#i for one had absolutely no fucking idea what a rolling stock was supposed to be when i watched stex the first time

[namethat-i-oughttohavetoldyou]

this is mostly for the German speaking crowd but I had to translate a railway safety assessment report today (yes, exactly as boring as it sounds), came across some familiar vocabulary and started thinking about StEx's German translation Like imagine if Bochum had actually translated "Rolling Stock" instead of leaving it. "Schien'fahrzeug!!!!! Schiiienenfahrzeug!!" would have been a banger opening tbh

I think they should do that actually. On principle.

#also it would be funny #starlight express #i for one had absolutely no fucking idea what a rolling stock was supposed to be when i watched stex the first time #and i'm 100% sure most German viewers also don't if they don't happen to work for DB or are generally train-obsessed in multiple languages #so translating it would even make sense. its not like it wouldnt make sense. it just doesnt sound as cool i guess (i disagree btw) #Schienenfahrzeug!!!!!!

[edactually]

Stede POV - 10.2

Ed’s ‘better idea’ was weird, but Stede loved it.

At first he’d been uncertain because come on, how was he supposed to pull off the Blackbeard outfit? But then Ed had told him how absolutely irresistible he’d been the night of the rescheduled concert at Spanish Jackie’s when he’d worn all leather, how he hadn’t been able to think of anything else but tearing it off him and Stede knew he had to wear Ed’s stage outfit to the party.

It was a good thing that they had plenty of time until the party started, because they both became very distracted.

Once again, Stede found himself pinned against the wall by his hips with Ed on his knees in front of him, apparently determined to make up for their lost time together today by sucking Stede so well that his vision went blank. Stede would have repaid the favour had all his bones not been turned to jelly and Ed had just snickered at the useless puddle Stede had become as he ordered room service for them again.

By the time they had eaten, showered, and gotten sidetracked with kissing, they barely had any time left to get dressed before they had to leave.

They shared an Uber to the party, already late as they hadn’t been able to stop giggling while getting ready. Helping Ed to dress in Stede’s clothes had been a more sensual experience than he’d bargained for, even if they had both been laughing at the time. Rolling the stockings up Ed’s legs had just made him think of how much more fun it would be to roll them down later. He had noted a similar expression on Ed’s face when he’d helped Stede fasten up the leather trousers, and he could tell Ed was thinking about how much fun it would be to tear them off.

Later, they had both silently promised.

Right now, they had a party to attend, and Stede decided it would be tolerable as long as he could be by Ed’s side all evening.

It was in full swing when they arrived, and Stede was surprised to find that his expectations hadn’t been met. He’d been expecting something along the lines of a fancy yacht club, but The Admiral Club was in fact an actual boat. One that looked to be permanently moored in its own private dock, but it was a boat nonetheless. It was large and constructed of polished wooden planks, there was even a viewing platform on the top deck that Stede could see as they walked over to the entrance, and he thought it was probably used for photo opportunities for weddings and parties.

They boarded using the small red carpet-clad ramp and Ed handed their invitation to a waiting attendant who informed them that food was being served on the lower level, but most people were having drinks on the top deck.

They were barely on the top deck for two seconds before Fang and Ivan spotted them. Ivan’s costume consisted only of one of those joke shop headbands that looked like an arrow had gone through his head, meanwhile Fang had managed to secure what looked like a onesie that was supposed to be a dalmatian. Fang had painted his face to match the white and black-spotted dog costume to add to the overall effect.

Fang was immediately gushing over their costumes and snapping photos on his phone of the two of them, proclaiming that Stede dressing up as Blackbeard was both adorable and genius. Ivan didn’t say much, but he did comment on how it would take people a second to recognise Ed without the leathers.

Unfortunately their nice meeting was ruined by the arrival of one Izzy Hands, who seemed to have a sixth sense for Ed’s presence that Stede found rather alarming. 

“Two questions,” seethed Izzy. “One, what the fuck is he doing here?” He stabbed his finger in Stede’s direction so forcefully that if it had made contact with him then it would have hurt. “Two, what the fuck are you wearing?”

Stede opted to answer both questions despite neither being directed at him. “One, I’m a guest. Two, he’s the Gentleman Pirate and I’m Blackbeard.”

“What the fuck is–” Izzy began, and then shook his head as if to shake the sidetracked thought loose from his mind. “I wasn’t talking to you, Bonnet.”

“Those are your answers, Iz. Take them or leave them. What the fuck are you supposed to be anyway?” Ed raised an eyebrow.

“A man with a stick up his arse, perhaps?” Stede offered.

Izzy wore no costume that he could discern, just an all-black shirt and trousers combination. Rather than respond, Izzy just elbowed Stede out of the way. “What I am is a very irate band manager who needs a rest, and our hosts for the evening would very much like to discuss the possibility of–”

Ed cut him off immediately. “We’re not signing with them, Iz.”

“Be reasonable here, E–” He shot Stede a glance before he could finish saying Ed’s name. “I’ve been doing this for years and I’m fucking exhausted. Would it really be so terrible just to consider signing with–”

“We do this independently, that’s what we agreed.”

“That’s what we agreed years ago when we were young and no one knew who the fuck we were! We have options now, we could still make an absolute fortune but have all the bullshit we hate dealing with taken off our backs. No more planning tours ourselves, no more negotiating our own fees or organising our appearances.”

“No, we’d just have a group of stuffed shirts telling us what to do like they know anything about what it takes to have a successful band.”

“Money talks. Think of them as investors, but ones who do all the admin. We might make even more money if we sign, get even bigger–”

“And sign away our souls to corporate demons? I don’t think so.”

“Would you just–” Izzy was almost growling with frustration. “Look, you’re already here. We don’t have to sign anything tonight, just play nice, and we can discuss this more later.”

“No discussion necessary.”

Izzy snapped. “Just be Blackbeard, for fuck’s sake!”

Ed gestured in Stede’s direction. “He’s Blackbeard. I’m the gentleman pirate, remember?”

Izzy glanced in Stede’s direction then back to Ed. “I’m not sacrificing everything we’ve built for your little game. After everything I’ve done for QAR, you owe me this. Just be Blackbeard, give those rich idiots the man they want for a little while and let them schmooze, then I’ll let you go back to your stupid game.”

Stede expected Ed to bite back again, but instead his mouth snapped closed. His eyes flickered briefly over to Stede, then back to Izzy and he nodded once although Stede could see his teeth were gritted together and his jaw clenched hard.

“Thank you.” Izzy said the words begrudgingly, like they pained him. He took Ed by the elbow and steered him away. “Now, there’s people dying to meet you, so come on.”

Stede would have followed, but he found his path blocked by Ivan and Fang. It seemed Izzy was not the only band member keen to get Ed on board with signing with an actual label.

Ed managed to crane his head back enough for Stede to see him mouth the word ‘sorry’ before Izzy pulled him into a throng of people, already clamouring for Ed’s attention.

He might have been blocked from following Ed, but Ivan and Fang were pleasant enough security guards. “So, Steve!” Fang was cheerful as he turned him away from the direction Ed had left in. “What brings you out here?”

“Stede, actually.” He was grateful that he at least knew someone else at the event now Ed wasn’t with him, even if their interactions had been minimal. “I had a meeting in town so Lucius and I thought it would be nice to meet up.”

“Lucius is with you?” Fang’s face immediately brightened, which Stede wouldn’t have thought possible given how cheerful the man already looked. Interesting that he’d correctly remembered Lucius’ name though.

“He’s not here right now, he went out to check out the local gay bars for Halloween.”

“Alone? Pete isn’t with him?”

Fang remembered Pete as well? “No, Pete is back home. I wouldn’t worry though, Lucius has a habit of making friends wherever he goes, I’m sure he won’t be lonely tonight.”

“So, Lucius and Pete…” Fang’s tone was feigned casual, but Stede could spot the intrigue from a mile away. “Are they still together?”

This sudden line of questioning was interesting. “I believe so, yes.”

“And he’s ok with Lucius visiting gay bars on his own?” Fang asked.

“I haven’t asked, I wouldn’t know. I’m assuming he is, I don’t think Lucius would do it if he wasn’t.”

“So they’re non-monogamous?”

That seemed like one hell of a jump. “Again, I really don’t know. Why do you ask?”

“No reason, no reason.” Fang’s cheeks looked flushed. “Maybe just… well, when I met them both at the concert, I got the idea that they might be… well, you know.”

Stede was getting a rough idea of what Fang was asking, but it was a question he didn’t have the answer to. He vaguely remembered Lucius saying something about Blackbeard being his hall pass (and if that meant what he thought it meant, then Lucius had better find a new hall pass immediately), so he supposed it wasn’t totally out of the question. Still, it was to his shame that he didn’t know enough about his assistant’s personal life to give a concrete answer on the subject. Even if he did know, he wouldn’t like to answer on Lucius’ behalf anyway. “I really can’t speak for either of them,” he admitted, and Fang looked crestfallen. “But if that’s what you’re interested in, then I could pass your number along and you could ask?”

He assumed that was what Fang was angling for, and the twinkling eyes confirmed it before he even spoke. “I shouldn’t really give out my number, but would you mind passing along my private twitter account details? I can be messaged there if there’s any interest at all.”

“No problem.” And Stede took out his phone to note down the username Fang told him so he didn’t forget.

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#edactuallysmau

[shurisneakers]

harmless (xiii)

Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader)

Warnings: cursing, frustrated bucky, dramatic reader, smidge of angst, guns, little bit of violence, obnoxious flirting, and kidnapping lol

Word count: 6.2k

A/N: welcome to chaos week >:) this is the first of three updates coming out this week (if i can finish the last one in time).  big thank you to my love @no-shit-sherl0ck for the kidnaped!reader idea, and that one anon who suggested the inator that’s used here. i know you wanted to see it in a zoo but i couldn’t really figure out a way to use that so i referenced it a bunch in previous chapters. oh and also @ginevranights​ for this specific imagery 

Previous Part  || Series Masterlist

Who the fuck kidnaps a villain in this day and age?

Saturday started normally enough.

Nat kicked Bucky’s ass in training, evening the score to 120 and 120. He blames it on the lack of sleep. She tells him that it’s his fault he stayed up late to binge watch 911 Lone Star.

He still thinks it was worth it.

The team’s sunshines and rainbows that morning. Someone had cooked up a batch of pancakes and fresh orange juice. Someone else burnt the bacon but left to feed his dog before anyone could complain.

Nat opened up the newspaper. Different sections went to different people until Bucky got stuck with the entertainment section. Fun, considering that he doesn’t even recognise half the names. He’d have to pretend to be interested until the next rotation.

He watches the orange juice levitate in front of him from the corner of his eye and just assumes that Wanda’s getting a refill even though she could have just asked him to pass it. He smells the next batch of bacon burning and figures that Clint is back.

Sam’s beside him, annoying him about how long it takes for him to read about which new celebrity relationship just ended and Bucky retaliates by reading even slower. Fuck you.

He’s on his second stack of pancakes absolutely drenched in maple syrup when the doors to the elevator open and Marie steps out, laptop in her hand.

An instant chorus of hello’s and invitations to have some charred bacon resound through the table. She politely declines them with a small smile, instead opening her laptop and placing it in front of Bucky without further ado. 

He looks at her questioningly, slowly swallowing whatever was in his mouth.

“An email for you.” She tuts her head towards it. “It has a video attachment of your friend.”

Bucky has plans to not watch the video in front of everyone, given that the content could range anywhere from you reading out fanfiction about him to a deep-fake of him singing a Whitney Houston song.

Both of which you have done before and would do again, without any hesitation.

“Aren’t you gonna watch it?” Wanda asks from across the table.

He slowly shakes his head no, cutting his stack into smaller pieces.

“If what’s in it is real, it’s important,” Marie stresses.

“What’s in it?” he inquires instead, hoping that the team would stop staring at him. If Marie was implying strongly that he needed to watch then something was wrong.

