, setting your skin aflame. “Yeah, you like that. Got nothing to lose by being touched. Just feels good.” “Yeah, feels so good,” you giggled and you heard Roger chuckle in response. “Open your eyes for me, wanna see your pretty eyes,” Your eyes shot open and you beamed at Roger. “You like when I compliment you, don’t you?” “Yeah,” you giggled again, feeling bubblier and lighter now that you could see his reactions. His hands had slipped down to your own, tracing patterns softly over your skin, between your fingers, tapping over your nails. “Like, when I tell you how cute you sound right now, all giggly. A silly, giggly slut.” Your response was so predictable, Roger was smiling even before you started to giggle again. “How do you feel, love?” “Ummmm, fuzzy. Happy.” His hands slipped further, landing on your thighs and slipping over your knees, making a wave of arousal roll through your body and a soft whine roll off your tongue. “Yeah? Do you remember those four words I used to describe you earlier?” You thought for a moment, furrowing your brow as you searched for the right words, “dumb?” “Yes, that was one of them, do you remember the other three?” “Umm,” you stared at Roger, mouth slightly open, “horny?” Roger laughed again. “Dumb and horny.... and... easy?” “That’s right, but horny wasn’t one of the four words.” “Oh,” “But that’s okay, you feel horny, don’t you? D’you want me to tell you the four words?” You nodded fast. “Simple and easy and fun and …?” “Dumb!” “Good girl.” He leaned in, brushing his nose against yours as you laughed again, “And now that my pretty bimbo doll has nothing left to lose, all dumb and mindless, what does she want to do?” "Ummmm,” “What is it?” “I want to suck your cock, Sir,” “Is that so? Thought you said you didn’t like sucking cock.” “Noooooo, I love sucking your cock Sir.” Roger looked so amused by your answer you couldn’t help but giggle, even though you didn’t quite understand why. All you knew was you wanted to please him, that pleasing him made you feel good.

As soon as you heard the jangle of Roger unbuckling his belt your mouth fell open and your tongue stuck out. He moved around so his leg was stretched out down the length of the couch, his other hanging over the edge, with you kneeling in between. Slowly, his eyes glued on you, he unzipped his fly and pushed his pants down his hips enough to let his cock spring free. You waited patiently for his word, watching as he grasped his shaft and lazily stroked along it. Your mouth was almost watering as your desire to lick and suck grew, drowning out everything else. “God you’re cute. Practically drooling. Ready to show me what a desperate cockslut you are?” You hummed, replacing Roger’s hand with your own, wrapping it around his base as you kitten licked at his tip. He sighed softly as you took him into your mouth, relaxing further into the couch, and you felt a small burst of pleasure pulse through you. It spurred you on and you sunk lower, taking more of him, before rising back up to swirl your tongue around his tip. He groaned and you were hit by another jolt between your legs. Every noise you pulled from him set you on fire, the pit in your stomach tightening, your cunt dripping, only encouraging you to suck harder and take him deeper. His fist tangled in your hair, holding you down as you gagged around him. Looking up with watering eyes you could see Roger had dropped his head back, his lips silently forming words he couldn’t get out, lost in the sensation of being in your throat. It was enough to make you moan and redouble your efforts, bobbing up and down faster, working him as deep as he could go. “Fuck, Y/N” Roger choked out, “gonna make me cum soon,” You released him with a pop, unable to stop the grin the crept onto your face. “You like the idea of me cumming down your throat?” “So much, Sir!” “What about the idea of you cumming?” “If that pleases Sir, yes” “You’ve been such a good doll, think you deserve the reward. But only after you’ve swallowed all my cum okay?” “Promise, Sir,” “That’s enough talking now, wanna hear you gagging instead,” he tapped your head and you leaned down, letting him slip all the way back down your throat. His grip returned to your hair, pulling you up and then pushing you down again, showing you the speed at which you should be moving. You fell into rhythm, breaking the pattern every now and then to hollow your cheeks around his tip or lick along the underside of his cock or gulp for air, before finding the rhythm again. “So close, fuck, so so close,” Your movement was suddenly halted as he pressed down on the back of your head, making you choke. You tried to move, needing another gasp of air but he held you down as he came, coating your throat with hot spurts of cum. You swallowed every drop he gave you, your body surging with the electric knowledge you’d pleased him so much, tingling from head to toe.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” He sat up, brushing his fingertips over your cheek. “So much, Sir! I love your cock,” you giggled, leaning forward to drop a quick peck to the head, “love drinking your cum.” “And you’re so good at it. My pretty, cocksucking doll. Do you still wanna cum?” “ummm, yes?” You didn’t really care if you got to cum, you just wanted to make your Sir happy. “I’d like to watch you cum,” “Then yes!” another giggle. “Then why don’t you sit that cute cunt right here,” he patted his thigh, “and show me what a good slut you are.” You settled yourself over him, hitching your skirt up in the process, so you could grind against him, still wearing the skimpy panties you’d picked out. A moan escaped you as you rolled your hips and Roger placed his hands on them, to keep you pressed firmly against him as you rocked yourself closer to your release. You were already so worked up it didn’t take long for you to reach the edge, whimpering as Roger’s grip tightened. “That’s right, cum for me,” His permission was all you needed to let yourself fall over the edge with a gasp. You felt so light and happy, buzzing with pride and the knowledge that your Sir wanted to see you fall apart. You shuddered and fell forward as the orgasm washed over you, leaning your forehead against Roger’s chest. He wrapped his arms around you, pressing his lips to the top of your head as you shivered through the orgasm. “So beautiful,” he was playing with your hair again and you hummed at how good it felt. “That’s right, just relax, listen and relax and come back. Nothing to lose by coming back. Back to who you were before. Who you are. So simple, so easy to come back. Relax into it. Relax back into yourself. Letting go of the bimbo. So easy to come back to your mind.” You took a deep breath as you returned to yourself. More aware of everything around you. The salty taste of Roger’s cum on your tongue. The warm, wet feeling between your legs. The scent of Roger’s cologne as you breathed deeply. You sighed contentedly as the giddy, giggly lightness you’d felt slowly faded and the real world came back to you. Roger’s eyes found yours as he tilted your head up, searching them for anything amiss. “Hey,” he said softly rubbing your arm soothingly, “how was that, you okay?” “That was exactly what I needed. Thank you.” You pecked him on the lips. “You’re very welcome. You wanna talk about work?” “I’ll tell you about it later. Right now I’m,” you shifted slightly, still straddling his thigh, “still a little worked up actually. Race you to the bedroom?” Roger’s lips slammed against yours as he held you tightly, the kiss heated and hungry, “who need’s a bedroom when there’s a perfectly fine couch here. Time I repaid you for the fucking fantastic blow job.” You squealed as you found yourself on your back, Roger pulling your soaked underwear off hurriedly.

To the world at large you were a well-respected, intelligent, and accomplished woman with an enviable relationship. And you were. All that and more. But you knew, and Roger knew, that deep down you were just a silly, giggly, dumb slut, who loved sex and craved cock and lived to please. Just a pretty bimbo who had no use for anything besides her Sir. And really, what more could you possibly want.

#my writing #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor smut #queen smut #queen fanfic #im actually finally happy enough that i can post this #i know its not gonna be everyones cuppa tea #but bimbofication is literally all i can think about when i hear future management #and uhhhh #oof it gets me going #anyway #enjoy!!#as always feedback is appreciated #and if you wanna talk about hypnosis or bimbofication or anything in here #i am more than happy to have that convo lmao #(also that word count was not intentional but it did make me laugh)

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lallemcnt · 5 years

Text

go ahead and watch my heart burn (part four)

“When you look at him you see dark night opening, giving way to dawn.”

— Ibn Said al-Maghribi

“Talk to me.”

“You shouldn’t have to reassure me all the fucking time! I’m so sick of my brain and how messed up I am!”

“You’re not messed up, Lucas.”

Lucas is perched on the arm of Eliott’s sofa, head bowed and arms shielding his body. Eliott sits on the edge of the sofa at its other end, the exasperated expression on his face mirroring Lucas’ voice. The distance between them, a sofa separating them, feels like miles upon miles, an impossible space to close. Lucas understands his frustration, he even feels sorry for him, sorry that he has to deal with Lucas when he gets like this: frustrated and insecure, when Eliott hasn’t done anything to incite these feelings, when he has been nothing but understanding, nothing but absolutely caring, nothing but a flame in the dark on the days when Lucas’ anxiety has been particularly debilitating.

He knew this was going to happen, that he would mess it up, he just didn’t know he would only have a month of being with Eliott before it all blew up in his face. Abruptly, the frustration drains from him and he is tired. He moves towards the door, stuffing his feet in his trainers and pulling on his jacket. Eliott gets to his feet, following Lucas to the door, asking in a beseeching voice, “You can’t just leave, we need to talk.”

Lucas doesn’t turn around to address him, simply opens the front door and lets out a quiet: “Let me go” before shutting the door behind him and trudging down the stairs into a chilly late summer day. His shoulders instantly hunch up and he’s blowing hot air into his hands for warmth, not sure where he’s going exactly. Going, he scoffs to himself, more like running, like the coward you are. But the knowledge of his cowardice is not enough to make him go back to Eliott and explain.

Lucas recalls a conversation they had a few days after he told Eliott about his father. When Eliott asked Lucas about his anxiety and how it affected him. He didn’t push Lucas to speak about it or set up some kind of intervention. They had been watching reruns of shitty TV at Eliott’s, as usual, eating popcorn and drinking some kind of nasty-ass beer Lucas has brought over when Eliott had asked him:

“I- Can I ask you questions about your anxiety? I’ve been reading up on it and I know I’ll need to do more, but would you…would you mind that? Because I know it is different for everyone.” His voice was tentative, his hands clenched around his beer bottle as if he was scared he had crossed an unspoken line, entering into unknown territory.

It was completely out of the blue. Lucas wondered if this had been on Eliott’s mind the entire evening, he, himself, felt slightly uncomfortable and nervous, because talking about it never ended well, it only ever crushed his mood, his soul, leaving him disappointed. However, he knew, in his heart, that if this thing between them had any chance of survival Eliott had the prerogative to know, to decide for himself if Lucas was worth all the work, and to make this decision he needed all the facts.

Turning down the volume on the TV, Lucas had shifted to face Eliott, because he could be strong. Hadn’t all his years of quiet survival proven that? He could look Eliott in the eye when he inevitably concluded that it was all too much. That Lucas was not worth it.

“You need to understand that you can’t fix me, okay? I’m always going to be dealing with this and I want you to know that I won’t blame you or hate you if you decide to leave, okay? It is a lot. I know,” Pausing for breath, Lucas had taken a swig of his drink before continuing. “Sometimes I’ll get irritable for no reason, at myself and at you. I’ll be snippy. I won’t want to talk to you. When we’ve planned to go to a party or out for dinner, when the day comes round the thought of going may make me feel physically sick and I won’t want to go because I’m terrified of meeting new people or being left alone at a party with nothing to do or no one to talk to. Sometimes I’ll put off doing things and stay home for days because the idea is a lot more peaceful, comfortable and safe than going out.

“And you have to know, it won’t be your fault. I just need space sometimes. There’s something else, too. It’s hard to explain why…there are times when I think it’s because of my father, but I can be touch averse too, casual touches will annoy me and turn my mood sour. I used to be this really affectionate kid, and I still crave touch, but I also hate it at times.”

Eliott nodded thoughtfully along as Lucas spoke; being given the opportunity to explain how he feels and be heard was everything. Everything and more. More than he ever imagined he would be lucky enough to experience.

He doesn’t even know how this afternoon’s argument got heated so quickly, but when he reaches that level of frustration he can’t be talked down, no placating words can calm him, and Eliott contradicting him, telling him he wasn’t messed up made him more angry, and Lucas also knew that while his head was telling him to yell and slam the door and tell Eliott that he will never understand, that he doesn’t get it, that this will never work between them, his heart was whispering for him to get out of there, to cool off, before he said something he would regret.

He knew why Eliott was frustrated, Lucas had been closed off for the past week, refusing to confide in Eliott who had asked him several times what was going on. He was clueless, unsure if he was the problem. Lucas could have easily reassured him that it wasn’t him, but he was feeling mean and bitter. Communication. The age-old issue that tore couples apart on the daily. He knew Eliott would be struggling to understand if the issue was anxiety-related or if Lucas was just being an asshole, which he was want to be every now and then, but that only made Lucas more irate.

Walking along the Seine, Lucas kicks out at a rock and then another, physically exercising his annoyance. The thing was, deep down is wasn’t just anger he felt, it was fear and shock and insurmountable shame, and even the thought of explaining this to Eliott- it is enough to make him sink down on a bench in fatigue, because hasn’t he told enough secrets for once? Hasn’t even opened himself up to pain over and over again these last few weeks? So, seeing what Lucas saw in conjunction with someone else being worried about you and constantly asking if you are okay when you most definitely are not is too much. To be worrying about someone else’s feelings when you are consumed by your own mounting despair is enough emotional grievance to knock you out for a lifetime.