“Just watch it, man.” Sam’s statement has everyone agreeing with him. Bucky can’t refuse now, and if the team makes fun of him for the next month about how he looks good belting Greatest Love of All, he’s going to personally assassinate you.

He clicks on the email, noticing it came from a throwaway address. Probably untraceable, if the cards are played right. 

The video opens to grainy footage, which is stupid considering modern technological advancements. If this is one more of your stupid LARPing sessions, it could definitely wait till after lunch. 

But, he instantly recognises your silhouette strapped to a chair and suddenly the room feels very cold around him. His hand automatically clutches onto a bead from the bracelet you gave him that still remained tied to his left arm more often than not.

“Speak,” someone commands off camera.

“About what?” You sound annoyed, exasperated even.

“Why you’re here.”

“I’m here because you have unaddressed feelings of childhood insecurity.”

“I warned you to take this seriously.”

Bucky’s eyes widen slightly but his body relaxes the minute he reads the situation. 

The team’s crowded around him, he can feel it. His attention remains on the screen in front of him.

“Who even are you sending this to?” You don’t sound the least bit threatened. “My roommate’s not at home but my cat is and I don’t think she’d care.”

”You’ve made a complete joke out of villains everywhere. Fraternising with the enemies, the Avengers,” he spits the name with so much vitriol. “You’ve erased what it’s like to be truly evil. Turned us into a laughing stock.”

“If it takes one person to undermine your whole movement then maybe it wasn’t strong enough to begin with.” You look at someone outside the lens, face scrunching in distaste. “Also your costume’s ugly.”

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., can you trace this voice?” Bucky asks, receiving an immediate confirmation. “Figure out who it is.”

“On it.”

“Tell them. Tell them we are a serious threat and are to be feared.”

"No,” you say resolutely. “You’re an overgrown manchild. Go watch Teletubbies or something.”

“She does not give a shit,” Clint marvels at the situation, a piece of half eaten burnt toast between his fingers.

You didn’t. And if he knew you in the slightest, which he prided himself on at this point, you already had six different ways of getting out of there.

“She knows she’s going to be fine,” Bucky murmurs, returning back to take a bite of his pancakes. “She’s probably still there just to irritate him.”

He zeroes in on your wrist to see if the teleportation watch was still there but no, your wrists are bare. Guess you forgot.

“You have to.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s how a real villain does it.”

“A real villain- what are you, gatekeeping the villain community?” You scoff. “You sound like a fuckin’ incel.”

“Just send them a message,” the guy bellows, hitting a table.

“She’s going to frustrate them to death.” An accurate observation, Sam.

“Okay, jeez, fine.”

Bucky just knows that you rolled your eyes at that moment.

He had faith in you, or in your abilities at the very least. While every wisecrack could possibly inch you closer towards harm, you probably wouldn’t be making them unless you felt completely secure in your situation.

“Help, I’m totally kidnapped and in danger. Save me because I can’t do it myself. This man is too powerful and strong and sooo scary.”

“Do you think she has a strategy?”

“Definitely.”

“You’re not worried, James?” Wanda asks curiously. “I thought she was your friend.”

“She is my friend.” He reaches over to take the jug of orange from across the table. “That’s why I’m not worried.”

“Are you going to fight the Avengers?” you interrupt his endless tirade. “Because that’s a stupid plan. You get how that’s a stupid plan, right?”

“Let them come. I’m prepared.”

“With what? A stick you found outside? A Nerf gun? Man, you’ve tied my hands with fuckin’ zip ties, you can’t be serious-”

“Shut up,” he roared and the stand shakes slightly from where he stamps his feet. “Our army is enough.”

“Wow,” you exhale. “I wish I had your confidence, I really do. I want to study you under a microscope.”

“I have reinforcements.” It sounds like he turns to the camera to address it directly. “This is a warning. Your friends have an hour to find you or things are gonna turn ugly. This is what real evil looks like.”

“Evil dresses in a dollar store Speedo, apparently.” The man pays you no heed, instead picking up the camera. “Hey, sarge, if you’re watching this, don’t bother. I’m fine, it’s not even the real me-”

The camera cuts to black.

“When was this video sent?” Nat looks at Marie, eyebrows drawn together.

“About ten minutes ago.”

Bucky clicks out of the email, determined to get at least half his breakfast in him before he left to see what’s up with your situation. A notification pops up immediately.

[email protected] just sent you an email.

A video attachment.

“We got another one,” Bucky informs the team, drawing their attention back to the screen from the informal conversation that had erupted between them about what they could do.

This time, there’s a subject line included.

Attack on the Clone.

"Ain’t that a Star Wars movie?" he asks, craning his neck to look at Clint.

"That's Attack of the Clones," Sam corrects. "Probably autocorrect."

Bucky narrowed his eyes in suspicion at him, jaw sliding outward before falling back into place. Enough times had Sam called him Fucky in the group chat and gotten away with it for him not to be wary.

“Or a code,” Wanda suggests, too many crime thrillers read and podcasts listened in her spare time. She occasionally brought them over to Self Care Saturday, introducing him to the world of true crime as a bit of light content while they snacked on chocolate chip cookies he baked. “Like the Zodiac.”

“For what?” Bucky peers over at her.

“All I remember from that movie is them rolling around a field together,” Clint mutters. “Maybe that’s how you’re supposed to save her.”

“I’m not saving anyone. Look at her, she’s fine.” Is he the only one who saw it?

When he’s met with skeptical looks and no other useful suggestions, he presses play on the video.

This time it's clearer footage. It hardly takes him a second to ascertain where it was.

"That's her lair." It showed the pathway leading up to the flat concrete building, exactly where the intercom should be.

There was a black Sedan parked haphazardly outside, engine still on judging by the sound of the radio blasting an AC/DC song. 

Within a few seconds, someone drags you from the entrance of the lair to the car, despite your very clear protests and opposition, shoving you inside before it takes off in full speed, tires screeching. 

"F.R.I.D.A.Y., track the car from that video. Check all the CCTV and surveillance footage from around the area that you can find," Bucky commands, taking a sip of orange juice.  

"Why would they send us that?" Clint pipes up. "They make their email untraceable but send us a video of the fuckin' abduction itself?"

"I don't know." Bucky shakes his head, setting his glass down. "She probably convinced them to."

It was an unusual scenario, he realised that. But his eyebrows lower in contemplation, his lip caged between his lip before a thought suddenly occurs to him. A laugh in disbelief almost escapes his throat ad he pushes it down with some freshly cut strawberries. 

"And they listened?"

"I don't think you realise how annoying she can be." He knows, though. He knows. "Bet they regret it, though. I should tell them to keep her for a little longer."

"Voice recognition registers voice to someone named Chad, better known by his alias Soul Crusher. Surveillance footage places the car about thirty minutes away. Exact location sent to your phone GPS."

Soul Crusher. That was worse than Dr. Strange.

"I can make that fifteen." Bucky shrugs, setting down his fork and knife. If his hunch is right, the team didn’t really have to get involved. “See you guys later.”

“Do you want any of us coming with you?” Wanda gestures to the crowd at hand.

“I got it.” He pushes away from the table, depositing his plate in the sink, dropping an extra piece of bacon on the ground for Clint’s dog. “She’ll be alright.”

They watch him trail out of the room briskly, heading up to his room to change.

“Is it just me or is he too casual about this?” Clint continues staring long after he leaves.

“Both of them are weirdos.” Nat pulls open the newspaper again, going back to the sport’s section. “Who knows what goes in their heads.”

“Can confirm that not a lot goes on in his.”

Without Bucky to retaliate or grumble, a Steve walking into the room, sweaty and shiny after training becomes the new subject of jokes that morning.

__

For the first time in months, he’s had to bring a weapon or two along with him. Two revolvers and a couple of knives kept out of plain view. He wouldn’t need more than that anyway.

True to his word, it takes only fifteen minutes to get there, thirteen if he didn’t stop for the chain of ducks that crossed the street.

He’s also dressed in a little more leather than he usually reserves for your meetings. A jacket that brings to act as a windbreaker and tightly laced up combat boots make him look like he either stepped off a runway, or more menacing than usual depending on who was looking.

The GPS points him to an old warehouse near a more subdued part of the city. It was abandoned by the looks of it, and had been for a while judging by the lack of upkeep. Prime real estate.

He pulls off his helmet, hanging it on the handlebar along with his backpack before kicking the stand into place. The bike’s a few metres away just in case they decide to blow something up.

Bucky looks up at the warehouse, assessing the most damage he could do to it if at all it was needed. That thing could barely stand on its own, a grenade would absolutely decimate it. That wasn’t good news for you.

He sighs once before putting on his death glare, straightening out his shoulders into a stature that screams stone-cold, and pushes the door open, gun raised.

A mini-army of people ranging from their early twenties to late thirties stood guard at the entrance, all with rifles pointed at him. He counts fifteen, maybe eighteen.

“Oh, hell no,” a voice erupts from the back, followed by the sound of his gun being thrown to the ground. “No one told me that he was coming.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow, his death glare not shifting and Glock not lowering.

“I’m out.” The same guy raises his hands up to show he meant no harm, slowly brushing past Bucky as he squeezed out of the building.

“You got five seconds to leave before I shut this door,” Bucky gives the rest of them an ultimatum. Not like there was a point anyway. SHIELD was sending down some people to account for the one day rise in new morons. 

They all looked at each other, swallowing thickly before raising their weapons.

“I hope he’s giving you good insurance.” The second he finishes his sentence they all cry out in what sounds like a fucking war chant, launching themselves at him. 

______

“They’re here.” Someone presses his ear to the door as if the gunshots and screaming weren’t enough. 

“Brilliant. We’re ready.” Chad picks up the knife, running his finger along the sharp end. You try to see if you can use your Twitter-ordained powers of manifestation for a paper cut.

“How much are you asking them for?” You put forth a query instead, when it disappointingly doesn’t work.

“Asking who for what?” Chad stops his dumb intimidation tactic for a second. 

“You know,” you insist like it was obvious, “my ransom. How much did you ask them to pay?”

“We didn’t-” He looks around at the other people in the room for confirmation. “-we didn’t ask for any.”

“Because I’m invaluable?” Your head droops to the side in mock flattery. “Aw, you guys.”

“We didn’t think of it,” someone from the corner behind you speaks up, coming to the aid of their boss.

“Now that’s just rude.” You tut, shifting maybe an inch or two in your bounds to try and get more comfortable. “Leaving aside your lack of preparation, let’s just assume he bursts in here, desperate and ready to bargain. How much would you ask for?”

“Three million,” Chad says confidently, gathering a nod and sounds of agreement from everyone else.

“Are you serious?” Your jaw drops, a scoff escaping you. “That’s all?”

His self-assurance falters a little bit, you can see it under his 5 Minutes Craft mask.

“Three mill-” You stop mid-sentence. “With this wiring? Ridiculous. Make it ten, I demand it.”

“We’ll ask for fifteen mil,” Chad proposes, his teammates agreeing again, a little more delighted than last time.

“Ask for thirty, you coward,” you argued. “Thirty million and a jet.”

“You’re not worth that much.” The dipshit diagonal to you pipes up with his unwanted and, frankly, useless opinion.

“And you are?” You whip around the best you can. “Henchman number four?”

“Megedagik,” he informs, standing up a little taller now that he was given some importance. “It means ‘killer of many’.”

“Did you just say your name was Mega Dick?” 

“Megedagik,” he corrects.

You stare at him hard before turning away. “Alright, other than Mega Dick here, does anyo-”

A knife lands right next to your feet, driven at least an inch into the ground. You look up at the guy you managed to piss off within four sentences, his face now a beet red. 

“These are brand new, asshole,” you barked, shaking your shoes around. “You’re gonna pay if there’s even a scratch on it.”

“Permission to kill her?” Meg growls, casting a side eye at Chad.

The boss man looks at you thoughtfully, assessing the repercussions of what might happen. You raise an eyebrow.

“Slow and painful,” he settles. 

A small smirk makes its way onto your face. 

“Title of your sex tape,” you quip as the man in the corner storms towards you.

_____

It’s all a flurry, really. A bunch of inexperienced newcomers versus one of the most skilled assassins the world had ever seen? Ten minutes tops.

Bucky doesn’t do any serious damage. A couple of broken bones but only out of necessity, a lot of concussions, and maybe a bullet wound, or three, here and there. 

Most of the time he spends thinking about things that have absolutely nothing to do with what was going on. He forgot to take his laundry out of the machine. There was a biscotti recipe he had been procrastinating on trying. His succulents needed watering but he could do that once he was back. Was he wearing his good combat pants or was it the pair that had a hole in the pocket?

His left hand thrust outwards to shove someone away while he stuck his right hand into his pocket to check if it had frayed away. The person he pushed slams into a wall with a loud groan and no, his pants didn’t have a hole in them. 

He stops to take a breather, assess what was going on. There are bodies scattered all around, mostly writhing in pain from minor injuries. Someone very bravely stands up, hands posed in front of him in a regular fighting stance.

“You sure about this?” Bucky asks, reaching for one of the concealed knives he hadn’t had a chance of using yet. It twirls rather nimbly between his fingers for something so dangerous, the hilt finally landing in his palm for a sturdy grip.

The man takes one look at the knife before sitting right back down on the ground. 

“Good choice,” his voice drops to an octave lower than his self-esteem. He’s tired of this old routine but it works like a neat little party trick, often getting him the result he wanted. “Where?”

A few fingers point down the hall to the only room whose door was closed.

He makes sure to step over everyone who was lying along the way, ears tuned in to even the smallest of noises just in case one of them decided to attack him from the back. It doesn’t come.

He doesn’t bother creeping down the hallway. With all the ruckus that just went on outside, he’s pretty sure it’s obvious that they had an intruder. 

Bucky kicks in the large steel door with ease, given that it was barely hanging on its hinges. His gun’s raised, muscles tight, and senses on high alert for any immediate threats. 

It lands with a large thud, reverberating through the room. He’s reminded of your first meeting with him.

There’s a chair in the middle of the room with a person tied to it by a mixture of rope and tape. Others found themselves slithering around on the floor in a similar fashion, trying to get out of their bondages.

“Hey, James,” you call out, drawing his attention to you. You were sitting atop a table, legs swinging back and forth without a care in the world, a blade in your hand. 

“You okay?” He tucks the gun into his waistband when he realises that none of the henchmen are going to be going anywhere soon.

“All good.” You hop off the table with a little spring in your step. “Did you bring your bike? I need a ride back to the lair. I think I left the TV on when I was, you know, getting kidnapped.”

“You coulda teleported back home before all of this even happened.” Bucky does a quick assessment of your body to make sure there weren’t any bruises or anything of the sort. “Avoided the whole thing.”

“Don’t have the watch with me.” Odd, since he knows you consider it one of your essentials but it just fuels his theory further. “Besides, if I just quit before we started, they’d keep messing with me over and over again.”

“Do you want me to punch someone’s face in?” He glances around the room at the ones wiggling about on the floor like fucking worms. “I’d be happy to.”

“Nah, I got a few in myself.” You rotate your wrist, other hand still holding onto the knife. “You know what, maybe I’ll have another go.”

He simply makes a noise in acknowledgement before he places a hand on the hem of your shirt, gently reeling you back. “I think you fixed ‘em up real good. That’s enough for today.”

“Fine but only ‘cause you said so.” You huff, looking past him and at the weirdos on the ground. “You hear that? This man just saved your life. Say ‘thank you’.”

A muffled chorus of what sounded like appreciation echoed through the room. Bucky awkwardly looks around.

“Damn right.” You walk over to the guy in charge of the whole event, bending down to his level. “If you ever try to fuck with us again...”

You stare straight into his eyes, unblinking. You hold up the knife to his Adam’s apple. Chad doesn’t dare to move other than the thick swallow.

You raise your finger and flick him in the forehead. “Get a better costume.”

The corner of Bucky’s lip quirks upward.

“Let’s go, sarge,” you announce, standing upright again and making a motion to follow you. “D’you have an extra helmet I could use?”

“Yeah.” He had brought one along in his bag, assuming that you’d need one once he noticed the watch was missing in the footage.  

“Yay.”

The only storage space on his bike was under his seat and it’s just enough for an extra revolver. Clint asked him if it was his way of flirting with someone, give ‘em a quick spin around the city and then show them his gun. If looks could kill, Clint would be 7 feet under. 

“You sure you wanna ride it, though?” He cringes immediately when he realises what it sounds like, waiting for you to smack the innuendo in his face. “We could wait for SHIELD.”

“Don’t really have another choice, Bucky,” you say absentmindedly, strolling out the room as you tossed the knife behind you.

He frowns at your indifference but turns around for a second to look at Chad. The man in question looks back viciously, his grandeur from that morning basically deflated and left to die along with his reputation.

“Might wanna reconsider the name,” Bucky remarks, doing a quick sweep of the area once more. “Soul Crusher.”

He waits until both of you are outside the cell and the door is shut on the ringleader and his circus clowns, handlebar twisted out of place so that they don’t escape for the time being.

“One second,” he calls, touch gently lingering on your forearm to stop you without even thinking twice about it. A famously uncharacteristic move for him.

"Hm?” You don’t even look like you notice his action.

“You sure you’re good?” he asks seriously, actual concern slipping through the question. “Do you need medical assistance?”

“They couldn’t hurt me anyway.” There’s something strange about the way you say it, almost assuredly. “I’m good.”

“Okay,” he concedes, his hand darting back when he realises it was still on your arm. His eyebrows furrow when he realises how instinctively he had reached out in the first place.  He didn’t touch anyone, ever.

“What are we gonna do about them?” you inquire, stepping over someone on the floor to get to the exit.

“Marie told Agent Hill. They’re sending someone over.”

“They’re sending SHIELD for these wannabes?” Someone groans in protest from somewhere and you elect to ignore them. “Ew.”

“Just to make sure confidential information isn’t compromised in any way.” There’s a large bang that comes from the room they just left. Maybe one of them shot their teammate by accident. They were more than capable of doing it.

“I would never,” you exacted a little more solemnly, pushing the door open with your elbow to let the sunlight flood in.

“I know.” He doesn’t realise how dark it was in the warehouse until he steps out into the noon sun. “I’m pretty sure this is more about the fact that you were abducted.”

“For me?” The smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes the way he kinda likes. Something definitely felt off. “I love being class favourite.”

He doesn’t reply, a small grunt as he twists the handle of the warehouse door upwards, effectively jamming it. 

“Can I drive?” You bat your eyelashes at him innocently, disregarding the loud screaming that came from inside as those less injured probably regrouped for a last ditch attempt. 

“No,” he doesn’t hesitate in replying, handing you a helmet and buckling his own securely.

“But I just got kidnapped,” you complained, watching him swing a leg over the bike and straddle it. Okay then. 

“All the more reason for you not to drive right now.” He mentions for you to get on, squinting at the warehouse a few feet away.

“Fine, but next time I’m driving,” you grumble, climbing on the back.

“Do you even know how to?” His head is tilted to look at you from the corner of his eye, voice heavier on account of the obstruction on his face.

The door starts shaking violently and he knows for a fact that it won’t hold up for much longer. Some of those who he had knocked out probably had been shaken awake again for manpower. 

“I can learn.” You take a pause, mischief seeping into your next words. “You can teach me.”

“No.” He didn’t exactly practice what was considered safe, law abiding driving. He just got from one point to another and that’s all he cared about.

“Then I’ll do it myself.” You sound determined. “I’m going to leave a note for us in the lair.”

“You do that.” He revs the engine when something solid hits the metal door. As guessed, their usage of props to push it down faster was coming into play. “Now, can you hold on to something? We need to go.”

If only those idiots just realised that the windows covered by newspapers were right there, ready to be broken.

“Only if you promise to let me drive next time,” you say defiantly, drawing this whole ordeal out.

“Whatever,” he urges. “I promise. Now can we go?”

“Wait for it...” There’s a devilish smile on your face. “One.”

There’s a loud creak as the door finally gives way.

“Two.” The same people you left tied up in the room burst out, almost stumbling over each other in the process.

“Three,” he completes it on his own, not waiting for you to finish because God knows how long you’d stretch it out just for the drama.

Your excited screech of laughter as he narrowly misses a rod that gets thrown at him like a fucking javelin temporarily distracts him from the brain freeze he gets when your arms wind around his waist to hold yourself in place. 

There’s angry screaming and bullets that whiz past in an attempt to get him to stop but a swift turn around a corner, pulling the both of you out of their sight is enough to get rid of them. 

“We should get a few weapons and go back,” you yell over the wind rushing by, barely audible.

“You do that in your own free time,” he shouts in response, yanking you through narrower lanes and less popular streets.

“Maybe I will, you bore.” 

Still, you shut up for the rest of the ride, only grumbling when he stops the bike to tell you that no, you cannot let go just because you want to throw your hands in the air like in the movies.

You hop off when he finally pulls up on the street outside your lair, adrenaline still pumping through your veins. He waits patiently as you unbuckle the helmet, switching off the engine. 

“You gonna drop me off at my door too, now?” You snicker, fingers pulling off the helmet.

He looks at you for a second before dropping the kickstand into place and dismounting from the motorcycle.

“I was kidding.” You laugh, handing him your headgear that he shoves into his backpack. 

“You’re pretty capable of gettin’ abducted along the way.” An absurd notion, considering it’s a short path from the road to the door. 

“Oh, how chivalrous.” You let him tag along anyway, for his peace of mind. 

“My ma didn’t expect any less.” A couple of sharp lessons from Winifred Barnes and Bucky was nothing short of a damn angel. 

You knock on the door three times, crossing your arms over your chest as you waited. 

“Aren’t you the one with the key?” Bucky questions, one hand on his waist. 

The door swung open in the middle of his sentence revealing... you.

Another you.

“Nah, she has it.” Ex-Kidnapped-You raises your head in acknowledgement at Doorway-You.

“Ah.” He fucking knew it. An unnatural sense of smugness blossoms in his chest. 

“Hey,” the both of you said at the same time.

Doorway-You looked way more relaxed, a little less grimy and dishevelled but exactly the same.

“Buck, I see you met my other half,” the you from the doorway greets him. “Or other whole, actually.”

“Sure did.” He sends a glance at Ex-Kidnapped-You.

“You can go on in. Big first day, huh?” Doorway-You refers to the you beside him.

“You wouldn’t believe,” Ex-Kidnaped-You mutters, pushing past the entrance and disappearing inside.

“She gonna be okay?” His gaze trails after your clone.

“Oh yeah, just needs to recharge.” You turn around to make sure she’s fine. “She’s made of some pretty strong carbon, technically almost indestructible.”

No wonder ‘you’ said they couldn’t hurt you.

“Heya, sarge.” You draw his attention back to you. “Always good to see you.”

“Can’t really say the same about you.” 

“Ever the emotional repressor, Mr Barnes. I like this little leather show you got going, did ya wear it just for me?”

He shifts his balance to his other foot, feet slightly wide apart. “Take it that the clone machine finally worked?”

“I was in the middle of celebrating.” You sigh, recalling the events of that morning. “Teleported home for a second to get some champagne and when I came back she was gone.”

“Irresponsible.” He tsks, head shaking in disappointment. 

“Sorry I didn’t take amateur kidnappers into account for my risk factor analysis, Bucky,” you shoot back, pressing on his name for added annoyance. “Anyway, I did the responsible thing. I sent all the evidence I had to you guys.”

“Real clever.” Bucky looks at you in dry amusement. “Attack on the clone? Really?”

“Hey, always make time for a good pun.” You finger gun, lopsided grin on your face. “Did the team like it?”

“They thought it was a typo.” Or a code. He really had Wanda to thank for his big revelation. “Your video didn’t help either.”