Today at 13:15

Le gang

yann: my dudes who’s up for a night of gaming at mine? bazzz: HELL YES I’M IN arthur: idk i’ve got this huge essay to get done by tomorrow arthur: and i haven’t started yet bazzz: yikes arthur: lucas!!!!!! have u done it yet?? bazzz: come on we haven’t hung out in ages bazzz: are you’ll really choosing work over spending time with ME?! yann: i have bEER arthur: bold of you to assume i’d bunk of uni work for beer bazzz: we’ve got arthur! yann: lulu! where u at? arthur: lulu! bazzz: lulu!

Lucas clicks off the chat, puts it on silent and pulls up Manon’s.

Today at 13:27

Manon

lucas: hey u around? Manon: hey!! Manon: yeah i am Manon: what are you thinking? lucas: ummm wanna go for a walk? Manon: i’d love to

After deciding where to meet, Lucas begins to stroll across one of the many bridges that cross the river. In an attempt to clear his mind of Eliott and their argument, he marvels at the beauty of his city, at all the history that these old and ornate buildings must contain; the grey water washing by them, dividing banks and creating islands. He walks by children already wrapped up in coats and hats but licking away at vanilla ice-creams. There are two men in suits locked in a heated exchange, jaws tight and eyes narrowed. A couple up ahead leans against the side of the bridge, entangled in each other’s arms, blonde hair whipping against their faces: Lucas looks away quickly at the surge in his chest. And just beyond them, he spots a red pea-coat: Manon. Dressed in woolly tights, her brown hair tied in a loose braid, she clutches a paperback book in one hand, her elbows rest on the off-white arm of the bridge, discoloured by the grim of urban life.

When they meet, Lucas falls into her outstretched arms as though this place, here, is a refuge amidst a storming sea. He doesn’t cry, but he remains there for a while. If Lucas had to describe Manon he would wax poetic about her. She’s closer to a sister to him than a friend, but then who ever said a person couldn’t be both to you?

Drawing away from each other, they smile and return to look over the bridge where Manon rests her book. Lucas observes the cover and the authors name as recognition hits and he’s turning back to Manon, incredulously, as he exclaims, “No way! What the hell? Is that the last book?”

Manon is grinning and holding it up to Lucas’ face. “Yep! Had to pre-order it and everything. Just went to pick it up from the shop, actually.”

“I can’t believe it. We waited, what, five years for it and now it’s actually here? Fuck.”

When they were twelve, there was this fantasy book series everyone was reading about magicians and vampires, empires falling and rising, quests for lost artefacts and stolen celestial swords. Suffice it to say, Lucas and Manon were obsessed; they would queue up outside the bookstore for midnight releases with Manon’s older brother and parents, they would have reading parties together on weekends, but it was also one of those series where the last book kept getting pushed back until it’s release seemed a fallacy, but after seven years, the final book was out.

Lucas grabbed the book proffered to him and scanned the cover and back, flipping the book open like a fan. The smell of newly printed pages ready to be devoured and loved was an inexplicable bliss. He placed it in reach of Manon whose back was against the bridge’s sides and face directed towards Lucas, her blue gaze is searching. He pretends to be interested in the boats disappearing beneath him, but he’s forgotten Manon can out-wait him, she has the patience of a saint. What’s more is she has always thought of Lucas as a younger brother despite their birthdays only between two weeks apart — one week, six days, two hours and 19 minutes exactly if you ask Lucas — making her infinitely more willing to spend minutes, hours in silence until he is ready to open up or can’t stand the silence so he fills it meaningless words which eventually unwinds into the deeper stuff, because Manon makes the time to be there for everyone she holds dear. Lucas is one of those lucky people, he knows that.

In this way, while the wind insists on dispelling summer in favour of autumn, as Manon waits out Lucas and the sky grows grey in alliance with the wind and the Seine leads its placid journey, winding around the city, Lucas voices what has got him all twisted up inside for the past week, the catalyst for this argument with Eliott.

“I think I saw my father last week. At uni.”

This shocks Manon. Although he isn’t directly looking at here, out of the corner of his eye he sees her blanch at his words, she turns around, standing beside him as though in solidarity, as if she would be able to protect him from what has already happened. His heart clenches at this.

“How are you feeling?” She asks.

Bringing his hand up to chew his thumb nail, Lucas shrugs, which is ridiculous because he knows how he feels, he’s been sinking in this tumult of negativity for seven fucking days.

“You know what I wanted to do? I wanted to go up to him. I wanted to look him dead in the eyes and see if he would even recognise me, to ask him how he could do what he did and claim it was love? How you can do that to someone you’re supposed to love unconditionally? What did I do exactly to make him hate me so much? What did I do? I want to know so I never do it again, so I don’t provoke that kind of behaviour-”

“Listen to me, Lucas. No,” Manon is shaking her head and holding Lucas own between her hands so he is forced to look at her while she speaks. “You did not provoke anything, you hear me? I can’t explain to you why he did what he did to you, why he hurt you. But I do know one thing for certain, and I know you’re tired of hearing me say it but I will say it forever if I have to, this is all on him, nothing you did was wrong. It was all him. All him.”

Biting down on his lip, blinks back tears. “I don’t even know why he was there, and I didn’t want it to become this big thing but Eliott caught on to my mood, I mean, how could he not? And I didn’t feel like talking about it, not after telling him about my father, my anxiety. It would’ve just been overboard for him, you know?”

“No, I don’t know. Lucas, he’s there, right? Wanting to be with you. In relationships there are times where you don’t want to say how you feel and you don’t want to express the messy shit, but Lucas, if this is going on for an extended period of time you have got to let him in. It’s unfair otherwise. You’re part of a team now.”

Lucas sighs.

“Unless he’s been an asshole and said something-”

“No! He hasn’t-”

“-because then I’ll be having words with him.”

That brings a smile to Lucas’ lips. Hearing Manon threaten someone — even thinking it sounds ridiculous in his head — is always a shock because she’s Manon, always flocking to make sure everyone is okay, wearing their coats when it’s cold, ensuring everyone has a ride home after a night out.

“No, he’s great. I’m the asshole, but what’s new, right?”

Throwing an arm around Lucas’ shoulder, easily done because they’re the same height, Manon frowns. “Just talk to him, my love. For him, for your relationship, but, most importantly, for yourself. Now, say this together with me ‘I am not an asshole’.”

Lucas rolls his eyes but Manon is serious. She begins to open her mouth and when Lucas makes no effort to join her she stops and glares, full force, at him until he obliges with another sigh.

“I am not an asshole.”

“And again.”

“I. Am. Not. An. Asshole.”

“Whoop! That is so true, Lucas. You aren’t. Alright, let’s hobble along somewhere, it’s kinda chilly out here. I think my toes are about to stop working.”

“Okay, okay.”

Linking arms, the two friends find a coffee shop to sit at, a feat on days such as this when everyone is seeking the warmth of the inside, clutching warm mugs of hot chocolate between their hands they speak of lighter things, less serious but just as important.

By the time eight o’clock rolls around, Lucas is feeling hopelessly guilty about leaving Eliott’s place that afternoon. Manon’s words play on his mind: You have got to let him in. It’s unfair otherwise. You’re part of a team now. But because he’s the king of avoidance, Lucas has agreed to go to Yann’s for a gaming night and he’s rationalised to himself that that is okay, because he hasn’t seen the boys in a while and he misses them and Eliott is probably off hanging out with Idriss and Sofiane, so he’s okay and they can speak tomorrow. It can all be sorted out tomorrow.

On his way over to Yann’s, he begins typing an apologetic text to Eliott, it screams pathetic and cheap, everything he should say in person. Cursing in frustration, Lucas deletes it all, at least he tries to and he does erase most of it but his thumb slips onto the send button in his frustration.

Today 20:04

eliott

lucas: i’m

FUCK.

He shoves his phone into the front pocket of his grey hoodie, and of course this happened, he really can’t catch a break can he?

He gets no response. Radio silence. Hopefully hanging with le gang will be distraction enough.

For the first hour Lucas is caught up in the fervor of his friends’ excitement about a new season of a TV show about a family gang in Birmingham, England on netflix. They settle on Yann’s sofa, pulling up beanbags and lazy-boys to rest their feet on; despite their apparent enthusiasm they talk through the entirety of the first episode, making poor imitations of the Birmingham accent, Baz laments about how attractive the leading male is and Lucas can’t do anything but agree.

As the night goes by, however, Lucas becomes restless, he plays one game with Yann and then a team game with Arthur and Basile. He drinks flat coca-cola and chooses the music they listen to, but there, in the background of everything is Eliott’s face when Lucas left. When he is choosing the next song to play he thinks back to the many nights when they would talk on the phone before bed and Eliott would play Lucas the piano music he had grown to love, sometimes falling asleep to it, lulled by tender notes and impossibly smooth melodies. He should be there. With Eliott.

So he leaves, apologising profusely, promising to meet them at lunch on Monday, his mouth agreeing to anything while his one-track mind retains its steady focus on one boy. He is running in the dark, the sky jet-black where weeks ago the sunset was only beginning be set. Impossibly, a few stars peak through the light-pollution endemic to most cities and the moon is there, coaxing him on his way, as if to say hurry hurry you’re almost there. Out of breath and surely sweating Lucas does not stop. He doesn’t text Eliott; he will wait outside his place until he comes home, he will wait forever if that is what it takes.

Lucas is anxious now. He presses the buzzer for Eliott’s door, hoping against hope that he will be forgiven for walking out.

“Hello?”

“It’s me. Lucas.”

Silence.

Lucas is there on the steps, panting from his run, his heart galloping in his chest for more than one reason he can count. It feels like an eternity before he hears the tell-tale sound of the front door buzzing and he’s pushing it open, climbing up the stairs to Eliott’s door. It is down the end of the corridor, the last one on his floor, and Eliott is there, in the doorway, watching Lucas as he walks towards him and it is agony: he can feel the guilt’s full force curling in his stomach. Lucas is suddenly self-conscious, he wants the floor to swallow him up. His steps are hesitant. He stops a few feet away from Eliott. Wanting to hug him.

“Can I come in?” His words are stilted, coated in uncertainty.

“Why are you here?” Eliott looks tired.

“I want to talk.”

“Okay.” He doesn’t budge a single inch.

Looks like Lucas is going to have to do this here. In the hallway. Where any number of people can just walk by. At least Eliott hasn’t shut the door in his face.

“I’m sorry. For shutting you out, refusing to talk to you. For being mean,” At this, Eliott’s composure starts to falter, Lucas understands then that his annoyed posture was all an act, possibly an attempt to guard himself from hurt, and that nicks at his heart a little. “For walking out earlier, I should have stayed. I’m just really sick of feeling vulnerable all the time, I feel like I can’t catch a break and then I take it out on you by being cold.

“I saw my father last week, unintentionally, he was at uni and it’s the first time since he left that I’ve laid eyes on him. It brought back all the shame and humiliation. I wanted to walk up to him, like I’ve imagined doing multiple times over the years and confronting him, but all I could do was run the other way. I hate that this man still has this power over me. Anyway, that’s not the point, the point is that I hurt you-”

Eliott is stepping forward and wrapping his arms around Lucas, pulling him into his apartment and holding him against the door.

“Please don’t be mad.” Lucas’ voice comes out muffled against Eliott’s chest.

“I’m not mad. The truth is I’d rather be annoyed by you than not have you at all. I want to know when you’re in pain and why. And you were, I could see it and it hurt to know you were fighting something on your own. I am so sorry, Lucas.”

“You have nothing to apologise for.”

“Remember what I told you, yeah? You are not alone.”

Lucas’ heart clenches at those words. How does Eliott think of and say things like that, so sincere like it is effortless, like it costs him nothing but the air he breathes to say them.

He pulls back from Eliott, head tilted up against the door. “You need to stop that.”

“Stop what?” Eliott cups Lucas’ face

“Saying those romantic things.”

“And you need to know that you have nothing,” He says fiercely. “To be ashamed about. You are not what happened to you. You are magnificent, and I can’t believe how lucky I am that you choose to be with me.”

“I love you.” The words slip out, Lucas widens his eyes and Eliott is laughing at Lucas’ brazenness. Simultaneously, his eyes shift and brighten, as if Lucas’ confession has changed the very colour of Eliott’s eyes, as if those three words have changed him.

A kiss, soft and tender. ”Not as much as I love you.”

Another kiss just as tender and slow, torturously slow. “Yeah, yeah. Now carry me to your bed, please.”

They stumble there, stripping off their clothes as much as they can while kissing and touching each other. As soon as Lucas hits Eliott’s bed though he is enraptured by the softness of his duvet and pillow and he sighs contentedly.

Eliott looks up from where he was kissing down Lucas’ chest and lets out a disbelievingly laugh when he sees Lucas snuggling into his pillows. He crawls up Lucas’ body until he is caging him in and looking directly down at him. Eliott, straddling Lucas’ hips now, plants a hard, searing kiss on his lips which Lucas is all too happy to reciprocate, clutching Eliott at the hips.

“You are ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously into you.” Lucas winks.

Eliott rolls over, laying his head on Lucas’ chest. “You’re tired.”

“Yeah…Your bed…Morning sex, instead?”

“Sure.”

From his position on Lucas’ chest, Eliott caresses Lucas’ lower stomach, running his fingers lightly over the skin, raising goose bumps in their wake.

Je t’aime.

Moi aussi.

#elu fic #elu #skam france #eliott demaury #lucas lallemant #mine #go ahead and watch my heart burn

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popscenery · 4 years

Audio

tUnE-yArDs, »Bizness«

by Garry McKenzie

My 2010s were an inverted bell-curve, musically speaking.