“Don’t tell me they couldn’t make out it was me.” You laugh, crossing your arms over your chest.

He doesn’t reply, pursing his lip inwards in sympathy, but more so to conceal a smile.

The happiness drops from your face slowly, horror taking its place. “Don’t tell me they couldn’t make out it was me.”

“Good job, your machine worked,” he adds helpfully.

“C’mon, there were so many differences,” you whine, the success of your endeavour the last thing on your mind. 

“That is your literal clone,” he points out, only to see you- clone you- walk into the giant box in the corner of the room, bright green light emanating from it like a xerox machine.

“How could they not tell the original apart from a copy?” You look genuinely offended. Insane. “Not even Sam?”

“Guess you’re not unique enough.” A rise and fall of his shoulders signify his attitude towards this whole thing. “Think I like your copy better, too, actually.”

“You’re so mean.” You puff in disbelief. “I’m a 100% original. How many mad scientist teachers do you know?”

“Two.” 

“I don’t mean now, that’s not even the-” You poke at his rock hard chest. “You are so much more annoying than when I first met you.”

He thinks it’s good relationship development.

“I have to deal with you every weekend.” He watches your finger drop from his chest. “Picked it up along the way.”

“Boo hoo, talking like you don’t have deep, deep feelings for me.” You roll your eyes. “I see right through you, Bucky Barnes.”

“Can you see the part that couldn’t give less of a shit?” He gestures to himself. “It’s all of it.”

“You think you’re such a comedian, huh?” You narrow your eyebrows. “How did you know she was a fake then, huh?”

Busted.

“Probably ‘cause you didn’t talk as much today,” he dodges. “Actually had some peace of mind for a change.”

“You knew before you got there, you liar.” You push past his fabrications. “You figured it out before everyone else.”

“You literally put it in the title.”

“Yeah, but the rest of the team saw it too.”

“Rest of the team didn’t know you were building a goddamn clone machine for months.”

“You remembered that?” You pulled away, palm over your heart. “Oh, sarge, you paid attention to me.”

His nose twitches.

“You said it, like, eight hundred times.” He could use both his hands to count the number of references you had offhandedly made in the last three weeks alone.

“Why'd you go save me when you knew it wasn't real?” you continue to challenge relentlessly, knowing fully well that he was fibbing. 

“Because you fuckin’ peer pressured me. Had the whole team around me when you sent your little video during breakfast.”

“Just admit it,” you coo, ignoring all his justifications. “You noticed it was fake me right away but showed up anyway because you’re wildly in love with me.”

“No,” he says stiffly. 

“No as in you won’t admit it you have a crush on me, or no as in you didn’t know it was fake me?”

There was no winning this. 

“Good day to you.” He pulls the motorcycle helmet on to hide the expression that plain as day screamed the former of your two options.

“Also,” you bring up indignantly, “she even got to ride the fucking bike and I’ve been asking to drive it for months now!”

“We-” he chooses his words carefully. “-compromised.”

“Oh, you did?” Your voice lowers at the newfound information, interest piqued. “I’m gonna hold you to that then, whatever it is.”

“Doesn’t count.”

“Absolutely does,” you huff. “A promise is legally binding. Blue’s Clues taught me that.”

“Bye, Y/N.”

“You’re my knight in leathery armour,” you swoon, switching sides immediately, “Kinda.”

“See you next week,” he says in farewell, determined to leave before you made it worse. “Try not to get killed by then.”

“Why, so you can do it yourself? Protective much?” You pull him back when he starts walking away, laughing slightly. “Wait a second, you weirdo.”

He sighs, staying put anyway, arms crossed impatiently over his chest.

You pull out the pen tucked behind your ear and slowly tap him twice on each shoulder in a makeshift knighting ceremony. “For your sacrifice.”

He rolls his eyes at the ludicrousness, tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth.

You ignore his lack of enthusiasm, pressing your fingertips to your lips in a small kiss and then to his nose, given that it was the only part of his face you had access to.

“That was for your bravery.” You grin brightly at him and he sure as hell is glad he’s wearing the stupid helmet because he can feel his cheeks light up a bright crimson.

“Thanks.” His voice sounds gruffer than a second ago. He clears his throat.

“Now you’re my knight in leathery armour,” you fawn, nearly falling over yourself dramatically. “Let’s ride into the sunset together. I love you.”

“You’re ridiculous,” he calls out over his shoulder, turning away to return to his bike. “I despise you.”

“But you don’t.”

He really didn’t.

also i managed to fuck my phone up really bad so all proceeds from my ko-fi go towards getting it fixed

Next part

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #mcu fic #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky angst #bucky barnes angst #harmless fic #winter soldier x reader #Winter Soldier #bucky barnes #bucky

[peach-skull]

Forever yours

Forever yours

Tomura Shigaraki x Reader

__________________________________________________________________________

tags/TW

Unprotected sex, dry humping, pregnancy mention, cumming inside, childhood friends to lovers, facesitting, shiggy being his nasty self, no quirks au, fluff adjacent 

________________________________________________________________

You would get a turn once he died. That’s how it was: That’s how it had been ever since you two were children. Tomura rarely died in video games, so if you wanted a turn you either had to whine until he gave in or wait until he was too focused to notice you take it from him until it was too late. However, you weren’t interested in video games today. You were interested in him. In his soft blue hair, his long, slender fingers, his beautiful crimson eyes. You were head over heels for your best friend since childhood, Tomura Shigaraki. It was a terrible,  roiling mixture of puppy love and sheer lust. You wanted to go on long walks and hold his hand. You also wanted him to bend you over a table and fuck you until your legs gave out. 

“ Tomu.”

He didn’t answer you, too absorbed in his game to pay attention to anything else. You huffed and tapped him with your foot.

“Tomura!”

Shigaraki muttered something unintelligible and paused his game, looking at you over his shoulder.

“ What do you want, (Y/N)?”

Showtime.

“ I have, uh, a personal question for you”

He grabbed an energy drink and took a sip.

“ Just ask it already.”

You needed to ask this casually. Like you couldn’t care less about the answer. Just making friendly conversation.

“ You’re still a virgin, right?”

He choked on his drink, coughing and sputtering as he tried to think of an answer. Who just asks shit like that?! You better not be making fun of him.

“ That’s none of your goddamn business,asshole.”

Based on his reaction alone, he had to be. You shrugged casually and adjusted one of your thigh-highs, smoothing your pleated skirt once it was back in position. You had worn them especially for him: you knew him long enough to know what he liked.

“ I’ll take that as a yes. So am I. I want to lose it but like, with the right person y’know? Not some rando, or like, a boyfriend who’ll sour the experience if we break up.”

You have never used ‘like’ in a sentence so many times in your life. Or used the word rando. 

“ so I was thinking, wouldn’t it be way easier to do it with someone you already trust? Like a close friend . so what if we, Y’know, helped each other ou-

SLAM. before you could even finish your question, Shigaraki had moved from the foot of the bed to the headboard, straddling you with his hands gripping above your head. 

He loomed above you, a massive cheshire grin plastered on his flushed face.

“ You aren’t fucking with me, right? You’re being serious? You actually wanna fuck?”

You didn’t expect him to be so enthusiastic about it. You thought he would decline, or accept in a less...intense manner. He was panting and leering and- was he seriously drooling? As if to answer your question, a drop of spit landed on your chest. Maybe a keyhole sweater wasn’t the best thing to wear today. 

“N-no, I'm not messing around, Tomu. I-I want… I want to have sex with you.”

Tomura quickly laid on top of you, pinning you down and shoving his tongue into your mouth. You had never been kissed before.  You tried to keep up with him, but he was just so rough that it was difficult to do so.You put your trembling hands oh his shoulders and tried to wiggle into a more comfortable position. He snickered and began to grind against your lap, completely misunderstanding what you were trying to do. You pushed his face away, a string of saliva connecting your lips. 

“ Get off for a second, I need to move my legs.”

Tomura rolled his eyes but did as you said, crawling backwards on all fours. More of a scuttle, really. You lifted your skirt and spread your legs, revealing your string-tie panties.  You didn’t even get the chance to tell him to come back before he pounced, rutting against your covered pussy and latching onto your neck. You could feel the seam of his jeans rubbing on your clit as he frantically humped you. It felt better than you thought it would: his weight on you, the teeth on your throat, the grind of his hard cock on your aching sex. You were getting close to the edge already, moaning and grabbing onto his hoodie as you  tried not to finish.

“T-Tomura! Please slow down, I- ah! I’m- I don’t want to cum from kissing! Please, just s-stop for a second!”

Goddammit, he was so close. It hurt to pull away from the warm embrace of your thighs, but he grit his teeth and did it anyways. You had a point: cumming from dry humping alone was a little pathetic. Shigaraki sat back on his heels and surveyed the damage.

Your skirt was pulled up past your stomach. One of your thigh highs had rolled all the way down to your ankle and your neck was covered in bruises. The hole in the chest of your sweater had slipped, exposing the top of your nipples. You weren’t wearing a bra. Holy shit, you weren’t wearing a bra. You had waltzed over to his house and sat on his bed in thigh highs and a sailor skirt and one of those sweaters with a boob window and NO FUCKING BRA. Tomura jumped off of the bed and pulled down his pants without bothering to unzip them. As you stared at the absolute monster of a cock that your best friend somehow had tucked away just moments ago, you only had one question on your mind.

“ um, Shiggy?”

You only called him that when you were particularly nervous. Tomura tore off his hoodie, his shirt going along with it and threw them both on the ground.

“ Why the hell is your dick so goddamn big?!”

 He looked down at his crotch as if he had absolutely no clue that his cock was roughly the size of a coke bottle. He looked at you and shrugged.

“ No idea. It’s always been like this, can I fuck your tits?”

He had to be joking.

“What?!”

“ Can you give me a titjob? Please?! I’m really close! It’ll take like two minutes, I swear!

If you weren’t madly in love with this man, you’d put him and his stupid horse cock in a shallow grave.

“ Yeah, yeah, just gimme a sec…”

He sat on the edge of the bed and patted the spot next to him, grinning wildly.

“ Lay down over here and put your boobs on my lap. This’ll be great,I swear.”

Shit, why did he have to be so cute?! You grumbled about various grievances you had with your friend and his dopey smile and that scar on his lips and and his stupid fucking fat dick as you got off his bed and walked over to where he was sitting. You stood in front of him and took off your sweater, chucking it into his face.

“ I swear to GOD if you choke me with that thing, I’ll bite it off. No head-pushing, Understand?”

He just smiled and nodded his head rapidly. 

You turned around and took your skirt off, bending over afterwards to roll up the rogue stocking that had decided to slip. While you were busy trying to keep the damn thing from falling again, Tomura grabbed the strings tying your panties together and tugged, undoing the bows and yanking them off of you.

“HEY!”

He held the underwear up to get a closer look. They were white and (f/c) striped, with lace and a little bow on top. Absolutely adorable. He was going to add them to his collection when you weren’t looking,but he just couldn't resist pressing his face into the damp fabric and inhaling deeply.

Was this motherfucker seriously sniffing your panties right in front of you?! You snatched the cloth away from him and threw them across the room, safe from his nasty clutches. For now.

“ Heh, sorry about that (Y/N). You always smell so good, I couldn’t help myself.”

That really shouldn’t have made your stomach flutter the way it did. You laid on the bed, lowering your chest onto Tomura’s lap. He ran his hand down your back and slapped your ass, laughing when you yelped out of pain and surprise.

“ Raise your hips. I can’t have you doing all the work now can I?”

He lowered his hand past your ass, but his fingers couldn’t reach your clit, stopping a few centimeters short. He grumbled and leaned to the side, trying his best to figure out a position that would let him rub your clit and finger your dripping pussy at the same time and gave him the lap titjob he wanted. He might have miscalculated, but that couldn’t be: it looked great in the hentai he saw a couple weeks ago, so it should work just fine IRL!

“ Tomura, this position is kinda weird. I don’t think this is going to work the way you think it will.”

“ Yes it will! C’mon, just raise your hips a little more-”

You looked up at him as best you could from the awkward position on his lap.

“ You saw this in a doujin, didn’t you?”

After around five minutes of arguing about whether or not Tomura’s stupid position would ( or even could) work, you decided to take initiative by pushing him down  and sitting on his face. How else were you supposed to shut him up? 

“ Sorry, Tomu. This was the only way to get you to be quiet. Seriously, who the hell gets into an argument about hentai in the middle of a hookup? There’s a time and place for everything, dumbass.”

You drooled into your palm to make impromptu lube before wrapping your hand around the head of his cock, smearing your saliva and his precum around as you jerked him off. You had never given a handjob before, but if the moans sending vibrations straight to your  core where anything to go on, you were doing a pretty good job. You grabbed the back of his head and ground against his face, giggling when his cock twitched.

“ C’mon, make me cum! Don’t you wanna get to the main event? I want you to rail me until I can't walk. Don’t you wanna fuck me, Tomura? Do you wanna slam that fat cock into my tight little pussy or not?”

He’d always been fun to tease, but never like this. There was a sort of power in it now: you had him right where you wanted him. Or so you thought.Shigaraki growled and grabbed your ass to hold you still. He was sick and tired of you always messing with him. Elbowing him during multiplayer games so he would mess up.Taking the last sip of his energy drink, not even thinking of the indirect kiss. Filling his room with the smell of your perfume after a day of hanging out and then just leaving him alone to masturbate to the thought of you. 

“ Aw, are you getting cranky, Tomu? I’m almo-”

He licked  along your folds before getting to your clit. He drew slow circles with his tongue before wrapping his lips around the sensitive bundle of nerves and sucking harshly. He flicked his tongue over your clit, adding a maddening amount of stimulation to the already overwhelming act. You squealed and tried to pull away, but his grip on you was too strong. 

“ Oh fuck! It’s too much, I’m not gonna be able to - ah!- be able to focus on what I’m doing here!”

Tomura didn’t give a fuck about what you where trying to do. He cared about revenge. And if revenge came in the form of eating your pussy until you cried, then so be it. He had no plans of stopping : your bittersweet taste and your thighs squeezing his head was too damn good. He stopped sucking with a loud pop and shoved his tongue  deep inside of you. He didn’t have a lot of experience ( he had 0 experience) but he had heard enough stories from his more socially savvy friends to know that you were supposed to keep your hands, mouth, or toys on the clit at all times. Keeping this advice in mind, he rubbed his thumb over your clit.

This was ridiculous. How was he this good at eating pussy? He was supposed to be the same as you: an inexperienced virgin. Maybe all that porn he watched did some good. You had no idea. All you knew for certain was that if he got the upper hand, you’d never hear the end of it. Your efforts had slowed due to Shigaraki’s distraction. You gripped his cock harder and moved your hand faster. Tomura moaned and bucked his hips. With the amount of precum that was leaking out, he had to be close. 

He didn’t want to let you win, but your hand was making it impossible to focus. It was just so damn soft: nothing like his rough, calloused fist. Tomura had no idea how he was going to go back to his left hand after this. If your hand was this good, what was your cunt going to feel like? It really hit him then. He had been fantasizing about it for years, and now it was actually going to happen. He was going to fuck you. The mere thought of it caused the tension in his stomach to break, thick ropes of cum spurting out of his throbbing cock and landing on his torso. The look on his face was driving you insane: bright red, eyes rolled back in his skull, brows crinkled in a way you had always found adorable. You threaded your fingers through his hair with both hands and started desperately humping his face. You wanted to cum,needed to cum: you just wanted him to fuck you already. You had waited for years. You finally came with a wail, crushing his head between your thighs as you rode out the high of your long-awaited orgasm.

It took you several seconds to remember that your friend probably needed to breathe. You got off of him as quickly as you could on your trembling legs. 

  “ Are you okay, Shiggy? I didn’t mean to suffocate you: it just felt so good that I lost control…”

Shigaraki quickly sat up. He was doing great: just had the best nut of his entire life, got his head squeezed and his hair pulled, and he was going to lose his virginity to the girl he had pined over for nearly his entire life. How could he be doing anything other than amazing?!

“ I'm good.”

You looked at the mess all over his chest. How was it even possible to cum that much and still be hard? Was that just how much there always was? Did he need to see a doctor?

While the gears turned in your head, Tomura grabbed a shirt from the floor and wiped himself off, tossing the soiled fabric away once he was done. The sheer nastiness of that snapped you out of your confused state. You were about to say something when he beat you to it.

“ What position do you want to do?”

“Huh?”

“Y’know, like doggy, or cowgirl, or wheelbarrow-”

You didn’t think wheelbarrow was an actual position, but you really didn’t want to get into another argument right now. You were gonna call him out on it later, though.

“ I’d like to do missionary.”

Tomura nodded sagely. Missionary was a classic. A bit basic, but it would do.

“If you’re ready, let’s move on to the next level”

You nodded, too nervous to speak. He shuffled slowly towards you, hands shaking and arms outstretched. He needed to be cool about this: he came on a bit strong after your proposal earlier. You laid on your back and resisted the urge to cover your face with your hands. You had wanted this for such a long time, but he was just so big and he was seeing you naked and he was actually kind of muscular without his clothes on and- for fucks sake was he seriously drooling again?! 

Shigaraki quickly wiped the drool away from his mouth. You were just so beautiful. You looked scared,though-was it the drooling? He couldn’t help that! He started to scratch his neck- a habit that he just couldn’t seem to break. Even if it meant that he wasn’t going to get to have sex today, he needed to make sure that you still wanted this.

“ Are you okay? We can… we can stop i-

“NO! I mean- n-no, I’m fine. Just- just be gentle, okay?

Gentle. He could do that. Just go slow, don’t go in all the way, and probably no biting. Wait, didn’t he need a condom? It must not be that big of a deal if you didn’t bother to bring it up, right? Yeah, he could just pull out.

Tomura grabbed the base of his cock and lined it at your entrance before carefully pushing inside of you. It didn’t hurt nearly as bad as you thought it would: it just stung a little bit. You had expected ripping, bleeding pain before seeing his dick, and kind of assumed you would die after seeing it in all it’s terrifying glory. But no! You were alive and thriving.

Your partner in crime, however, was having a significantly harder time. Your pussy made his fleshlight feel like sandpaper in comparison: he considered burning the stupid peice of silicone after you two were done for being so inferior to the real thing. The fleshlight wasn’t this tight, or this warm, and it didn’t twitch like your pussy did. He honestly felt kind of bad for the times that he used it while thinking of you- not for jacking off to you or anything like that, but for using that piece of shit as a stand-in. It was insulting. Shigaraki figured that it probably wasn’t the best idea to put it in all the way in,but it was taking every ounce of his self-control to not just slam in balls-deep and fuck you into the mattress. 

….. Was he okay? There was a vein bulging on his forehead and he looked damn-near terrified. You were going to have to make the first move again. You put your hands on his waist and pulled him towards you until his hips were flush with yours. Despite the slow entrance, his cock hitting your cervix still knocked the air out of you. It hurt a bit more now, but not nearly enough to stop.

“ I-it’s okay Shiggy, it doesn’t hurt. You can move now..”

Tomura cautiously  pulled backwards a few inches and pressed back inside just as carefully. His first couple of thrusts were a bit awkward, but he soon found a slow, steady rhythm. 

You couldn’t believe how soft he was being. He leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on your collar bone before moving to your breasts, licking your nipple before putting it in his mouth and sucking. His other hand was lightly caressing the opposing mound. It was all so sweet and tender that you almost wanted to cry: you knew that he didn’t feel the same way that you did. But for now, all you could do was stroke his hair and pretend that you were making love instead of just hooking up. 

“Mmmmn, T-tomur-ah!”

This wasn’t fair! He had liked you for years, you were gasping and moaning underneath him, but something unpleasant was still prodding at the back of his thoughts. After this, you were going to find some strong, confident man to take his place. This was just practice. Shigaraki didn’t want this to be practice: he wanted you to be his last. He wanted to be your only. He buried his face in the crook of your neck and started to thrust into you harder. He wanted you to be all his.

“ Mmmineeee...” 

Mine?! Did he just say “mine”?! Did he- did he feel the same way?! No, that couldn't be: you probably just misheard him.

“ um, w-what did you say?”

He snapped his head up and glared at you, his ruby eyes practically glowing.

“ I said mine! I want you to be mine! MY player two, MY pussy,MINE!”

With every repeat of mine he slammed into you a little harder, a little rougher.

“Come on, say it! Say you’ll be mine, (Y/N)!

You felt like such an idiot. Of course Tomura wasn’t going to say that he liked you- this was Tomura you were talking about. But he’d been showing it for years- walking you home, helping you win plushies at the arcade, dying on purpose so you would get a chance to play, giving you his hoodie whenever it was cold out…. How did you not notice? But he was never going to take the final step. So as per usual, it was up to you to take initiative. You put your hand on his cheek and smiled when he nuzzled into your touch.

“ I love you, Tomura. I’ve always been yours.”

He froze at your confession. Oh shit, did you go too far? Was the whole “mine” thing just his idea of dirty talk? Shigaraki pulled out  and moved backwards. Just as you were about to say something, he grabbed your knees and moved your legs up until they were above your head. Was he seriously going to just ignore what you just said?! You just told him that you loved him, for fucks sake!  Did all the blood rushing to his dick leave him braindead? 

Shigaraki knew the look on your face well: narrowed eyes, pursed lips, puffed cheeks. Impatient and suspicious. He’d better not keep you waiting,then. He positioned himself so that his cock was dangling above your exposed hole and leaned in close until you two were nose to nose. 

“ I love you too, (Y/N).”

With your confession returned, he slammed into your waiting cunt in one quick thrust, groaning as he was finally balls-deep inside of your warm,slick pussy. You squealed as he jackrabbited into your core with short, deep thrusts, hitting a spot inside that you’d never been able to reach. The headboard of the bed crashed against the wall loudly, creating a lewd orchestra alongside the squeaking of the bedsprings and your wanton moans. Tomura’s hair fell alongside your face in a soft curtain, making it so he was the only thing you could see. As if you’d look anywhere else.

“ I love you! I love you! I mean it, I love you! You’re gorgeous, you feel so good, I love you! I love you so fucking much! I love you! IloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveIloveyouIloveyou-”

You pulled your babbling lover into a deep kiss as the knot inside of your stomach snapped. Your convulsing walls squeezed his cock in a vice grip as you came, nearly sending him over the edge .

“ C-can I cum inside? I don’t wanna pull out! I swear I’ll take responsibility if you get pre- i-if anything happens! Please, let me cum inside of you!”

You could barely think through your haze, so you just nodded your head. Of course he could cum inside: where else was it supposed to go? He wasn’t wearing a condom after all… you probably should’ve made him wear one. Oh well. That was a problem for future (Y/N) to worry about. 

Tomura wrapped his arms around your waist and thrusted his hips one more time before  

Blowing his load directly into your womb, spurt after spurt of creamy white filling you to the brim, tongue sticking out of his mouth as he howled with pleasure.

“Hhhhhhhhh…. I love youuuu…..”

 He let out a contented sigh and flopped on top of you without bothering to take his cock out of your cum-filled pussy. He was too tired- he’d pull out after a nap. You were just as exhausted as he was- cleanup was just another issue future (Y/N) would have to deal with. You yawned and nuzzled into his neck before drifting into a peaceful, messy sleep. 

End

_______________________________________

I wrote this after a debate with @libiraki about who’s dick was worse: Shigaraki or Dabi’s. 