I started with a couple of years on radio, but it soon became apparent the imminent increasing of my brood would put pay to that. The middle years were spent vocalising songs to help rock bub to sleep (Joe Strummer’s X-Ray Style was a favourite), followed by the Wiggles, Georgie Parker, Sharky and Bones (aka Captain Bogg and Salty), and deliberately subverting the lyrics of nursery rhymes to howls of indignation from my discerning audience. (“He called for his pipe and he called for his bowl and he threw them out the window…” “Dad! Don’t!”)

Hobbies reverted to those whose enjoyment could not be ruined by crying, a strident demand or that stream-of-conscious monologuing only primary school-aged kids maintain enthusiastically and endlessly. For sanity I retreated to older favourites for my daily commute. So, short of the ubiquitous big, big hits and the odd Pop World Cup, I felt cut off from contemporary music for the first time, more or less, since I received Smash Hits ’87 for Christmas.

It was not until this year, with kids now too busy for Dad, that I could I deliberately listen to as much unheard music as I could. This was partly to help me recover my passion, and partly to finally vote in Freaky Trigger’s end of year poll with a vague sense of authority. Small steps and all.

So how to pick a track from this decade. Would it be from two years of engagement at the start of the decade? The theme-tune to Abney and Teal? A new passion from this year? The ubiquitous big, big songs don’t need my support.

In a decade where most of my favourite moments were non-musical, I’ve chosen a track which stayed with me throughout, surfacing when I was down to raise me back up. Something from the clutch of early decade tunes which made it onto that commuting playlist otherwise dominated by music from the previous 30 years.

Those two radio years were spent cruising MP3 blogs and websites like Negrophic and the dearly departed Dutty Artz, feeling hot and cold about Pitchfork and still buying the odd edition of Wire magazine, especially if there was a cover disk. I had a radio show to feed, but my CD buying days were now nappy buying days.

Somehow, in this milieu, I heard tUnE-yArDs’ Bizness. It hit all my musical sensibilities of the time. Clattery percussion loops? Great! Snappy brass solo? Brilliant! Idiosyncratic vocals? Loved them! Plus a great clip as a bonus. I became hooked. But my mind was too busy to wonder why I loved it.

Not that I really needed to. Such thinking doesn't always help.

Now I can see why loving Bizness made sense. It wasn’t a conscious decision, but the song linked in with the music I was thinking a lot about about at the time.

Adapting to parenthood and the accompanying loss of identity, I’d spend part of 2010 compiling a list of my favourite tracks of the Noughties. Those ten years had been time half spent on an earlier radio stint in rural climes, before relocation to the big city, where I ended up doing midnight to dawns with just me and the rats down the corridor for company. It was my first full decade of adulting, but the music was still there every day.

Number one on my Noughties list was Yo La Tengo’s version of Nuclear War, especially the jazz version. Despite being seven years old, it was still in my mind in 2010. Clattery percussion? Check. Snappy brass? Ah huh! Idiosyncratic vocals? Definitely, especially Georgia.

When Bizness dropped, it pushed the same buttons (though not that button) Yo La Tengo did. But there was something else going on as well. Loops added and subtracted, building up to euphoria, then falling away to a pause before a final burst.

tUnE-yArDs’ Merrill Garbus is two years younger than me. We are from the electronic looping generation. I’ve only read a few interviews with Garbus, and none recently, so I am not well versed in her influences, but we were the generation when the synthesiser and sampler grew to prominence, and as children we heard them.

They were used in advertising jingles. They were in TV show and movie themes. Axel F. Jean-Michel Jarre. It was the sound of space music. Surely we’d be living on a neon-tinged moon soon.

We may have been too young for the earliest Detriot House and early hip-hop, but those infected the pop music and electronica of the late 80s and early 90s. I got to uni as the 90s electronic scene was still at a height, before (I felt) it disappeared up its own fundaments with microhouse and glitch. Drum n Bass and ambient and ‘90s house. Even Kraftwerk were redoing their back-catalogue. Loops layered, building to euphoria, then falling away to a pause, or a suspended drone, holding the tension.

In 2010 I also compiled a belated list of my favourite tracks of the ‘90s. Number one on that list was the ultimate in loopy addition and subtraction, the euphoria-building, mid-song pausing of LA Synthesis’ Agrophobia.

Multiplying Nuclear War and Acrophobia together sound-wise does not produce Bizness. But philosophically it does. Real instruments with an African-tinged rhythms layered using the same tension and release tricks of 90s electronica. In a post-everything musical world afforded by foot-controlled samplers, a brilliant artist produced Bizness. It was a child of the music of Garbus’ and my life-times but also fresh and vibrant thanks to a fine ear and vocal dexterity.

Bizness stuck with me though another child, a more cluttered life, an increasingly sludgier head, pirate shanties, Big Red Cars and the possessions of every nursery rhyme character being thrown out the windows, the window, the second storey windows… (“Dad! That’s not how it goes…”)

My decade, musically, might have been a muddle for the best of reasons, but Bizness cut a line straight through it all.

#songs of the decade #bizness #tune-yards

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metaphorical-love-for-a-car · 5 years

Text

Written In The Stars-- Brian May x Reader (3)

Part One, Part Two

Summary; An astrophysics student had the bright idea to form a band. He always had a passion for music and wanted to share that very same passion with others. Brian put up flyers on notice boards around campus, hoping that he could find other students to join him. After a couple of rather unsuccessful auditions, Brian found himself in a pub, during open mic night no less. That’s when he stumbled across you, a bartender who could play the piano. (Based on the movie A Star Is Born)

Warnings; specified fem! reader, some language

Word Count; 1.8k

Notes; enjoy!! tag list spots are still open :3

The four of you were ecstatic about recording, but, much to your dismay, the album never really took off. Sure, Smile gained some fans, and you were able to make some money, but it wasn’t as big of a success as you were hoping it would be. You were, however, able to move into a slightly bigger flat and invest in a nice keyboard.

Even if the four of you weren’t meant to be famous, it was still nice getting to perform and hang out with them. You and Roger would relentlessly tease each other, and you would often pull Tim into the mix. There was no doubt that the three of you had an unmeasurable amount of sass. Brian would shake his head and every so often interject his own smartass comment. Roger had his constant flings, Brian started dating a girl named Chrissie, Tim would go out every once in a while, but you never really settled down for anyone. There just wasn’t anyone who interested you. You were perfectly happy with the way things were. Just you and your boys making music, with random shifts at the pub thrown in.

You saw it coming. Tim had been acting stranger than usual. His temper was short, and he would leave rehearsals as early as possible. It wasn’t a big shock to you when he finally quit, joining a folk-rock band called Humpy Bong. Brian was devastated, and Roger acted like he didn’t care. But you could tell his blood was boiling. Luckily, the band didn’t exactly fall apart. It transformed. Freddie Bulsara came into the mix, and John Deacon joined not too long after. To further the transformation, Freddie suggested that the band’s name should change from Smile to Queen. Brian and Roger bickered about it until you finally threw your hands up and shouted, “To hell with it! What’ve we got to lose?” They were still skeptical but finally agreed. The band was doing well and had gained quite a following after releasing an album. The five of you were over the moon when John Reid, of all people, said he wanted to manage the band.

You were calling Brian to ask him a question about an upcoming rehearsal. He was your first go to, then John would be the next. They were the two most likely to know what was going on. Not to say that Freddie and Roger weren’t in the know, but... well... they were Freddie and Roger. When Brian answered, you heard a couple of sniffles before a slurred, “Hello?” Your brows knitted together.

“Brian, are you alright?” He mumbled a response, but you couldn’t catch what he said. You glanced at your watch. It wasn’t even five o’clock yet. “Are you drunk? This early in the evening?”

“Uh-- well--” He was cut off by the sound of glass shattering. “FUck.” You ran a hand through your hair and sighed.

“That’s it. I’m coming over.” You ended the call before Brian could get a chance to object.

The door was unlocked, so you just let yourself in. Your eyes widened at the scene before you. Brian was laying on the floor like a starfish. One hand clutched a near-empty bottle of scotch, while the other was slightly bloody. You assumed it was from where he had tried to clean up whatever he had broken earlier. You carefully stepped closer to get a better look at him. Brian was staring blankly at the ceiling, and his eyes were blood-shot. You could see the tear tracks across his cheeks. “Brian, what the hell is going on here?” You grimaced when he flinched. It came out a bit harsher than you had meant for it to be. You sighed, kneeling down beside him. “Come on, let’s sit you up.” You wrapped your arms around him and hoisted him up into a sitting position, propping him against the couch. Brian refused to meet your gaze. He looked ashamed. “What’s wrong?” He went to take another swig, but you tore the bottle from his grasp. “You’ve had enough of that. Now, please just talk to me. I want to help.”

“I quit.” His statement took you off guard, and you jerked back. “Not the band. University. I dropped out of uni, so I could spend more time working on our music.” You sucked in a breath, knowing where this was going.

“What did your parents say?”

“That I’m a bloody disgrace. That music isn’t worth quitting school for. That I’m not going to be able to sustain myself. That I’m a fucking failure. That--”

“Brian.” He finally looked at you, his eyes brimming with tears. “Did they really say that to you?”

“No,” he mumbled, “but they were thinking it. ‘specialy my dad.” You gave him a soft smile, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“As big as your brain is, I don’t think you’re telepathic. I’m sure they don’t think all those things. They were just shocked and need time to adjust. They’ll come around.” Brian sniffled, wiping his nose with his sleeve.

“You think so?” You nodded before going into the kitchen to get him a glass of water and some bandages for his hand. When you returned, he was still in the same spot. You handed him the glass and started bandaging the cuts on his hand, but he just stared off into space.

“Something else on your mind?” He swallowed, and you could tell that the gears in his mind were turning.

“Chrissie broke up with me.”

“What?” You were shocked. The two seemed to get along so well. They were practically joined at the hip. Brian nodded slowly, avoiding your gaze again. “What happened? You two were adorable together.” He just shrugged, muttering something as he sipped on the water you had brought him. You continued to stare at him until he finally angled his head to look at you.

“She told me that I’m in love with someone else and that I should sort out my priorities.” You pursed your lips. Brian only had eyes for Chrissie. He told you that himself. The two of you were good friends. Surely, he would’ve told you if there was someone else in his life. You sighed before standing up.

“Come on. You’re drunk out of your mind. You need to sleep it off.” You held out a hand. Brian grabbed it, and you helped him get to his feet. He swore when he started to stumble, but you kept an arm around him to keep him steady. You were helping him walk to his room when he doubled over, vomiting. “For fuck's sake,” you muttered under your breath. Brian apologized multiple times as you continued to usher him into his room. He finally plopped down on the bed, burying his face into the pillows. You started to walk out, but he grabbed your wrist.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, (Y/N). I’ve ruined your night, haven’t I? God, I’m acting worse than Roger.” You scoffed, patting his arm. He was crying again.

“Brian, it's fine. This is what friends do. We take care of each other, especially when you’re drunk. Right?” He was quiet for a moment, then his grip loosened.

“You’re right... but will you stay? I don’t... I don’t exactly want to be alone right now.” You nodded, carefully removing his hand from your wrist.

“Yeah, I can stay. I’ll be on the couch if you need me.” You gave him a soft smile, and he returned the gesture.

“Thank you, for everything.”

“Whatever you say, Mr. Music Man. Get some sleep. You’ll have a killer hangover tomorrow.”

Brian woke up the next morning with a massive migraine, but there was something else. His brows furrowed together as he tried to put his finger on it. Then it hit him. He wasn’t alone. There was someone else in his apartment, and whoever it was... was cooking breakfast? His mind raced, trying to remember what happened the night before. Brian remembered why he wanted to get drunk. He remembered you called him and then he dropped the glass. After that? Not a clue.

He pulled himself from the bed with a groan. His head was killing him, and his mouth felt like a desert. Brian padded out of the bedroom and froze. There you were, in his kitchen, cooking pancakes. You hummed a tune that was unfamiliar to him, and you were certainly a sight for his sore eyes. He walked over to the small dining table, pulling out a chair for himself. You turned around upon hearing the chair scrape across the floor. You bit your lip to keep yourself from laughing. “You look like shit.” His curly hair resembled a rat’s nest, and his eyes were still blood-shot. Brian groaned, laying his head on the cool table.

“Good morning to you too,” he grumbled. You laughed, unable to contain it any longer. Brian’s lips twitched upward for a moment before returning to a grimace, his headache continuing to rage on. You placed a cup of tea and some painkillers in front of him.

“You hungry?”

“Starving.” As if to solidify his response, his stomach growled, causing you to laugh again. Brian gratefully took the painkillers, washing them down with the warm tea. He hummed when you placed a plate of pancakes and eggs on the table.

“You know, you should really work on stocking your kitchen. All you had was some shitty cereal and sandwich stuff. You’re lucky I had everything in my kitchen or else you’d be having corn flakes.” Brian thanked you and started digging in. You snorted, shaking your head. “You were absolutely shitfaced. I’d be surprised if you remember anything.” The fact that he didn’t meet your gaze told you everything you needed to know. You couldn’t help the small smirk that started forming across your lips.

“I’ll have to call the boys, tell them I can’t make it to rehearsals today.” You shook your head.