#i wrote it like a month after but still #shigaraki tomura #shigaraki x reader #smut #its nasty boy shig hours who tf is up #shiggy smut #childhood friends to lovers #quirkless au

[bitea-sweetea-roseytocin]

Ooo hi I saw you take requests? I have a writing request if you want to :))

So here is my idea:

Remus has a notebook given to him by the other sides to write his thoughts down in. See, Remus has clear impulse control problems so this notebook of for him to write his thoughts down instead of just doing and saying whatever comes to mind. It gives him a chance to think about it. Sometimes, maybe like once a week give or take a few days one of the other sides will sit down with him and read his thoughts with him just to make him feel validated and heard. Well this particular time one of the sides (of your choice) sat down with the notebook and found some rather interesting things.

Now, you can take this one of two ways (it’s really all up to you!)- You can make this something angsty (hurt comfort), or you can make it something shippy! It can be any Remus ship you want but I personally am more partial to intrulogical hehe 💙💚

Take your time and have fun with it!! Have a good day :)

Ah! Ty for the request! I started writing it on the day you submitted it, but Tumblr deleted it after a while of not saving :') so now my motivation to do this is deterred

Anyway, this'll be my first time not writing something Roman centric =w=""

Remus held the book in his hands. He remembered the day Roman gave it to him, when he risked traveling into the dark scape because he knew his brother needed this. Because he did, too.

An outlet.

A place for his monstrosities to be, other than inside his head, allowed to torture him to their best abilities. The illusions his mind creates are no longer just in his eyes. It's no longer insanity- it's creativity. The journal isn't the first one. But he and Roman make sure to keep eachother stocked up; they get filled rather quickly. The Imagination holds an entire library dedicated to their filled journals from over the years.

The journals have also become sort of diaries to them. So, imagine what were to happen if one of them got lost? The possibility of their secrets being seen by unbidden eyes.

Remus burst into Roman's room, "Ro!"

Roman jumped from his spot at his desk, "Jeez- ! What is it?"

Oddly, for Remus, he seemed almost anxious, "Have you seen my latest journal?"

Ah, that explains it. Roman understands the severity of losing something that holds your private thoughts. He stood up from his desk chair, turning to face Remus better, "No, I haven't. Is it missing?"

Remus nodded, unable to speak through the panic coursing through his veins, the hormone mixing with the feeling of the plasma we call blood rushing through veins and arteries, rest in his heart, which is thumping with vigor, the- Remus shook himself. The imagery coming on its own with nothing to do with it, "Thoughts, thoughts thoughts, thoughts, blood, where? Everywhere? It is me, I am thoughts and blood and gore and death and slime, and..."

Roman pulled his brother in, the physical touch of his second half grounding him, finally balanced out with his brother there to help him.

"Breathe, Ree...I get it...I'll help you look for it, okay? Do you have any spare journals?"

Remus shook his head. He had just started this one, he was too busy brainstorming on the pages to remember to restock.

"Okay, do you have the focus to conjur any, right now?"

Remus shook his head again. No no, of course not! He's too focused on the one that's missing!

"Alright, that's okay, Ree. I get it. Here, use this for now," As Roman spoke, he pressed a plain black book in the unstable man's hands, "Get some thoughts out on that, then we can start looking, okay?"

Instead of answering, he made the rest of the way into the prince's room and started letting the thoughts out.

.

.

.

"Feel better?"

Remus let out a breath and nodded, "A lot, thanks. Can we go look, now?"

"Of course, let's go."

It took hours. The sun was gone in Thomas' living room and they were still tearing the place apart, searching absolutely everywhere. Remus was tempted to just dismantle the mind palace and look through the stuff that gets left behind. The fear was boiling in his gut in the ocean of acid.

"What if we don't find it? My blood, sweat, and tears went into that book! Pieces of my heart are in there, I can't lose it, what if someone else finds it and reads it?"

Roman shuddered, because he didn't believe that Remus was being metaphorical, "I understand the severity of the situation, Ree. We should go look in the Lightside, now..."

Remus shrugged as much as his slumped posture will allow, "Sure..."

"We'll find it, Ree..."

"That's not what I'm worried about. If I lose it? Fine, I have others, I can start a new one. I'm scared of someone else finding it and reading it... there's things in there I don't want others seeing..."

"I get it, you know I do. We'll get it back before anyone else can even know it exists, alright?"

Remus just shrugged off his comforting hand, "Stupid prince, always making promises you don't even know if you can keep. Don't do that to yourself and don't do it to me. I'm not stupid enough to fall for that shit."

Roman recoiled, almost physically, "Sometime, people just need reassurance."

"And then, when you're wrong? I know you don't like breaking promises, Princey."

"...Then hopefully we'll figure it out."

"You're such a fucking optimist, it's gross."

Roman rolled his eyes, "I'm helping you look, be nice, you doofus."

"Oh wow, "doofus", I'm so offended," Remus said without much effort.

Roman ignored him.

.

.

.

"It's not HERE!" Remus screamed, a pot crashing through the wall.

Roman manged to muffle the noise and quickly put it back together, "We will, this was only the first room in the Lightside. You need to calm down."

"I can't! What if someone else already found it and read it? What if they hate me? What if they never wanna talk to me again because nothing in there makes sense, what-"

Roman caught his hands, "Woah! Woah...Remus, when did you start caring so much about what the others think of you?"

"I don't!"

"But...-"

"I don't care about what Logan and the other think of me."

"Of what...Logan and the...? Remus...is this about Logan?"

Remus hesitated just long enough.

"Oh great Aphrodite, it is..."

"Aphro-? NO! No, I don't!"

"Remus, is there something about Logan on that book?"

Remus said fuck it in his mind and sighed, "Yes... I...some fantasies...that he might not approve of..."

"Oh, Remus..."

"What if he finds out, and he...? He just doesn't...?"

Roman hit his brother on the head, "This is why you're a doofus. It doesn't matter if he finds it, you have nothing to worry about."

Remus rolled his eyes. Literally. He rolled them like dice and Roman had to look away, but got the message.

"How would you know?"

It was Roman's turn to roll his eyes (PROPERLY).

"I'm leaving you to figure that out. But, I do."

"Sure. Whatever. Asshole."

Roman moved on to look in the next room.

.

.

.

A flash of green leaped onto him and he was tumbling over, the item in his hands flying out.

"Remus!"

The man scrambled over and snatched the book up, "Did you read it?"

"I- no, Remus what is it?"

"It's mine. Roman, I found it!"

Roman? Since when do those two talk? But, as Remus said, Roman walked in.

"Oh, thank Hades."

"Logan had it."

Roman sucked in a breath, "Did he read it?"

Remus shook his head, relief is a weird expression on the man's face.

Logan wouldn't mind seeing it more.

"What is this about?"

Roman took the liberty of answering, "The book is Remus' and it's private. Reading it would be invasive."

"Oh, my apologies, then. But, I had just picked it up, it was left over from Remus' running through the room and into the Imagination, along with some other debris I cleaned up."

"It's alright, nerd."

Logan's gaze lingered on Remus a bit, before he bid his farewells, reminded Roman of some work he needs to do by Friday, then left.

"Y'know," Roman said as they turned to walk back, "You could tell him how you feel."

Remus scoffed, "I'm not self destructive, like you, RoRo."

Ignoring Remus' jabs is difficult for the prince, nevertheless, "And do, pray tell, how it's self destructive?"

"Because he'll say no and that will hurt. I don't like when things actually hurt. I'm not risking him hating me even more."

"Woah, woah, he doesn't hate you."

"Doesn't he? I'm chaotic, irrational, vile, ik everything he fights to keep under control."

Roman digested this and thought hard on how best to explain this, "But that's exactly why you two are perfect for each other. You help him let loose when he's being a stick in the mud and he helps you keep in control of yourself and stay organized.

"You're delusional. He doesn't like me, he can't Ro. It goes against our very beings! Go ahead and fool yourself, but you can't do that to me. That's just cruel." Remus disappeared and Roman sighed as he tried to brush off his brother's words.

As the embodiment of romance, he thinks he'd know when a couple will work out or not. How will he convince his brother and Logan of that? He supposes he can't blame them for that, who would listen to the love advice of someone who loves someone that loves someone else? Kinda hypocritical.

.

.

.

"Just leave me alone!"

"Remus! Would calm down? Just listen to me!"

"No! You're a liar and I hate you! Do you want me to get hurt? You're an asshole you good for nothing prince!" He screamed. Why won't his brother let this go? Doesn't he see that everyone is better this way?

"Fine! You're right! Is that what you want to hear? Call me an asshole, call me stupid, call me evil or whatever! But I'm not wrong! Why don't you believe me? Ha! Why am I trying to reason with the self proclaimed unreasonable?"

Remus looked down from his perch on the guillotine, "Wait, RoRo-!" But he was gone.

"Fuck."

He rushed out, hoping to Loki that he didn't do too much damage.

"Roman!"

But he found who he wants looking for.

"Why are you screaming in the middle of the common room?" Came that cool and sexy voice.

"Looking for my brother, duh."

"Funny, I just spoke to him."

"Where'd he go?"

"Not sure, but he told me to stop being a robotic fake and confess to you."

"He- ? ROMAN!" Remus summoned a hammer and maybe there's a new hole in the wall.

"He was right, surprisingly."

Remus was not expecting that, "Come again?"

"I have noticed, over the course of our interactions, that I have developed feelings that I didn't recognized until Roman brought them to my attention. Remus...I have romantic feelings for you."

And it was the last casual and calculated confession Remus ever heard. He imagined something with ropes. But it was the best thing he ever heard. He didn't expect to be crying.

"Remus?"

"I like you, too..."

Logan brightened and stood up, his heart beating unnaturally, yet pleasently, as he moved closer, "Then... perhaps we...?"

But before he could finish, Remus pulled him in and there was no need for words.

Part 2 with what happened with Roman afterwards?

Ty so much for the request and I apologies for the long wait.

@fireflyjunkie

#sanders sides #roman sanders #remus sanders #logan sanders #roman angst #remus angst #intrulogical #intrulogical angst #intrulogical fluff #fanfiction #request #It's really hard for me to not include roman angst #is this what you had in mind? #i madd you wait too long for this #I'd feel bad if I didn't even do it well #lol #i started it when you gave it to me #made progress then it got deleted #so my motivation after that wasn't great lol #but I did it!! #oh wait #frick #i didn't see the fact that they were supposed to sit down with him and read it #ummmmmmm...... #here's some angst and creativitwin bonding....? #i can absolutely redo it #i really don't mind #👀💧

[voltage-vixen]

Operation Get Laid

‘Tis the Season of Smut Challenge Days 7 & 8

Prompt: MC wearing nothing but a Santa hat & I’ll be sure to stuff your stocking (NSFW)

Fandom: Obey Me!

Pairing: Lucifer x MC (Female)

“Yoo-hoo! Lucifer, wait up! Wait for me!” Asmodeous’s cheery voiced echoed as he skipped after his elder brother. Lucifer had heard the annoying chirping of the younger demon and scowled in displeasure at the havoc was wreaking in the hallways.

“Shut up, Asmodeous!” Lucifer snapped, while turning to confront him. “All students are held to the highest of standards, and I would expect nothing less of them, much less from one of own siblings. Please remember to conduct yourself accordingly.”

“But Lucifer, I have some-”

“Enough!” Lucifer bellowed, casting him a final glare before spinning back around. “Diavolo and I are scheduled to meet in precisely five minutes, and I mustn’t keep him waiting.”

Increasing his pace, Lucifer stormed down the hall until he reached the main entrance where Diavolo was waiting for him. Diavolo and Barbatos were engaged in what appeared to be a private discussion, given their hushed tones and the occasional glances that surveyed the room.

Did something happen? Lucifier pondered, wondering what circumstances could have possible led to the disappearance of the carefree smile the young ruler normally wore on his face. As he approached the pair, Lucifer cleared his throat to announce his arrival, and no sooner was the familiar grin painted back on Diavolo’s face.

“Lucifer! Thank you for being willing to meet me on such short notice,” Diavolo boomed, arms outstretched to greet his second-in-command. “I have a very important assignment, and you’re the only one I entrust to be able to get the job done.” Peering over Lucifer’s shoulder, Diavolo beckoned for him to scooch closer.