“Already took care of it.” Brian raised a brow at you. “Let’s be honest, they would somehow figure out how you were off your rocker last night and never let you hear the end of it. So, I took the heat for you.” He looked even more confused. You rolled your eyes playfully. “Told them that I forgot I had a gynecologist appointment. Now, I doubt they’ll even mention the missed rehearsal.” Brian’s face reddened as he nodded.

“You-- uh-- really thought that out,” he commented after clearing his throat.

“Hey, being a woman has its perks. I’ve got lots of bullshit excuses up my sleeve.”

Tag List: @mothermercuryy @fatbottomedboi @geek-and-proud @intrrverted @catsoo12

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misterbrianmay · 5 years

Text

Brian May - A Nice Vacation

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex (stay safe, kids)

A/N: 1.8k words | this is just a load of smut after some fluff and also the best wordplay in the title I could come up with - enjoy!

In all your twenty-five years of living you had never been outside of London. As a child your parents never had much money and once you had reached adulthood you had enrolled in university and all your money was needed to pay off the bills.

When you had first met Brian, back when he was still in Uni himself, the two of you used to spent ours planning out future vacations together. You really wanted to go to Spain or Italy or Greece - somewhere warmer than old rainy England. Brian fantasized about going to Arizona, California or Hawaii - home of three of America’s most famous observatories.

Once Queen had been formed and they started to gain more and more recognition your dreams were within reach, and when Brian came back from their famous tour in Japan all he could talk about was how he would take you there and show you everything he’d been fascinated by someday.

While traveling to Asia still seemed too far out for you Brian had given you something equally exciting for your anniversary that same year - two tickets to Nice, France. Ten days, warm weather, just you and him. You had jumped with joy when he’d given them to you and now, only one week later, you were sitting next to him on the small airplane in an equally excited manner.

You had never been on a plane before and Brian couldn’t help but giggle at your childlike enthusiasm. When you pointed at all the houses and streets below you right after the start he listened to every bit of your rambling, when you felt the pressure in your ears built up he handed you a piece of gum and when nervousness overtook you right before the landing he held your hand tightly and pressed soft kisses to your knuckles.

Brian had taken care of everything: a driver to pick you up from the airport, a penthouse suite in a hotel right at the beach and a cooled bottle of champagne already in the middle of your room.

Once you had sat down your suitcases your boyfriend wrapped his arms around your body and engulfed you in a big hug.

“Everything to your liking, Ms Y/L/N?“, he whispered into your ear.

“It’s perfect, Bri“, you sighed, “absolutely perfect, stunning, beautiful…this room is just“, you gestured around with the hand that wasn’t holding his arm, “it’s the most amazing room I’ve ever been in. I love it!“

“I’m glad, love. I have to make sure your first vacation ever is going to be memorable, you know.“

“It’s already memorable because I am spending it with you, Brian. I don’t want you to think you have to spend a huge amount on me - this vacation would be memorable even if we were in a dump below a bridge somewhere in the middle of nowhere. All that matters is that we’re taking it together, alright?“

“Alright, alright“, he smirked, “but you’re still the love of my life, and that’s why I am going to spoil you whether you like it or not.“

You rolled your eyes and tried to seem annoyed, but on the inside your heart was swelling at his words. The love of his life, you repeated to yourself.

That evening he took you to a beautiful small restaurant where you sat outside enjoying the quiet evening atmosphere. Your hands were constantly locked over the candlelit table and you lost yourself in his deep brown eyes ever so often. His curls illuminated his face like a brown halo, his smile prominent on his face when he told you what he had planned for the next nine days. As hard as you tried you weren’t really able to listen, all your thoughts lost in the sensation of feeling this new kind of freedom for the first time.

Once you had finished your dinner the two of you decided to take a walk along the beach. The sand was warm under the soles of your bare feet and the sensation more than welcome. Even though you had been to the sea before the water in Nice felt a thousand times better than the one back in Britain had and therefore you didn’t even feel a single ounce of regret when you bent down to splash a load onto Brian. He jumped slightly and simply looked at you for a few seconds before springing into action, copying your movements and splashing wave after wave onto you. After only a few minutes of running around in the ocean and playing around like children you were both completely soaked, and you finally held your hands up in mock surrender.

“That’s it, Bri. I give up, you win. But can I just say…“, small bits of laughter started escaping your mouth, “your hair…looks absolutely…wild right now…and I don’t mean the rockstar kind.“

By now you were full on laughing in the middle of the beach, hands propped on your upper thighs and shoulders shaking. His hair was completely wet, his curls no longer standing up into different directions but rather hanging down straight. It was weird seeing him like this - but god it was also hilarious.

“Oh, so you think that’s funny?“, he asked, one eyebrow raised, “I can show you something that’s even funnier!“, with a few quick strides he was standing right in front of you, lifting you up and pretending he was going to go drop you into the sea.

You let out a loud shriek and began to flail your arms, still laughing madly. Brian was now laughing too, and when he couldn’t hold you up any longer he let you down again. As soon as your feet touched the ground you wrapped your arms around his neck at stepped onto your toes to kiss him. Feeling his lips on yours sent a spark through your body and suddenly a strong urge overwhelmed you.

“Bri?“

“Hm?“, he mumbled, eyes still closed from the kiss.

“Let’s go back to the hotel, alright?“, you suggested, looking him deeply into the eyes and hoping he would get the hint.

“Y-Yeah“, he panted, “let’s go.“

You had never seen him walk so quickly and it amused you to no end.

Once you had finally reached your room he pulled off his already unbuttoned shirt while you made sure to lock the door. He pressed you against the hard wood as soon as you turned around and steadied you with his hands underneath your ass. You moaned into his mouth and grabbed his hair, which had begun to dry already. He started pulling your light summer dress over your head, leaving you in only a bra and panties, and started sucking bruises to your neck. God, how you loved this man.

Your mouth dropped open when you felt his semi poke into your center, both of you clearly searching each other’s friction.

“Bed?“, he husked.

“Bed!“, you nodded.

He carried you over and laid you down carefully, propping himself up on his arms. You let your hands roam over his upper body, feeling the shivers spread over his chest. When you reached his trousers you unzipped them and with a little help from your boyfriend they were soon discarded to the floor. His bulge was prominent through his boxer briefs and you ran your hand over it teasingly.

“Y/N“, he moaned, “no teasing, please love. I-I just need you right now…“

“I need you too, Brian“, you whispered back and pulled the briefs down.

His erection sprung free and you wrapped one of your hands around it immediately, stroking it firmly. He involuntarily bucked his hips forward at the contact and you took that as an invitation to get rid of your last piece of clothing as well. Now both completely naked you were buzzing with anticipation, his fingers gently wrapping around one of your nipples and sucking on the other lightly. You were already more than ready and you could see that he was too, so instead of wasting any more time you turned him around so that you were on top of him. Surprise was evident on his face when you lowered yourself without another word. He started to groan as soon as his tip entered you and didn’t stop until you were fully seated. His length filled you completely - the sensation of your wet heat completely engulfing him drove him mad as well and he leaned his head back in pleasure.

When you started moving you made sure the rhythm was pleasant for both of you, this position wasn’t unfamiliar but you also didn’t do it often. Now that you thought about it, why the hell didn’t you do this more often? His fingers reached up to toy with your clit at the same time you found the perfect angle at which he hit your g-spot. You practically screamed his name and white spots blurred your vision - you were almost there already. One of your hands found its way to his chest and you nudged him to open his eyes, still swirling your hips.

“Are you close, Bri?“, you whimpered, desperate for your release.

“Yes, yes so close. So fucking close, Y/N!“

Brian was no man who swore often, but when he did it turned you on immensely. As soon as you had heard the word you clenched your inner walls, which prompted him to thrust into you even harder. After he bottomed out one more time you couldn’t keep it anymore - you let your orgasm take control.

Waves of ecstasy flooded over you, the inner movements of your release pushing him over the edge as well. You felt him spill inside of you, rope after rope of semen shooting out. The sensation was so intimate that it would’ve made you cry from happiness if you weren’t so busy screaming out your lover’s name and scratching nail marks onto his torso. He shouted your name too, and his hands clutched onto your hips so tightly you were sure they would leave bruises. Not that you were complaining of course, you loved having his marks all over your body.

When you couldn’t hold yourself upright anymore you let yourself fall onto his chest, positively exhausted. He pulled out of you and you could feel his cum dripping down your thighs, but you couldn’t be bothered to wipe it away right now. You laid your head onto his chest and felt it rise and sink with his soft breathing.

“Are you alright, love?“, he breathed out, sounding just as spent as you felt.

“I am“, you whispered while pressing soft pecks to his sweaty skin.

“Let me get you a wipe“, he motioned to stand up but you held him down firmly and pulled the blanket over the two of you instead.

“No…I like it“, you admitted, “makes me feel…claimed. By you.“

Goosebumps rose on his skin at the thought and he happily accepted your answer.

“I love you more than everyone else, you know that?“

“I do. And I love you just as much.“

“Get some sleep, love“, he grinned tiredly, “you have a long day ahead of you tomorrow…“

You happily complied.

#queen band #queen band fanfic #queen band imagine #queen x reader #bohemian rhapsody #bohemian rhapsody fanfic #bohemian rhapsody imagine #bohemian rhapsody x reader #brian may #brian may fanfic #brian may imagine #brian may x reader #gwilym lee #gwilym lee fanfic #gwilym lee imagine #gwilym lee x reader #y/n #reader insert #lin writes

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faveficarchive · 5 years

Text

Ways to Be Wicked

Part 2 of Vivian Darkbloom’s White Trash series

By Vivian Darkbloom

Pairing: Xena/Gabrielle

Rating: Mature

Synopsis: Callie finds the Lord, Zina’s past comes back to harass her, and Gabrielle is there for love and support (and burgers).

I never claimed to be your savior. I said I had a dirty mouth. —Garbage, "Dumb"

The trailer formerly known as Zina's sat contentedly on its concrete foundations, sporting a new paint job on its exterior—a blazing red to dazzle and blind the hapless occupants of the trailer park, to let them know that the reticent firefighter who once lived there—and who had quite successfully entertained a string of blondes, one after another, stray housewives on "vacation," waitresses, recent fire victims, high school cheerleaders, the manager of the local Uni-Mart, and finally the factory girl-cum-poet who stole her heart—was no longer the mistress of said dwelling.

Its lone tenant sat inside the fire-red mobile home twirling locks of her white-blonde hair and watched, for the twelfth time in twenty minutes, a little Chihuahua mouth the words "Yo quiero Taco Bell." She gritted her teeth and her flat tummy rumbled. Once again the baseball bat of commercialism had smashed against the addled brow of another complicit, blissfully unaware TV viewer. With a growl she jumped up, snatched the keys to her Camaro off the table, and went off into the night.

An hour later she sat stuffed with the bounty of Taco Bell, and her mind, always chattering, chattering, chattering…well, finally the synapses gave out and she fell asleep.

And she dreamed. A voice, disembodied, spoke to her. Callie, it whispered fervently. Listen. She tossed her head about, hoping to shake the annoying voice. "No, stop," she moaned in her sleep.

Callie! Don't resist me, my child! Who was that? It sounded like…

Callie, you must change your life. Zina has shown you forgiveness, you can show her the same…you must release the rage in your soul, you must purify yourself again.

It was…Charlton Heston! Wasn't he the old guy who played Moses in that movie? And he was speaking to her—the foggy image grew clearer—through the Taco Bell Chihuahua.

You must give yourself over to the Lord, Callie. Let Jesus Christ into your heart.

"No!" she cried aloud again. Silence. She was grateful, and started to drift into a deeper level of unconsciousness…then…

Why not? the voice demanded petulantly.

"I'm not worthy, I'm not worthy!" she wailed.

Ah, but you are, my child. You are worth saving. That's why I'm here. You have the fire within you, Callie.

"I do, I do!"

You must accept Jesus as your own personal savior. And you must go forth into the world and spread my word, for I am the light and the way to salvation. Do you know what to do now?

"I do, I do!"

Callie woke up. Aside from the massive, almost crippling pain in her stomach, she felt great. She rose from her bed, ran to the door and flung it open. A breeze blew back her hair, and the moon glowed.

"Lord, I hear you!" she screamed into the night. "I shall do as you say! From this moment I am born again!!!"

The crickets cackled their approval. The stars twinkled benignly. And a lone male voice, from two trailers away, shouted, "Shut up, you crazy bitch!"

***

Gabrielle laid on the couch and read aloud from the book she held: " 'I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness…' " She paused and closed her eyes. "Oh, wow…you were so right about this…the more I read it, the clearer and clearer it becomes…" she said to her companion, as she clutched the thin paperback of Howl to her chest.

Cyrene, sitting on the floor, leaned over and handed the joint to Gabrielle, their second one of the day. "See, honey, I told you…you just needed to relax and let your mind open up…" she waved her hands around, and her jewelry chink-ed in affirmation.

"Yeah…" Gabrielle sucked on the joint with a hiss. "When they assigned this to us in class, I just thought it was a bunch of bullshit written by some crazy hippie…uh, no offense, Cyrene."

"None taken, honey." She took the cigarette back from Gabrielle. "Cause you know something?" She took a hit.

"Hmmm?"

"It is a bunch of bullshit written by some crazy hippie!"