“Asmodeous was supposed to deliver this message, but there’s no time for that anymore. I need you to immediately visit MC’s room and discuss what this Christmas holiday in her world looks like. This year we would like to incorporate traditions from the other realms, however we don’t have much time to do so, meaning you have to hurry with this. Can I count on you to do this for me?”

“Of course, you can! Rest assured, I will not fail you,” Lucifer vowed, before speeding up his pace down the hallway.

“Well, that went rather smoothly,” Barbatos commented. “It seems he doesn’t suspect a thing.”

“Did he fall for it?” Asmodeous asked when he finally came strolling up.

See it had not gone unnoticed that recently Lucifer had been agitated and more snappy than usual. He had been so absorbed in his studies and monitoring the other students, this left him feeling….well, rather pented up. This prompted Diavolo to form the committee of him, Barbatos, and Asmodeous known as Operation Get Lucifer Laid. MC at first was mortified when they contacted her about the plan, but soon fell onboard since she herself was feeling lonely and in need of her own ‘relief’.

“It would appear so,” Diavolo confidently responded. “However, just in case go keep an eye on the situation for me, will you, Asmodeous?”

Nodding in compliance, Asmodeous began to trot down the hallway and stealthily journeyed to MC’s room.

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

“MC? MC, I’m here under Diavolo’s orders,” Lucifer projected through the door. “First and foremost, you have my sincerest gratitude that you were willing to assist us in this matter in helping expand the traditions of Devildom……are you there? Why aren’t you responding to me? Are you alright? Anyway, I’m coming in now.”

The handle on the door creaked open and Lucifer walked only to nearly crash into the chair in front of him when his sight was blessed with MC posing provocatively on the bed in only her natural glory minus this red hat perched on the top of her head.  Lucifer unconsciously gulped when his girth below the waist strained uncomfortably against the seams of his pants. The sight of the normally composed eldest demon brother being caught acting rattled must have been the reaction MC was seeking since she cracked a low giggle.

“You should probably shut the door,” MC instructed the still dumbfounded Lucifer. “Unless you prefer an audience? And in case you haven’t put two and two together by now, Diavolo set you up so we could spend some time together.”

Lucifer didn’t need to be informed twice to hustle behind him to slam the door close. He would worry about Diavolo later, but now the very idea of anyone else witnessing his human in this state of undress would be unforgivable. Once the door was securely locked, MC traipsed over and threw her arms around his neck. She removed the hat from her head and instead placed it on top of Lucifer’s.

“Merry early Christmas, Lucifer,” she breathed, intentionally rolling the words into a slur as she uttered them. “In my world the children believe that a man by the name of Santa Claus brings good girls and boys presents for behaving all year long. Well, haven’t I been a good exchange student this year, Lucifer? Don’t I deserve a little special something as well?”

Gone was student council president’s stunned state of mind, and back was his typical confidence of arrogance. We wasted not a moment’s notice leaning towards her and use his teeth to fervently nibble on the contour of MC’s neck. While heated pants pursued through the crease of her lips, Lucifer managed to disrobe himself until he was left standing bare. MC tore away from the attack of the demon’s lips, and her fingers descended the canvas of her body seeking the most sensitive of her spots.

“Indeed, you are right about being a good girl, MC,” Lucifer chuckled, his hands wrapping around his own firm cock to jerk himself in preparation of fucking her senseless. “My good girl knows just how much it pleases me to see her get off while thinking about me.”

“Please, help me,” MC whimpered, her body longing for more stimulation than she was able to provide on her own. “I’m wet enough to handle you now. Please let me give myself to you!”

Never one to deny himself the pleasures in life, Lucifer willingly obliged by sauntering over the bed to join MC. Throwing her ankle over his shoulder, Lucifer slipped a finger, followed by a second inside of her to see how wet she really was.

“Hmm, your body is feeling very honest today,” he breathed, “It looks like my good girl is ready to get her stocking stuffed.” “Wait, how did you know about stock-!”

The words of her question were gone and overtaken by loud moans as Lucifer aligned himself at her entrance and pressed beyond her glistening folds. His hips came crashing into hers as the demon leaned forward to allow his tongue to tease the flushed breasts of her generous chest. Their bodies thrusting in rhythm together, MC adjusted her position to stimulate her clit against the muscles of Lucifer’s toned lower body and uttered a guttural groan when she glided against the sweat now dripping down the cuts of his toned abdomen.

Lucifer filled her to the brim, stretching MC out until her walls began to tingle and flutter around his cock. She mewled and dragged her nails down the sides of his arms, a glimpse of desperation flashing in her eyes as she silently pleaded with him.

“Does my good girl want to come?” Lucifer taunted, his deliberately grazing along the swell of her swollen clit. “Very well then. I’ll be nice to you today and oblige.”

Shaking her leg off from his shoulder, Lucifer bent down to lift MC up and place her over his shaft standing tall at attention. Wrapping her legs around his torso, MC and Lucifer both hissed when she sank down onto him and the rush of heat pulsated through every inch of their bodies. Her breasts swayed in synch to the pace of their movements, each becoming more frenzied than the last while they rose closer and closer to reaching their peaks provided by the other. Lucifer’s mouth was suddenly drawn to MC’s, and his tongue forced its way through the part of her lips. His tongue danced in her mouth while the lewd sounds of the demon pumping deeper and deeper into MC’s arousal echoed throughout her room.

She bounced on his erection, sighing and panting in a carnal delight at how absolutely blissful it felt to have Lucifer assaulting her in one of the most satisfying ways possible. Bodies on fire, all the stimulation led to the eventual release they both had been desperately seeking. Lucifer gently tossed MC back onto her bed and he collapsed beside her as he fought to regain his breathing under control.

“Wow,” MC sighed, breathless and a bit sore from the intense sex the two just engaged in together.

“I knew I would please you,” Lucifer boasted. “Say, remind me to thank Diavolo later.”

“Diavolo?” MC blinked in confusion. “Sure, did he do something for you?” Ready for round two, Lucifer rolled over and swiftly straddled MC, secretly fuming she had the nerve to utter the name of another man in front of him!

“Don’t mention other men when you’re around me,” he chastised. “Bad girls need to be punished just like good goods need to be rewarded, and you my dear were a very naughty girl just now.”

Curling his long fingers around the curves of MC’s waist, Lucifer gave no warning before snapping his hips forward and roughly plunging deep into the heat of her core, leaving her begging for him to really give it to her.

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

Meanwhile, outside the door was a nosy Asmodeous with his ear pressed against the door. MC’s screams of ecstasy were enough to assure the younger demon that the Operation Get Lucifer Laid could be deemed successful. Although Asmo was supposed to report back to Diavolo regarding their victorious achievement, he did a quick surveillance of the hallway to assure he was completely alone. Shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly, he slid his hands down the front of his pants to relish some playtime with himself at the expense of his brother and partner as a reward for his contribution to the plan that got Lucifer laid.

#'tis the season for smut #obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me smut #obey me fanfic #obey me lucifer x mc #obey me lucifer fanfic #obey me lucifer smut #obey me asmodeus #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos

[newtonsheffield]

Hiii i absolutely loved the epilogue, sooo cute and funny and the ending 🥺 but now i have this teeny tiny question if you don't mind how do you imagine the night of the Formal if Katie had actually gone with someone else? like I just know jealous baby Anthony will be so funny, sorry i know that would be like an au of an au of an au (lol) but i just loooove fics with dances because i don't get any of those where i am from

I'm so glad you enjoyed the epilogue of A Letter That You Never Read! I really had no idea when I posted that story that people would like it quite so much but... I guess you guys did?

Anyway I would be more than happy to share with you a tiny taste of Jealous teenage Anthony, quietly brooding away in the corner. @missfairygodmother was also interested in seeing Baby Anthony get a little green eyed over Kate

In this AU of an AU of an AU

Anthony had been nervous all afternoon, well, for weeks, months actually, as he'd tried to pluck up the courage to ask Katie Sheffield if she would go to the formal with him. But every time he'd been around her, he just couldn't choke out the words. She always seemed so far above them all, distancing herself from the mundanity of teenage life, sitting in the corner of the cafeteria quietly reading a book while idiots hit each other with the dinner trays around her, her eyes rolling slightly as she walked past them. So he hadn't done it.

But he'd found himself considering what she would like, when he picked out his suit. Her backpack was green, was that her favourite colour? Would she like it if he wore a tie that colour? What flowers would she like to see on his buttonhole? Roses? or tulips or peonies or something else completely?

"Why don't you ask Katie to go with you?" His mother had said gently as they'd stood in the store and the woman taking his measurements had asked what his partner was wearing. "She doesn't want to go with me, Mum." He'd mumbled, more than a little embarrassed, deeply regretting the incidents that had caused her to become aware of his futile crush. "Did you ask her?" He shook his head "She barely says anything to me, Mum. She doesn't like me back." And his cheeks had burned with shame His mother had sighed, "I don't suppose it's occurred to you that she might also be too nervous to say anything?" And while Anthony had scoffed, he'd desperately hoped that she was right, even though he knew the very last word that would ever be used to describe Katie Sheffield was nervous.

Be'd told himself, as he got ready, that when he got there, and he saw her, he'd ask her to dance. He would, he would find the courage somehow. And he would tell her that his heart wanted to beat out of his chest whenever he saw her, that he thought she was beautiful and smart, and funny and he wanted to know her. He'd arrived and loitered nervously in the corner of the school gymnasium and then he saw her, and his heart felt like it had been ripped out of his chest.

Kate had walked in, heartbreakingly beautiful, her hair cascading down her back like a waterfall, just like always, her glasses abandoned for the night, which made Anthony frown a little, but that wasn't why his heart broke. No, she was arm in arm with someone else. She paused at the doorway, listening to something her annoyingly handsome and square jawed partner said, her face breaking into a wide smile as he finished. Anthony felt something white hot rip through his chest seething at the back of the other boy's head as they walked further into the room.

Whoever he was, Anthony had never seen him before, but he looked older, a little more mature, and Anthony hated him. Petulantly despised him, almost as much as he despised himself for not asking her. She already has a boyfriend you idiot, of course she does, because you're a fuckwit and she's incredible.

He stood stock still in the corner jealousy tearing through him for god knows how long, wincing as he saw her boyfriend smile down at her, his fingers lightly brushing the flowers at her wrist. Roses Anthony noted, despising the pink tulips currently on his buttonhole. "You could have just asked her yourself you know. She's here with him because he actually asked her." Simon's voice said gently, as he followed Anthony's line of vision as Katie's boyfriend laughed. "Fuck Off Si." Anthony spat out, hating the truth of it, unable to stand in the room another minute he swept outside ignoring her completely as he past, leaning against the side of the building his chest aching.

"Anthony? Are you okay?" Of course she was here. Standing just a few feet away from him, the green of her dress shining in the soft lighting, an Amy Shark song, Adore playing in the background he realised a little belatedly because of course it was. "Yeah, fine. Why wouldn't I be?" He said, ignoring the lump in his throat. "Are you having a good time? Your boyfriend seems nice." Her brow furrowed just a little, her lower lip caught between her teeth. "You just looked kind of upset." Her voice was so soft, her eyes so concerned that right here, in this moment, it was so easy for him to pretend that she felt the same way he did. But she didn't. "Freddie's nice, we always have a good time together." Katie and Freddie. They even had matching names, his stomach churned while his chest burned with jealousy, and he instantly felt sick because he was making this so much about himself, when he should have been glad to see her happy.

Anthony nodded. "You look really nice tonight, Katie." He couldn't help himself. Her eyes widened for a second before she smiled. "Thanks, it's amazing what happens when a girl takes off her glasses right?" "It doesn't have anything to do with that." Anthony said sharply, his eyes catching hers. Surely she knew how beautiful she was. Silence echoed between them for several moments before "Katie?" A male voice called out softly, Freddie appearing seconds later. Katie smiled at him when he arrived, and Anthony's stomach churned again. He wondered for one wild moment, what it would have been like if she never came, if he never came, then he could have gone on pretending he had a chance forever.