They dissolved into giggles, which turned into hysterical laughter once Gabrielle looked at the back cover photo of Allen Ginsburg again.

"Did you know—he was gay?" Cyrene informed Gabrielle, pointing at the photo.

"Really? Wow!" Gabrielle was still at the stage of her young life when one is continually astonished to learn that others in the wide world share one's inclinations.

"The 60s were a great time, Gabrielle." Here she goes again, Gabrielle thought. "Like, you could be gay and no one would care. No labels, man. You could experiment with sex and no one would care…I mean, I am not ashamed to say I had an encounter with another woman." She placed her hand over her heart to signify her sincerity.

"You did, Cyrene?" Gabrielle was impressed.

"Yeah. It was after I broke up with the drummer of Strawberry Alarm Clock. Man, that was a bad scene. Anyway, I kinda didn't want to deal with guys for a while, so I got involved with a chick. It was a beautiful, healing experience."

Gabrielle had ingested enough talk show fodder over the course of many years to know that "beautiful healing experiences" were usually pretty boring ones you could do without. Nonetheless she nodded solemnly at Cyrene. Then she heard a faint rumble. At first she thought it was her stomach. Man, I just ate two burritos half an hour ago….Then the sound grew louder, and more distinct. It was Zina's Harley. She sat bolt upright. "Shit! Zina's home!"

"Damn!" Cyrene crushed the lit end of the joint against the floor using her beer can. Then, in a panicky fit, she used the copy of Howl to brush the roach and all the ashes under the couch.

"Get the Lysol!" Gabrielle cried as she ran to the window. She and Cyrene had been sitting upstairs in her "study." She hoped that if she opened the window it would fumigate the room before Zina's hypersensitive nostrils could detect any aroma.

She flung open the window and looked down. She yelped again. The one flaw in her plan was that the room overlooked the front of the farm house; in fact, it was directly under where Zina usually parked her bike. The noise of the opened window caused her firefighter girlfriend to look up at her in surprise.

"Hi honey!" Gabrielle shouted, at a loss.

"Hey," Zina called up with a smile. She climbed off the Harley. "Anything wrong?"

"No! Nothing! Not at all."

"Why'd ya open the window?" It was cold out.

"I just wanted to say hi to you, baby!"

"You coulda done that inside." Zina was strangely logical at the oddest times.

"I know but, baby, I just love you so much I couldn't wait!" Gabrielle heard Cyrene behind her, her jewelry making the middle-aged woman sound like the percussion section of a Hare Krishna contingent as she waved around the hissing can of Lysol.

"Uh huh," Zina grunted skeptically. Carrying her fire helmet, she headed for the front door. Probably smoking reefer with Mom again, she thought, casting a look at Cyrene's powder-blue Volkswagen bug. As she entered the house she saw Gabrielle coming down the stairs with Cyrene. The little blonde ran right at her and jumped into her arms, smothering her lips with a kiss. The fire helmet dropped to the floor with a clang.

"Man, the honeymoon is never over with you two!" Cyrene said. It had been almost eight months since they had moved in together, six since they had been living at the farmhouse at Effie's behest; Effie, her new paramour, Hank, and her band, the Amazons, were all in Memphis, recording a new rockabilly album.

"How was your day, stud? Want some chicken pot pie?" Gabrielle cooed.

"Yes, please. Let me help you…" Zina carried Gabrielle into the kitchen. Cyrene shook her head. "Crazy kids," she muttered, then dashed upstairs to retrieve the roach she left under the couch.

***

Callie careened down Chakram Creek Road in her Camaro. She sang loudly with the radio: "I fell down, down, down into a burning ring of fire…down, down, down and the flames, they ran higher…and it BURNED BURNED BURNED, this burning ring of fire…" She was on her way to see the one person she was certain could help her in her mission to serve the Lord and save Zina. She had to save Zina, she realized, for the woman, corrupt as hellfire as she was, started her on her Journey to Jesus by giving her a home to live in.

She pulled into the parking lot of the Morpheus Mini-Mall, a desolate little stretch of under-utilized stores and buildings. There was a liquor store, a video store with a yellowed poster of "Ernest Goes to Jail" in the window, a frozen yogurt shop, a fabric store, and, near the end of the complex, a plain white sign on a door, which read "Ares Ministries, Inc."

Callie, of course, expected him to be alone, and he was. Artie, Zina's former friend, ex-sometimes-boyfriend, and maybe sorta either her first cousin or half-brother (Cyrene wasn't talking), sat at a desk in his fake-wood-paneled office reading "Guns and Ammo." He wore a scratchy looking light gray suit he bought at K-Mart for $29.95, and his green and brown knit tie was loosened at his throat. When Callie entered he looked up at her in utter shock, and, disbelieving, ran his hand through his long dark hair and then stroked his goatee. "Callie," he murmured.

"Artie." They stared at each other.

"I can't say I'm surprised to see you here. I always knew you'd find your way to me and the Lord."

Callie blinked. "Really?" She wanted to believe, oh so much…

He nodded solemnly. "My prayers have been answered, Callie. You are here, and I know why. "

"You do?" Callie said impatiently.

"Yes!" he stated firmly. He tried not to look too closely at the cutoff shorts she wore…even in February. He hoped she wasn't here to borrow money again, but he had a feeling, this morning, as he prayed…that God would send her to him. "You are ready to serve with me at the head of Christ's Army, Callie."

"I am, Artie! I truly am! I had a vision last night. The Lord spoke to me, and—"

"—and what did he sound like?" Artie narrowed his eyes and his voice lowered a register.

"Like…oh, that old dude, what's-his-face....You know, Ben-Hur." Wisely she omitted the part about how He looked.

Artie nodded with approval. He knew then her vision was real. "Go on."

"And God said I must spread the word! And I knew, Artie, I knew you were the only soul to help me. And…God said I must save Zina."

"Zina?" His interest piqued at the mention of his ex-lover's/cousin's/half-sister's name. He cursed himself at the hold this devil still had over him. Zina was his cross to bear, she was a test from the Lord, and sweet baby Jesus she looked divine when she was working out. (Sorry, Lord.) He stroked his goatee again. He knew the incredible guilt Zina felt about Callie, about the house in Cirra. Technically, he had been involved in that whole mess, but Callie didn't need to know that—it would only confuse her and detract from her mission. Besides, he'd paid his debt to his Savior. If Callie could use that guilt against her, she could bring Zina into the fold, and they would lead the Lord's Army of Love together! He could do it, with Zina at his side…the cable show would be revitalized, he'd get another book deal, he might even be asked to be a guest host on the 700 Club.…

He stood up and walked to Callie. Grasping her thin shoulders, he said, "Sister, it shall be done. I shall send you on your first mission. I shall send you to save that poor backslidden soul."

"Praise God, Artie!"

"But first…we go shopping."

***

Callie pulled at the tight collar of her white frilly blouse. She wasn't used to wearing something so close to her neck. But, she thought with a sigh, her body was no longer just something to flaunt, to use mindlessly—no, her body was sacred as a church, and it needed to be covered and protected as such. She adjusted the skirt of the light pink suit that Artie had selected for her at Sears. Drawing a deep breath and clutching the new Bible that he had given her as well, she opened the door of the parked Camaro and walked warily toward the farmhouse, the den of iniquity. How much sin has gone on in this place? she thought righteously, remembering its former occupants. Of course, Zina lived here now with that little tart…Callie's nostrils flared at the mere thought of the slut. She stopped. Then she took a deep, cleansing breath. "In with love, out with anger…" she muttered to herself. Steadying herself once again, she walked toward the farmhouse. I am a pillar of strength, I am filled and blessed with love, I shall be strong in the face of evil…she drew another deep breath and rang the doorbell. The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall…

Zina opened the door. She wore nothing but a sleeveless white under-shirt which clung to her broad shoulders, muscled torso, and perfect breasts; black lycra shorts clung even more ferociously to her firm, luscious thighs. She cradled a barbell in one hand; a sheen of sweat covered her exposed skin, making her entire body glow and glisten. She shook her damp black hair and fixed her luminous blue eyes on Callie.

…want. She maketh me to lie down in black satin sheets, and…stop stop stop!!!

All thoughts of God had flown from Callie's head, except a brief fleeting thanks to the Almighty for making such a magnificent creature.

"Callie?" Zina said, utterly confused at the presence of her arch enemy. "Uh, is somethin' wrong with the trailer?"

"…zugzug…" She tried to speak but could not. But what were these noises? Hey, I'm speaking in tongues! Cool!

Zina looked her over, taking in the suit. "You got a job interview or something?"

Lord, I am fading fast. Help me! Send me a sign!

Zina shifted a little nervously; in doing so, she gripped her barbell tighter, causing a perfect bicep to flex. Her eyebrow twitched.

It was all too much.

"Oh Zina!" Callie cried. She flung her arms around the firefighter's neck and planted a wet kiss on her lips. Her wildly flailing tongue sought to break the barrier of Zina's warm mouth, but alas, her lips were in as good a shape as the rest of her (thanks to Gabrielle), and withstood the onslaught. She placed the tip of the barbell on Callie's chin in an effort to pry away the born-again beast. Callie didn't know how it happened, but before she knew it she was kissing a barbell. She withdrew, sputtering.

"What the hell's gotten into you?" Zina growled.

"Oh Zina," Callie moaned at the memory of those perfect lips on her own, "I have been sent here to save you, my child." She thrust the Bible into the firefighter's face.

Zina was so shocked at the turn of events that her barbell slipped from her sweaty grasp and fell onto Callie's foot, shod in a pair of pumps from Payless.

"Oh Zina!" This time it was a howl of agony.

***

Gabrielle burst through the door of the farmhouse, expertly carrying a pizza, a six-pack, two bags of Doritos, a two-liter bottle of 7-UP, and a pint of Ben & Jerry's Chunky Monkey...with most of said items balanced on top of the pizza. "Honey, I'm home!!" she bellowed. She heard the radio from upstairs, and figured Zina was in her weight room, working out. Her assumption grew even stronger when she tripped over the barbell near the door and sent the precariously balanced food sailing merrily off the top of the pizza as she fell to the floor. She landed on her stomach, the weight of her backpack pinning her down (why did I have to take Fat Novel 101 this semester?). However, she managed to keep the pizza upright. Turning, she glared at the offending object and shouted, "Goddammit Zina, I told you not to leave your weights lying around down here!" Last week she had stubbed her toe on a hand weight that had been on the kitchen floor, for Christ's sake.

The guilty party sauntered down the steps. "Hiya, baby. Sorry 'bout that." Zina proceeded to pick up the scattered groceries. "How was school?"

"Uh…good." Zina noticed that Gabrielle hadn't moved; she laid there on the carpet, staring into space.

"Didja hurt yourself?" she asked, padding over to Gabrielle.

"Zina?" The tone was icy. It was that tone Gabrielle used when she was either really pissed or PMSing big time.

The firefighter gulped. "Uh, yeah, baby, what is it?"

"Why is there lipstick on your barbell?"

***

"Arise from your numb existence, readers. Awash yourself in Christ's beautiful and healing waters, awake in forgetfulness of the sins of the past. For the chariots of war are upon us, Satan's deceptive dreamworkers will rob you of your cradle of hope. Together, we shall embark on a quest for our destiny, to repay a debt and to sacrifice our wrongdoings for the greater good."

—Rev. Callie de Ash, from her book I Didn't Find God, But He Sure Did Find Me, p. 25

Callie awoke from her painkiller-induced slumber. Her dreams had been pleasant enough—she dreamt she owned a Porsche and had won the Indy 500, and then she drove through a huge daisy-filled meadow crushing every single daisy and ran over Gabrielle and a bunch of silly bunny rabbits too and grabbed Zina and threw her in the car and…

…then she was fully awake and staring into Artie's faintly disapproving and totally condescending face. The minister sat at the foot of her hospital bed. "You poor child," he sighed. He moved his chair closer to her, and took her hand. "The demon proved too much for you, didn't she?"

Defeated, Callie nodded sadly. Zina's barbell had broken innumerable bones in her foot and then, while she limped to the car (refusing any assistance from Satan's Handmaiden) her heel got tangled in some weeds and she fell, spraining her ankle.

"Callie," Artie clucked, "this is just as much my fault. I never should've sent you to her. She's a powerful one, Zina is. I have no doubt she will be dragged kicking and screaming into salvation. I know you wanted to be the one to bring her to God, but perhaps…" He stroked his chin. "…perhaps I need to try. At any rate I must confront her, after what she did to you." Callie had told him that the sadistic firefighter had jumped up and down on her foot with her shit-stomping boots, and had even trod upon her pristine Bible!

"I reckon you're right, Artie. I was too weak—too tempted by her. Don't believe anything she says, though!"

"Don't worry, child. I am prepared to battle the devil."

***

Cyrene turned off her sputtering Volkswagen. She grabbed the grocery bag, which contained organic yogurt and tofu burgers (she had been much horrified by the spectacle of Zina devouring a Spamburger last week and began anew her campaign to make her daughter a vegetarian). She got out of the car and headed to the house. With some confusion she noticed that the Harley was there but the Escort was not—she was supposed to be "studying" this evening with Gabrielle—in fact, she had brought her best bong, knowing that they would be tackling Modernism and that Gabrielle would need all the help she could get.

She entered the farmhouse and found Zina sulking in front of the TV, watching NASCAR.

"Hey honey," Cyrene called.

Her daughter grunted.

Trouble in paradise, Cyrene thought. "Where's Gabrielle?" she asked gently.

"At Lila's."

"Oh. Will she be back soon?"

"Nope."

"Aw come on, honey, spill it. Did you two have a fight?"

"Yeah."

Cyrene sighed. It was going to be a long night. "I'll be back in a few minutes." She definitely needed to have a few tokes before dealing with this. Patting her macramé purse, she retreated to the bathroom.

***

"I told you your unnatural relationship would fall apart," Lila said. She held a squalling baby—her daughter, named Tiffani Amber.

Gabrielle sat at her kitchen table, arms crossed. "Shaddup," she snarled at her sister.

Lila blew a stand of hair out of her face; shaking her head sadly, she took the baby into the bedroom for her nap.

Purdy, who had moved in with Lila after Gabrielle moved out, stood awkwardly in the kitchen. He had just got home from work to find his former girlfriend sulking in the kitchen with Lila, his current one, who was berating her sister at every turn. He actually felt sorry for Gabrielle—and he even liked Zina once he got to know her. Every time he saw her they had pretty cool conversations about motorcycles. He pulled two cans of Bud out of the fridge and handed one to Gabrielle. "C'mon, Gab, it'll make you feel better."

"Thanks," she said, taking the can from him. She popped it open and took a big gulp. "Purdy, you don't think I'm…weird or unnatural, do you?" Her green eyes begged for understanding, while her upper lip was covered in beer foam.

Was she weird? He had been surprised by it all, but not too—he remembered that when they were dating he made the mistake of looking through her diary and had read a rather detailed and explicit sexual fantasy involving Kate Jackson. He had found it very…interesting, in a stimulating kinda way. No wonder she always rushed home from school to watch Charlie's Angels. "What? Naw, hell no, Gab. It's your life. Not for me to judge. 'Sides," he added shyly, "Zina's pretty cute."

Gabrielle smiled gratefully. "Thanks."

"Wanna go down to the Saddle and get wasted?"

"Sure!"

***

"Trust me, honey, I had two years' worth of EST seminars."

Zina shifted nervously in her chair. Her mother's attempts to help in these significant arenas of her life left much to be desired. She recalled when, at the age of 12, she began menstruating; she had the typical feelings of confusion and ambivalence about it that most teenage girls encountered. Cyrene chose to mark the occasion with what she called a "feminist ritual": When Zina came home from school one day, sanitary napkin chafing, she found their house dark and eerie, lit only with candles, and "White Rabbit" echoing ominously from the stereo. Cyrene, wearing a purple-red muumuu, blathered something about how Zina will drink her own menstrual blood "because Germaine Greer said it's the true test of a woman." Zina didn't know who the fuck Germaine Greer was, but it was all weird enough to make her think her mother was involved in some cult and so she ran screaming from the house, spending the next month living with Artie and his family, until she made her mother swear that (1) she was not in a cult, and (2) she would cut down on the hallucinogens for a while.

So here she was, sitting at the dining room table with Cyrene, who said that her "under-emoting" child needed to get in touch with her feelings and she would be happy to help her do so. She said it would improve her "communication skills" with Gabrielle…whatever that meant…and that she would learn to "take responsibility" for her actions…even though IT WASN'T HER FAULT that Callie went insane and kissed her, it wasn't her fault that Gabrielle didn't understand this and had hit her…unconsciously she touched her cheek. Never had she been so frightened—not even in a crumbling, burning building—than when Gabrielle had pulled out of her knapsack the thickest paperback book Zina had ever seen, stalked over to her, and swung the mighty Modernist tome—Zina barely had the chance to read the name Ulysses—against the side of her head.

Cyrene sat across from her with a paper and pencil. "Now, I want you to tell me all the things you love about Gabrielle. Be as specific as you like."

The firefighter dropped her dark head against her strong forearms, which were propped on the table. Just like she used to do in high school.

What I do love about Gabrielle? Well, she's got a nice smile…her hair is pretty…she smells good…she makes a great chicken pot pie…yum!…I love her abs, the way they ripple when she's about to come…oh, and the meatloaf is pretty awesome…her skin is so soft…and she's a great kisser…and…and…I love how smart she is, how she figures things out so quickly…I love it that she's so kind…so gentle…like how she cried when she heard about baby seals getting clubbed…I love it when I hear her sticking up for herself and screaming "Fuck you!" at that dumbass sister of hers…I even love it when she recites stupid poetry to me that I don't get at all…

"Sure you don't want a little...?" Cyrene mimicked puffing on a joint. "It might help."

"No," Zina snapped. She sighed in frustration. "Aw, fuck, Mom, I love everything about her," she growled reluctantly. She hated getting all mushy.

Cyrene smiled and scribbled something down on the pad..

***

It was almost 3 in the morning. Zina had slept fitfully since midnight, when her mother had left. However, she was in a decidedly deeper state of consciousness when a noise brutally ripped her from a pleasant dream about becoming the first female quarterback for the Broncos:

"SMOKE ON THE WATER! A FIRE IN THE SKY!"

The entire house pulsated to the sound of Deep Purple. She sat upright, eyes bulging. She groped under the bed for her baseball bat, although it was doubtful the intruders were really thieves. Nonetheless, she thought evilly as she hefted the bat, I'm gonna fuckin' kill whoever is down there.

As she bolted out of the bedroom and approached the top of the stairs, she heard a figure treading lightly toward the top, oblivious to her presence. She snapped on the hall light.

Ed looked up at her, John Deere hat backwards and a little askew on his head. More than slightly trashed, he swayed on the steps. "Z!" he cried in greeting. "Hope we didn't wake you."

The long reach of Zina snared his flannel shirt and hauled him up the remaining few steps, until her snarling face was within an inch of his. "What the fuck are you doing here?" she said in her lowest voice.

"Hey, chill out! We brought Gabby home."

"We?"

She released him and he staggered against the steps, almost falling down until she grabbed him again. He giggled. "Me and Purdy. They're downstairs." He regained his balance and she released him tentatively. "But man…I gotta tell ya…I, uh, got into a little trouble with the truck, Z…"

She leaned on the baseball bat as if it were a walking stick and sighed in resignation. "Don't tell me you wrecked it again."

"Well, not exactly…I hit something."

"A deer?"

He shook his head.

"What? Someone's dog? Cat?"

Again, his head responded no.

She was losing patience. "What then, Ed?"

"A cow," he mumbled apologetically.

She grabbed him by the shirt again. "A cow? Is Gabrielle all right?"

He nodded in the affirmative.

"How the hell did you hit a cow?"

"I tried a shortcut," he moaned. "Look Z, I really gotta piss."

She released him again. "Go, then," she growled, giving him a shove toward the bathroom. She stomped downstairs.

She saw Gabrielle's red-gold hair splayed across the arm of the couch. "Gabrielle?" she called gently as she approached.

The young woman was curled up fetally, clutching an empty mason jar which reeked of beer. She was snoring. Zina took the afghan from the back of the couch and tucked it around her sleeping form.

Purdy was standing in front of the stereo playing air guitar when he spotted Zina. "Hey old buddy!" he shouted, stumbling over to her. He was even drunker than Ed. He flung an arm around her. "We brought your woman home!" he said proudly. With a burp.

"That's great, Purdy. Thanks," Zina replied sincerely, while flinching from the smell of the burp.

Suddenly he started to cry and hugged her. "I love you, man!"

"I love you too," she replied, whatever thread of patience she possessed threatening to snap. "Now get the hell out of here."

***

Alas, she had not gotten Ed and Purdy to leave for another hour; she felt obligated to help Ed wipe cow blood and gore off the front of his Ford pickup (apparently his "shortcut" was through Farmer Draco's pasture). There was a huge dent across the front of it, but she checked out everything under the hood and it seemed to be running fine. When Ed was sober enough to drive, she sent the boys on their way.

Gabrielle was still passed out on the couch when she dragged herself off to bed at 4:30. She had considered carrying the girl up to bed, but didn't want to disturb her sleep. And, frankly, she was pretty tired and had to get up for work in less than 3 hours.

Zina hadn't slept for more than 2 hours when she felt something heavy lying across her body. A sickly sweet breeze, smelling like cough medicine (like Jagermeister, she thought later), trickled across her face. Then she felt something warm and wet against her cheek, like a dog licking her.

She opened her eyes. In the fuzzy light of predawn, she made out Gabrielle's grinning face above her. "Pumpkin pie!" Gabrielle burbled happily.

Zina did not know if this was an endearment or a craving.

"Gabrielle?" she mumbled sleepily.

"Baby, I'm really sorry about yesterday…I got so jealous. I didn't want to come home at all, but Ed and Purdy got me too drunk so I couldn't protest much. Then I read what you wrote on the fridge."

"Huh?"

"You know!" Playfully she slapped Zina on the arm. Then Zina remembered: Her mother had posted the results of their "therapeutic session"—the message that "Zina loves everything about Gabrielle"—on the refrigerator with a Coke magnet.

"It's true," Zina said. It was, and didn't matter who wrote it, she figured.

"Ooooh, I love you, stud muffin!"

***

If you want to woo her

You will surely delight her

With a sweet tasting kiss

From a big ol' firefighter!

--"A Fire in the House of Love," performed by Effie and the Amazons. Music by Effie Phantes, lyrics by Gabrielle Hockenberry

The hangover was so atrocious that to even listen to anything on the radio was horrible. Especially Celine Dion. The lung-devouring wails of the woman were like a hang nail being torn across her consciousness. Maybe I kinda understand now why Zina doesn't like her, Gabrielle thought, switching off the radio with one hand and clutching her head with another.

She was sitting in the kitchen, wincing at the bitter taste of the instant coffee, when the doorbell rang. Still cradling her head, she wandered to the door, wearing her Olympus County Community College t-shirt and the baggy plaid boxer shorts she wore around the house.

A handsome man stood at the door, dressed in a dark suit and tie. His long dark hair touched his shoulders and he had a goatee. He was very striking, she thought, and vaguely familiar. Her mind raced and in her excitement the hangover lessened.

"Oh my GOD," she squealed, taking him by surprise, "you're the lead singer from Metallica, aren't you??"

His dark eyes grew wide with horror. "What?" he said.

"You are! Wow, this is SO cool! Are you lost or something? Hey, my girlfriend LOVES Metallica!! Would you autograph something?" Before he could respond she ran into the living room and retrieved one of her notebooks and a pen. "Okay, could you just write something like, 'Zina, you are an awesome chick' and sign it?"

He rolled his eyes. "I am not the lead singer of Metallica!" he growled. "I'm Artie Guerre. An old friend of Zina's..."

Gabrielle's excitement dissipated and was replaced by mistrust. So this was the infamous Artie. "You're Xena's cousin," she stated flatly, green eyes glinting suspiciously, "or is it half-brother?" she added accusingly.

"Nobody's even proven that," he said, shaking a finger into her face. "Where is Zina? I want to talk to her."

"She's at work, duh. D'ya see her cycle anywhere?" Gabrielle waved her arm around.

"Look, young lady, don't you take that tone with me. I am minister," Artie said proudly.

Gabrielle cackled in disbelief.

"You may laugh all you like, Satan's strumpet, but I know the nature of your relationship with our dear Zina is less than pure."

"Pure?" she snorted. "You're a fine one to talk about pure, Artie. You set fire to a house and slept with someone who might be your sister. So don't you lecture me. I love Zina."

"Love her enough to see her go to jail again, missy? 'Cause that's what's gonna happen unless I get to speak with her!" Artie demanded.

"What the hell are you talkin' about?"

"Zina assaulted one of my disciples. Callie."

"Bullshit! The crazy slut assaulted Zina!"

Artie raised one of his black brows. "Really?" asked smoothly. "Well, who do you think a court of law would believe—a follower of God or some dyke with a record?"

***

All Zina knew was that one minute she was looking at a rerun of the Simpsons, and the next she was staring at Gabrielle's midriff. Her little companion, in an effort to get attention, had planted herself in front of the TV. This meant either one of three things:

Gabrielle was horny. (Unlikely, thought the firefighter, scanning the scowl on the young poet's face.)

Gabrielle wanted to have a Sensitive Chat. (Again, that scowl. Nope, she usually gets all puppy-eyed, so that's not it.)

Gabrielle was pissed about something. (Yeah, I think this is the one. Did I leave another weight on a floor somewhere? Tracked mud on the carpet? Did she finally notice the ring of soot I left on the lip of the milk carton the other day?)

Zina was a brave woman, and resigned to her fate. "Okay, what did I do now?" she sighed.

"How come," Gabrielle began slowly, her hands on hips, "everyone you sleep with either dies or goes crazy?"

"Huh?"

"Come on, tell me."

"It's not true…I mean, I slept with Hank, and he's alive and pretty normal, don't you think?"

"Well, he's the exception to the rule, I guess. Although who knows, maybe listening to Effie and the Amazons 24/7 might just push him over the edge."

"...and there was Ed, he's kinda normal..."

Gabrielle blinked in shock. "Ed? You slept with Ed?"

"It was only once, Gabrielle. I just did it to make Hank jealous." She grinned with sheepish pride. "Worked, too."

Gabrielle moaned and shook her head. "I met Artie today, Zina."

"Artie? Where?"

"He came out here looking for you. What a fuckin' nutjob he is."

"No shit, Sherlock. What did he want?"

"He's very pissed about Callie. Went on about how you assaulted her, said he was going to get her to press charges against you…"

Zina threw up her hands (after placing her can of Rolling Rock on the end table) in disbelief. "Fine, let 'em press charges! I didn't do anything wrong!"

"He said he and Callie are willing to let bygones be bygones if you come on his cable access show. He wants you to repent on TV, accept Christ into your heart, and ask for some pledges."

The firefighter's blue eyes grew icy. Which both chilled and thrilled Gabrielle. "I always knew it would come down to this," she muttered.

***

Gabrielle grabbed the ringing phone. "Den of iniquity!" she cried in greeting.

"Jesus H. Christ, you sure are learning big words in school," Effie’s voice responded.

"Effie!!" The squeal reverberated around the house, causing Zina to wince and grind her teeth, and a village of termites to vacate the premises. "How the hell are you! I MISS YOU!!!"

"I’m great, Gab honey. Our new album is coming out next week, with your song on it, of course! Hank loved it."

"Cool. How’re Pony and Sally?"

"Well, they had a rough time of it recently…"

"Uh oh. What happened?"

"Well, uh, promise not to tell anyone…"

"Okay. What?"

"Well, Sally had an affair with Wynonna Judd…"

"No!"

"Yeah! It was wild. But they worked it all out."

"How?" Gabrielle asked, mystified. Pony was not the most reasonable creature on God’s green earth.

"Well, then Pony slept with Wynonna and they decided to call it even."

"Can I tell Zina?"

"Oh sure, what the hell. Can’t quite see Tall, Dark, and Sullen running around telling people."

Gabrielle saw Zina in the kitchen, pulling on her leather jacket. "Eff, I gotta go. I hafta go help Tall, Dark, and Sullen with something…"

"And knowing you two, it’s something in the bedroom. Okay, Gab, I’ll talk to you later."

She hung the phone and ran into the kitchen. "Okay, I’m ready. Let’s go."

Zina gave her a blank stare. "Gabrielle, I don’t want you to come. It might get ugly." She was on her way to meet Artie at Roy Roger’s, in the hopes that they could reach an amicable solution to the Callie problem.

"Oh no, bitch. You’re not leaving me behind. We’re a team, remember? You may need me. And I promised you I’d always support you no matter what." She paused and gazed into her beloved’s deep blue eyes. "I may have been stoned when I said it, but I still meant it."

Zina broke into one of her lovely lop-sided grins. "Okay, baby."

"Besides, I really want a Triggerburger."

***

Artie sat at a table at Roy’s. His tray was littered with the ruins of his dinner. Arms folded, he glared up at Zina and Gabrielle, who were walking toward him. Zina was sucking on a shake, Gabrielle held a tray piled with three burgers and an order of fries.

They sat down across from him.

"You’re late," he growled.

Zina shrugged. Her ravenous small companion ripped the paper wrapper off a burger and started to devour it.

"Dear Lord, what a savage," Artie said condescendingly, looking at Gabrielle’s puffed out cheeks.

"Look Artie, knock off the bullshit. Gabrielle told me what you want. I’m not gonna do it. I’m sorry about Callie’s foot, but it was an accident."

"Hold your tongue, sinner!" Artie raised his hand. "I’ve had just enough of your lies and deception, Zina. You injured a member of my flock. A woman who has turned out to be more valuable to me than I ever could have imagined. I have placed my trust so thoroughly in Callie that I have given over to her the leadership of my ex-gay ministry, Homo Helpers."

***

Callie reached out and gently grasped the shoulders of the young man. "We’ll start out slowly, okay? No nudity at first. I just want you to get an appreciation of the female form."

The young man, terrified, nodded quickly. One minute he had been sitting in the office space of the Gay & Lesbian Student Union at the Olympus County Community College Student Center, then the next thing he knew this crazy chick in a pink suit, with a big cast on her foot, comes in, hits him over the head with a big black Bible, and he passed out. Then he woke up in this strange office with the crazy chick who started babbling to him about being saved, changing his ways, and so on….and he was tied to a chair, the ropes cutting into his thin little torso, clad only in an old Absolutely Fabulous t-shirt. Boy, if I get rope burns on this, Patrick is going to get really suspicious, he fretted.

The crazy blonde, who said her name was Callie, sat on the desk in front of him. She had a stack of photos by her side. "Now don’t be scared…what’s your name again, kid?"

"Chad," he whispered.

"Chad! See, no wonder you’re gay, with a name like that. Okay, Chad, take a deep breath…"

He did.

She held up a photo of Gillian Anderson, wearing a black bra. "Take it all in, Chad. Doin’ anything for ya?"

He stared at the photo.

"Talk to me, Chad. What do you like about her?"

"Uh…that’s a fabulous bra she’s wearing."

"Like to see more, huh?"

"Yeah, like I’d love to see her all in black lingerie. I’m sure it’d be a really kicky outfit. My friend Kevin is majoring in fashion design…"

"No!! Dammit, kid, stop being a fairy and focus on her body! Her face! Whaddya see?"

"They did a good makeup job on her. Her lipstick is perfect. It’s a good shade for her."

"You’re doing this deliberately to drive me crazy, you little brat. Look at her! She’s gorgeous! Look at those knockers! They’re lovely! They’re perfect!" Callie peeked at the photo herself. And became mesmerized. "They’re…oh Lord, they’re divine," she moaned. Defeated once again, she buried her face in her hands.

"Uh…Callie, is it?" Chad ventured gently.

"Yeah, what?"

"Sweetie, I don’t think this is working. Look, it’s Gay Night at Dahak’s Temple. Why don’t we go have a nice drinkie together…"

She looked up.

"Margaritas are half-price," he added hopefully.

***

"Baby, are you okay?" Zina asked anxiously, peering down at Gabrielle. At the mention of the Homo Helpers the little poet had laughed so hard that she spat half-eaten burger all over Artie’s best suit (from Sears) and fell off the seat in a fit of hysterics. Zina’s reaction, given her personality, was more subdued; she had merely blown out some milkshake from her nose.

"Homo Helpers," Gabrielle giggled helplessly.

"What’s so darn funny?" Artie demanded as Gabrielle climbed back into the booth.

"I think you should think ‘bout changing that name, Artie," Zina guffawed. "Have you been getting a lot of calls from people wanting to know where the nearest gay bar is?"

Artie glared at her suspiciously. "How did you know?"

"Just a wild guess."

"It was the best I could do under the circumstances! Nonetheless, Zina, I have Callie all prepared to press charges against you. She can hardly get around at all. It was a very serious injury."

At that moment they saw, from their window booth at Roy’s, Callie’s red Camaro pull up to the stoplight. The crazed blonde took the opportunity to stand up in the car and dance to the throbbing beat of the Pet Shop Boys which emanated from the car stereo. A young man, seated beside her, did the same. The light changed. A pickup behind them blared its horn. Callie flipped him the bird. After another minute of frantic dancing, she finally put the vehicle in drive and they were gone.

The trio sat in stunned silence.

"Who was that dude with Callie?" Zina asked no-one in particular.

"Oh, it looked like Chad. He’s president of the gay student union at OCCC," Gabrielle said. She merrily returned to the task of eating.

"Hell’s bells," muttered Artie. "The Lord is making my work very difficult indeed." He thrust a finger into Zina’s face. "I blame you for this, Zina. Obviously the injury has affected her judgment."

Zina flicked a French fry at him.

"Watch the suit!" he cried. "it’s bad enough your little tart spewed half-eaten cow all over it."

"Fuck off, Artie," Zina drawled in a bored manner.

"You haven’t heard the last of me yet!" He rose from his seat and stalked off. He half-turned to give Zina one last glare and tripped over a poorly placed mop and bucket. He snarled and staggered off.

"Man, he’s just like Snidely Whiplash," Gabrielle complained.

The firefighter laughed. "So which one of us is Dudley Do-Right?"

"You, of course, stud muffin." Gabrielle paused. "Although you’re smarter than Dudley Do-Right…and not quite as goody-two-shoes. You’re more a classic anti-hero."

"A…what?" Zina scrunched up her angular face. "I dunno if I like the sound of that."

"It’s a good thing, baby. Trust me. I learned it in school."

"School? You’re learning about cartoons in school?"

"No," replied Gabrielle haughtily, "I am merely learning how to apply my analytic skills in other fields of interest and art forms."

"Shit…if I knew college was all about cartoons and smoking dope, I woulda gone."

"You don’t need to go to college, baby. You already have many skills."

The firefighter lounged back in her seat. "I have many skills," she murmured to herself, although her beaming companion heard her as well. "I kinda like the sound of that."

THE END

#xena #xena warrior princess #xena/gabrielle #xena/gabrielle fanfiction #author: vivian darkbloom #femslash #fanfiction

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spooder-moon · 6 years

Text

Becoming - Part 6 Jason Todd x Bat!Reader

Summary: You had been best friends with Jason Todd for as long as you could remember, things changed when he became Robin for sure, but they changed even more when he became the Red Hood.

A/N: LAST CHAPTER IS FINALLY HERE!! I am so sorry this too so fkn long, I have been overwhelmed with uni starting again and honestly have just had no creative flow in my constant state of sleep deprivation. Sorry, honestly it’s really really shit but I had no idea how to end this thing.

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Bad writing ?!, violence I guess, kinda fluffy but also kinda angsty idek

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five

Bruce and Dick were waiting for you when you got back to the Batcave, Dick’s face showed worry while Bruce’s only held anger.

“Where have you been?” Bruce demanded an answer, but you felt as though he already knew it.

“Just out.” You weren’t in the mood to be scolded, honestly all you wanted was a drink even though you knew it would end badly.

“I know you followed me and I know you went after the Red Hood, what happened?”

“Nothing, he got away,” You lied through your teeth. “So I went on parol, let off some steam, it’s not that big of a deal.”

“Why didn’t you take you’re intercom?” Dick chimed in from behind Bruce.

You shrugged, “Forgot I guess, left in a hurry.”

There was a silence between the three of you, you knew they could tell that you were lying but they also knew that whatever happened tonight was something you definitely didn’t want to talk about. You rarely lied to them so when you did, they knew it must be for good reason.

“Now, if you’re done interrogating me, its been a long night and I need a shower.” You made your way back to the Manor. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

…

When you walked out of your ensuite, after a very long and very hot shower, you found Dick sitting on your bed waiting for you. You rolled your eyes at him before walking around him and crawling into bed, burying yourself under the covers with a sigh. There was silence for a few moments before you heard him sigh and move around, you thought he was leaving but were mistaken when he got under the covers with you.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Dick asked softly.

You only grunted in return and turned away from him. He didn’t give up so easily though as he grabbed your waist and rolled you back over to face him. You huffed.

“Y/N, what happened?”

“It was him, Dick,” you whispered out, “the Red Hood is Jason.”

“How’s that even possible?” Dick asked, shocked from what you had just told him.

“I don’t know, something about the Al Ghul’s and a Lazerous Pit? Fucked him up real bad though, he’s not the same, not at all.” You brought your hands up the drag over your face, finding the whole situation somewhat ridiculous.

“So what happened? Did you track him down, talk to him? What?”

“I followed him and he lead me to my old apartment, that alone made me uneasy. When I got inside he was waiting for me, facing away, but when he took off his helmet. Dick, I knew from the back of his head that it was him, and he knew it was me. The next few hours were so perfect in every way. It’s like we were meant for each other. I didn’t even think twice about kissing him let alone sleeping with him. And I know I shouldn’t have but, we just fit so perfectly together, I felt like I’d been waiting my whole life for that moment. It was like magic.” You were gushing, thinking of what had happened, realising how happy you were in those few hours where nothing else mattered but the fact that Jason was with you and you were with him. You frowned. “And then I saw why he really came back. It hurt that it wasn’t for me but for some big revenge plan. That’s when I realised he wasn’t the same, yes the old Jason was always compulsive and reckless but he never this angry, now he’s just filled at hate and it’s like he doesn’t know who to direct it to.”

“You mean he’s angry at Bruce?”

You nodded. “He’s planning something big, it’s going down tomorrow night and I’m going to be the one to stop it. I can’t let him hurt Bruce, not after all he’s done for me, but I also can’t let Jason hurt himself.”

“I can help.” Dick suggested but your shook your head.

“No, this is something I need to do. He said he loved me, which means the Jason I knew is still in there.”

“You still love him don’t you?”

You laughed, although nothing about this situation was remotely funny, “I never stopped. And now that he’s back, I can’t let him go again, it’d be the end of me.”

…

You didn’t tell Bruce what Jason had planned for him, though you were thinking maybe you should have as you put on your suit.

Batman was gone at the first alert of Joker’s release, and you weren’t far behind. You knew this had to all be apart of Jason’s plan so you had to keep one step ahead at all times. You watched the Red Hood and Batman chase and fight from a distance, being careful not to been seen by either. Soon enough you figured out that Jason was leading Bruce back to your old apartment. You decided you would meet them there. When you got there you hid in the abandoned apartment next door, getting there only minutes before Jason and Bruce crashed through the bathroom window of your old one. On the other side of the wall you could hear them fighting, the sound of ceramic breaking as someone was thrown against the bathtub.

When the sound of punches thrown, grunts of pain and shattered tiles stopped you moved into the hallway and hovered outside the door. What you didn’t expect was to hear the Joker’s laugh of the other side of it. You couldn’t understand what they were saying on the other side of the door but when you heard the shot of a gun and Jason’s cry it was time to get into action. You burst through the door and took in what was around you. Batman stood by the window, seemingly unharmed, the Joker was tied up and severely beaten, and Jason was on the floor. One of his hands was bloody where you assumed his gun must have exploded, the other hand held the switch to the bomb that was currently counting down in the fireplace. No, you were too late.

“Ooo goody, another bat come to play.” Joker was the first person to speak of your presence before he pounced on Bruce and started punching him.

When Jason saw you he held a look of pure panic. “Y/N what are you doing here?! You need to leave! Run!” He was shouting at you but all you could focus on was the countdown on the Bomb, 3 seconds.

It was like everything was in slow motion, acting on instinct you ran to Jason, you couldn’t let him die again. You threw your body against him in a fable attempt to shield him from the blast. Your arms wrapped tightly around his neck and his curled around your waist on instinct. With one second left on the clock you whispered ‘I love you’ into his ear before white noise filled your ears and you were thrown against each other as the building collapsed on top of you. And then everything went black.

…

You didn’t know how much time had passed. You awoke to rubble being moved off of you, it was dark around you but you could see Bruce’s silhouette above you. Your body ached all over and you could barely move. The excruciating pain in your left leg and right side ribs told you that they were broken. But none of that mattered as you looked to the body that lay underneath you. Jason.

You heaved yourself up to hover over him, as to not crush him anymore, an effort that was done with a scream of pain. But it was worth it when you saw that he was still breathing.

“Bruce, help me, please.” You asked weakly as you tried to lift yourself into a standing position, trying as well to bring Jason with you but his unconscious body was too heavy for you, especially in the state you were in.

Bruce helped you to stand as you leaned all your weight of one leg before he scooped Jason up in his arms.

“I’m sorry.” Was all you could think of to say, although you weren’t even sure what you were sorry for.

“Me too.” Bruce replied.

…

When you got back to the Batcave Jason started to regain consciousness. Joker was back in Arkham, your leg and ribs were in a cast, both you and Jason were covered in bandages and Bruce was somewhere talking to Alfred and Dick.

You sat beside the table that Jason lay on, almost asleep when you heard him grunt in pain. You looked up to see him trying to sit up, clutching his side where his ribs were severely bruised, but you had definitely turned out worse.

“What happened?” He asked.

You had to roll your eyes at that one, yes you were happy he was alive but you were beyond pissed at him for what he had just done. “You tell me, you’re the one that just tried to kill everyone, including yourself.”

He was silent for a moment. “Why did you save me?”

You sighed. “I wasn’t going to let you die, not again. No one deserves that. And even though you’re now a criminal and you just tried to kill your adoptive Father, I still love you. As stupid as that makes me.”

He let out a small laugh at that, “Yeah that does make you pretty stupid.” You glared at him. “But I love you too, never stopped and never will.”

“What happens now?” You asked the question you were both thinking. “I can’t be with you and work with Bruce, we both know that.”

“Work with me then, I mean, be with me. I need you Y/N, please don’t let me walk away without you.”

You liked the idea of it but there was a small part of you that worried about this new Jason, he loved you, you knew that and you didn’t doubt that his intentions were pure but… you couldn’t help but think of all the anger you’ve seen in him. You didn’t want a life of killing criminals, and you didn’t want to become one. “Jay, I-I can’t kill, you know that. I can’t become a criminal, I can’t give into that darker side.”

“And I’m not asking you to. Just, run away with me for a while, away from Bruce, and away from Gotham.”

You couldn’t say no, you had wanted Jason for too long, so you didn’t. “Okay.”

“Really?” You laughed at how surprised he sounded at your answer.

“Yeah, really.”

Jason pressed his lips to yours, gently but firmly, and although you were both in pain, it was all you could focus on. His hands gently stroked your bruised jaw as yours pushed against the table, pressing yourself into him slightly. His lips were rough and his bottom lip was split open. As you ran your tongue lightly against it, the metallic taste of blood lingered slightly. Jason gently pressed his tongue against yours in an open mouthed kiss. Your lips danced against his in soft strokes, both of you too afraid to hurt the other, until you pulled away breathless. Jason rested his forehead against yours, wincing slightly as he bumped the large gash on it.

“I love you”

You smiled, “I love you too."

…

The two of you had left Gotham that night, you didn’t know where you were going but neither of you cared, you were finally together and that’s all that mattered right now.

You had told Bruce, Alfred and Dick that you were leaving straight after you had decided. Although it was a conflicting a decision they all understood why you were leaving, they knew you needed this more than you needed your alter ego. Bruce had only said one thing as you left, “Bring him back to us.” And you had replied the only way you knew how, “I will.”

And you really hoped you could keep that promise.

My very small taglist:

@allithewriter @batboys-and-other-messes @probsjosh @sleep-depiravation @yoursturelys @spunky-89 @catching-fire-in-the-wind

#Jason Todd #jason todd smut #jason todd imagines #jason todd x reader #red hood #red hood imagine #red hood x reader #nightwing #the dark knight #arkham #arkham knight #batman #batman and robin #batboy #batboys #batman imagine #batboy imagines

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marvelous-heroimagines · 6 years

Text

Game Day

Requested by: Anonymous (Here are the specifics)

Pairing: Reader x Peter Parker Word Count: 1.6K Warnings: Fluff

A/N: I’m SO sorry these requests are taking forever to fill. But I only have a week of uni left (and my degree), so after my final essay I’ll have more time to write!

You stare up at the vast Avenger’s Compound, your eyes not blinking as you try to take it all in. The car rolls to stop and Peter turns off the engine. You can feel his stare on you, but you can’t seem to tear your eyes off the huge, concrete building that dwarfed the trees that surrounded it.

“Ready?” you boyfriend asks, breaking the silence. You slowly turn around to look at Peter, and by the amused look on his face, it was obvious how nervous you were feeling, “They aren’t gonna bite, babe,” he says, trying to hid a laugh,

“They’re the freaking Avengers,” you note,

“So am I,” Peter says with a cocked eyebrow,

“Yeah... But...” you trail off, realising you didn’t really have a response. Peter feigns hurt, clutching his chest and scoffing, “I didn’t mean it like that,” you roll your eyes,

“Come on,” he chuckles, “They’re waiting on us,”

Peter hopes out of the car, and your stare returns to the intimidating Avenger’s building just feet away. You’d found out Peter was Spiderman just a month into dating him, and he wanted to introduce you to the Avenger’s immediately. But it took you months to finally run out of reasons; not that you didn’t want to meet the famous superheroes, you were just scared. Things had only just started to die down after the feeble argument between Cap and Tony - a ‘civil war’ as Peter called it - and you didn’t want to impose on their private lives. But Peter had convinced you that they were all dying to meet you.

Peter opens the car door for you, and move to exit the car; but you had been so enthralled in the Avenger’s Compound that you hadn’t even unbuckled your seatbelt, meaning you were jerked back into the passenger seat. You mumble profanities at the seat belt as you fiddle to release it, all while Peter was trying to stifle a laugh. You shoot Peter a frown but he only grins at you and slides his hand into yours.

He pulls you along and into the building. The exterior certainly didn’t exaggerate how big the building was. The lobby was bigger than your parent’s apartment, and various halls extended further than you could see.

“Tony said they’d be in the communal living area,” Peter says before dragging you down the corridor to your left.

Your nervous only grew with every step you took, your heart started to beat faster and you couldn’t even think of what to say to the Avenger’s when you finally met them.

You and Peter reach the end of the hallway, which opened up into a huge dining, kitchen and lounge room. At first, no one realised that you and Peter had entered the room; they were just all sitting around various sections of the room. Steve was reading, Wanda was watching tv, Bucky and Sam were arguing about something and Tony was hunched over a tablet.

“Hey everyone,” Peter calls out. Everyone’s heads snap up and suddenly everyone’s eyes are on you, making you want to sink into the floor and out of sight, “This is Y/N,”

Wanda was the closest, so she got to you first. She pulls you into a tight hug, telling you about how much she’d been wanting to meet you. By the time she released you, the others had gathered around you and Peter. Sam gave you a polite smile and hello. Bucky and Steve both shook your hand, and Tony just stared.

“So, you’re the one that the kid can’t stop talking about?” Tony says. Your cheeks immediately flush red, making Tony chuckle, “It’s nice to meet you, Y/N,”

“You too,” you mumble, still a little embarrassed and spooked from being the centre of attention, “Thank you all for having me,”

“Well, now that you’re here,” Steve says, “I think it’s time we start,”

Your heart stops. Start what? Were they going to interrogate you? Did they think you could be a Hydra spy who used Peter to get close to them? Were they going to start training you to become a recruit?

“Don’t worry,” Wanda leans over and says to you, clearly having seen your worried expression, “Today’s game day,”

“Game day?” you question and move to follow the rest of the Avenger’s through the glass sliding door that lead to the backyard,

“Once a month,” she explains, “We get together and do something together. Not everyone is here today, as you probably noticed, but we thought it’d be something fun to do since you’re here,”

You nod along, but when you step out into the backyard, your mouth drops open. It wasn’t a backyard, more like a football field. Freshly cut, green grass stretches out in front of you, a huge pool is to your right, you can just see a tennis court in back left corner, and the trees in the distance are so far out that they only look as tall as a human being. You had no idea how big the Avenger’s Compound property was, but the backyard alone was more open space than you’d ever seen in your life.

“Ultimate frisbee?” Steve turns around, addressing the group, a sly smile on his face. Sam and Tony groan, which confuses you,

“Steve is the best at ultimate frisbee,” Peter tells you,

“Of course,” you can’t help but laugh,

“We don’t have even numbers,” Bucky observes, his eyes searching the group as if he was double counting,

“I’ll take the bench,” you pipe up. A chorus of reassurances and denials arise from the others, “Really, it’s okay. I don’t know how to play anyways,”

It still takes a smile and a reassuring nod that the others seem okay with you sitting out. You were more than okay with sitting this one out, you were nervous to play a sport against a bunch of superheroes; if it wasn’t obvious how regular you were before, it would’ve been the moment you tried to keep up.

“We agreed no powers!” Sam whines as his perfect three pointer is stopped short of the basket by Wanda’s red energy. You can’t help but laugh as the ball, now enveloped by a faint red glow, hovers inches from the ring.

“Fine,” Wanda rolls her eyes and lets the ball fall through the hoop, meaning that Sam, Steve and Wanda won the basketball game.

You’ve been watching the Avenger’s play a few games - ultimate frisbee, football and now basketball - and while it was amusing to watch these heroes bicker about points, you were starting to grow bored of watching from the side lines.

The others wander over to where you’re sitting. Peter plants a soft kiss on the top of your head as the others drink water and pat sweat from their foreheads.

“What next?” Peter asks the group,

“Baseball,” you say loudly,

“Ready to play?” Tony queries, noting your sudden excitement,

“Oh you have no idea, Stark,” you say slyly before hoping off your seat and walking out onto the vast lawn in front of you.

The others are frozen for a second, confused why you were suddenly so keen to play, but they brush it off and split into two teams as you warm up, swinging a baseball bat back and forth.

Bucky takes the pitchers mound, making you swallow hard with fear, but you square your shoulders and step into the batters box as Steve crouches behind you; he didn’t have a need for catchers gear, a baseball wasn’t going to hurt him.

Bucky pitches the first ball so fast that you don’t even see it pass you, you only hear the sound of the ball smacking Steve’s catchers mitt and Tony - who had elected to be the refer - yelling “Strike!”

You narrow your eyes at Bucky, who only gives you a sly smile before rolling his eyes and saying, “Fine, fine. I’ll keep my super strength out of this... The best I can,”

“Thank you,” you say sarcastically before resettling into your batting position.

This time Bucky pitches the ball much slower; even though it would still be considered a near record breaking fastball. As if by some miracle, your muscle memory kicks in and you swing the bat in time to make contact with the ball.

The sound of the baseball hitting your aluminium bat rings out as the ball is smashed in the opposite direction. Everyone stares in bewilderment and watch as the ball flies high through the air. It wasn’t enough to be considered a home run, but it was still a good hit. Taking everyone’s surprise to your advantage, you drop the bat and sprint around the makeshift baseball diamond.

You’re running over second base by the time Bucky yells at Sam to get the ball. Sam snaps out of his amazement and chases after it. Glancing over your shoulder, you try to run faster - if that was possible. It’s a race between you and the ball to home base. Luckily for you, Sam’s throw is just shy of home base and Steve has to take a few steps off of the plate to catch it. Steve catches the ball, and just as he turns to try and tag you, you drop like a bag of rocks. Using your momentum, you easily slide over home base and out of Steve’s reach.

Peter and Wanda, who are standing on the side lines waiting for their turn to bat, erupt in a cheer. Tony, Steve, Bucky and Sam are all staring at you, completely shocked and confused by what just happened. You push yourself off the grass and give them a cocky shrug. Their eyes all dart to Peter who is grinning from ear to ear.

“Didn’t I tell you that she’s already been promised a college scholarship for softball?” Peter says, mocking confusion. You burst into laughter as your boyfriend pulls you into his frame and kisses you.

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