"Sorry, Mate, I don't think we've been introduced, Freddie." He said turning towards Anthony, his hand outstretched. Anthony stared down at it for a second and then gritted his teeth. "Freddie this is Anthony." Katie said lightly and Freddie did the oddest thing, his eyes widened, a smirk on his face as he looked between them. "Anthony, I'm so glad to meet you!" He said, suddenly overflowing with happiness. Anthony felt his brow furrow as Katie ducked her head embarrassed. "Mate, I wonder if you could do me a favour, I hurt my leg at Rugby this week." Of course he's a rugby player, Anthony thought savagely. "And I think someone ought to dance with Katie." Anthony's heart stopped. Katie looked nothing short of aghast. "Freddie!" She hissed angrily, nudging him "Anthony, you don't have to,- I'm not- Freddie I'm telling my Mum on you!" Anthony's brow furrowed again, he was missing something here, something he couldn't quite place but he wasn't going to miss the opportunity. He cut across Freddie's "Please, Auntie's not going to do-" "I want to dance with you!" Katie's head nearly shot off her shoulders as it swivelled towards him. Anthony felt his hand ruffle his hair nervously, cursing himself. "If you want to... dance with me that is." He couldn't breathe as her eyes flicked over his face, more than a little guarded until she said.

"Okay. I'd like that." Anthony felt his face break into a bright smile, his heart pounding in his chest as he tugged her back though the doors, leading her to the dance floor, his heart pounding as she wrapped her arms a little awkwardly around him, standing so lose he could count the tiny line of freckles on her nose. Content silence between them as the music swelled in the background. And then everything came slipping from his chest. She was so close he just couldn't help it.

"I really wanted to ask you to come tonight. And I'm sorry, I know it's not fair because you're with Freddie, but I've liked you for a really long time and I can't let you go away to University thinking don't care about you." He was breathing a little heavily by the end of his speech, the warring emotions that had been playing on him all night finally getting the better of him as Katie stared at him, dumbstruck. Anthony let his hands drop. "And now i've made you uncomfortable, I'm really sorry. Sorry." God he had to get out of here, tears were pushing at the back of his throat, clouding his vision, and then her hand caught his. "Freddie is my cousin!" She said, all in a rush, "Well, my step mum's second cousin's son. But I had to bring him because I didn't have anyone else and I was too nervous to come by myself but I really wanted to see you one last time and-" Anthony couldn't help himself, his heart was beating out of his chest as he leaned towards her, cutting off whatever she'd been about to say with his lips on hers.

Her lips were soft against his, unmoving for a moment, before her hands tugged him more tightly against her, her fingers playing with the hair at the back of his neck. There was a small smilie on her lips when Anthony pulled back, a broad grin on his own. " I've wanted to do that for a really long time." "Was it worth the wait do you think?" "Abso-fucking-lutely." Their lips met again with a small giggle, and even though Anthony had just said the most embarrassing thing he possibly could have said after kissing a girl, he really couldn't bring himself to care.

#a letter that you never read #aus on aus on aus #teenage! kathony #anthony is a jealous little bean #kathony #anthony x kate #anthony bridgerton #kate sheffield #kate sharma #molly's asks and answers

[hikarus-shida]

Hook: “Everything Feels Real and Fake”

Hook x gender neutral! reader

genre: not sure what genre but it’s a good frickin’ time

warning: drug usage (edibles), consuming edibles, mentions being high and shit somewhat not feeling or seeming real, munchies as fuck, kinda bad language

summary: hook and the reader decide to be super adventurous, doing something they’ve never done before. when the reader is given *special* treats and they try them for the first time, the two of them end up understanding why people get high.

tag list: @cutierocker202 @bec0m @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @elitehunter

imagines masterlist

another one of my own ideas turned into an imagine since i got high on friday, so i’m taking inspo from myself and my experiences. of course in no way am i trying to convince or push getting high onto anyone. i wouldn’t want anyone to do something they’re not interested in doing. and if there are people that do get high that are reading this that don’t think it’s accurate, we all have different experiences when high (edibles or smoking!). i, personally, am the biggest idiot when i’m high and nothing ever feels real!

*i do not own this gif!*

You stared at the package of “candy” in your hand, contemplating on whether or not you wanted to eat them. You were so deep in thought that you hadn’t noticed Hook walked into your room and furrowed his brows at you, confused by your lack of movement and why you were looking at candy. “What’s that?” His voice made you jump out of your thoughts and shyly smiled at him, fumbling with the candy.

You lifted up the packaging and showed it to him. Hook began to laugh, it soon becoming uncontrollable as he held onto his stomach. “Stoney Patch? Where the hell did you get edibles from?” He asked, his laughter subsiding as he began to control himself. Hook opened up the candy package and took a whiff, his nose scrunching at the scent, which made you snatch the package back.

“I got it from a friend. They said I should try it out since I never have before.” You shrugged, laying the edibles package off to the side of your nightstand and moving back down onto your bed. You had never gotten high and it seemed very undesirable at the moment, but it wouldn’t hurt to experience it. You’d either like it or hate it, and if you hated it.. then you’d never have to do it again.

“Well shit, let’s try it.” Hook said, walking over to your nightstand and picking up the package again. He looked at the packaging, confusion taking over as he tried to understand what everything meant. “500 milligrams? How much are we supposed to eat?”

You raised your eyebrows at him as he read the back of the package, “You actually want to eat them?”. Hook nodded, reaching into the packaging and grabbed two sour patches, smelling it before moving to put it in his mouth.

You looked at him in shock and grabbed his hand. “You’re just gonna eat it straight like that without thinking? Let’s be logical here.” You said, holding his hand while Hook rolled his eyes and still put the edible in his mouth, beginning to chew. You sighed and followed his lead, grabbing two sour patches and put it in your mouth, chewing it. Once the two of you swallowed the edible, you both practically gagged at the after taste. “That’s horrible.” You coughed, immediately reaching for water on your nightstand and drinking it.

Hook turned off your lights and then laid down next to you on your bed. “When do you think this shit will hit?” He asked, beginning to make himself comfortable on your bed. You shrugged, you didn’t know too much about edibles or getting high, which you knew was very stupid of you since you had just taken two and didn’t know what to expect. “It shouldn’t be like more than a couple of hours.” You estimated, grabbing your phone to look at the time.

The two of you laid in bed, cuddling and talking about random things while your favorite tv show played in the background quietly. At first, eating the edibles and waiting for them to kick in was very underwhelming. There was nothing that made you believe it was going to be some other worldly experience and quite frankly, you thought they were shit because it had been an hour and half already with nothing happening.

“Y/N,” You heard Hook groan, turning to look at him. Hook was playing with his lips with his finger, pulling at them and rubbing them with his fingers. “My mouth is so dry.” He whined, then began to start laughing at absolutely nothing, which made you laugh. However as soon as you opened your mouth, you felt the dryness when you began to pull your lips apart to laugh. Hook gasped when he started to feel all over his skin and rub his arms, his eyes widening as he gave you a goofy smile.

Okay, maybe you underestimated how hard these would hit you. Right now, you felt like you were sinking into your bed and the world was spinning, but it felt so good. When you looked back at Hook and felt his arms, you also gasped. “You feel like leather!” Your voice had went a bit higher when you spoke, something unnoticeable to the two of you. Hook looked at you, mouth agape as he started to feel himself again. “I do!”

The two of you spent most of your time talking about things that didn’t even make sense. Hook was talking about how snails weren’t real and how Gary from Spongebob wasn’t a realistic source. “When have you ever seen a real life Gary?” He asked, rolling his eyes, as his words were getting slower and less constructed. You sat there for a few seconds, actually believing him and began to question everything you’ve ever known. “Oh my god, Gary isn’t real!” You said, running a hand through your hair from shock. Hook nodded solemnly and put a hand on your shoulder, “He never was and snails were created to trick us.”

The whole snail debacle had made you grow hungry, your stomach growled and and the thought of food sounded amazing. You licked your dry lips, that became dry yet again, and grabbed your phone. Clicking on your food delivery applications didn’t even feel real and as soon as you were on the app, you were confused to how you even got there or forgot that you had grabbed your phone in the first place. Hook was giggling to himself while you scrolled through several restaurants before settling on your favorite comfort food and ordered a ridiculous amount of food from pizza to wings to garlic bread, which you knew you’d regret once you come down from your high after seeing all the money you spent.

“I just ordered pizza and it’s going to taste so frickin’ good.” Your voice slurred as your eyes kept closing, it was hard to keep them open. You moved around on your bed, trying to get comfortable, and when you grazed your fluffy blanket, it was a feeling never felt before. The softness on your skin was such a satisfying, truly unexplainable feeling. It didn’t even make sense how good it felt. Meanwhile, Hook was completely mesmerized by the random stock photos that displayed on your tv screen while it sleeps. Photos ranging from random scenery in the mountains or lakes to animals had Hook in a trance.

“This is the best vacation I’ve ever been on.” Hook happily sighed as a slight smile appeared on his face while he continued to look at the photos, which you soon joined in on. “Hook, when did we go to the zoo? Why are we in Alaska now? Did we time travel?” You made comments after each photo and it actually did feel like you were in every picture that showed up.

The food you had ordered a while ago had finally came and walking down the stairs was an experience. Hook had forgotten that he had legs and almost fell down the stairs, which resulted in you have to grab onto him the whole way down. When you opened your door and looked outside, the sight of nature had almost moved you to tears. The bright light blue sky and the tree leaves dancing in the light wind was something you thought you created in your mind, but it was real and it was very weird to try to comprehend that.

The two of you went back up to your room and laid the food on your bed. Once again, what you had done previously felt like a dream and not something you had actually done. Everything that was happening right now, even opening the pizza box, felt like a huge dream. Hook took a bite of his pizza and groaned, chewing slowly. “This tastes so good.” He said, taking more bites after.

It took you both almost 40 minutes to even make a dent in your food, that’s how slow the two of you were eating. The slow eating wasn’t even to savor the food, it was because of your movements and how long it took you to process all of this, but it did also taste delicious. You decided to be creative and somehow put your pizza slice on top of your garlic bread and took a bite, nodding your head at the flavors jumping in your mouth. “You’re fucking that shit up!” Hook said, laughing loudly while he looked at you. The two of you were a mess; tomato sauce was on the corner of your lips, Hook had tomato sauce on his nose somehow, and both of you had fingers coated in barbecue.

The two of you knew that you needed to get cleaned up and that’s what you did, starting with throwing out the boxes of food, which was a hard enough task due to the current circumstances. Hook had almost dropped all of the food onto the floor and you had forgotten where your trash can was. When it was time for you to wash your hands, it was a top ten feeling. The water on your skin and the pressure of the water was perfect, it felt so wrong yet it was so right and you didn’t want to turn the water off. You swore shivers ran down your spine while you washed your hands.

After you had cleaned up, the two of you laid on your bed again. Now the exhaustion was hitting you and what you really wanted to do was sleep. Hook took you into his arms as the two of you laid on your sides, looking at each other. “I’ve been with you all day and you still don’t even look real to me.” He laughed, reaching a hand out to feel your face.

While you laid there, it took a few more hours for you to feel almost like yourself again. It was strange going from feeling somewhat normal back to being high out of your mind over and over again. Hook, on the other hand, enjoyed it. Being high gave him some kind of solace and relaxation, on top of feeling everything at a more heightened sense that also made him feel silly, was fun to him. He enjoyed it so much that he made sure to ask you, once this was all over, when the next time the two of you would be doing this.

You decided that you didn’t hate your experience or how getting high felt, so you’d start doing it whenever either of wanted to. Surely it wouldn’t be an every day thing, which you two agreed was a crazy idea, but doing it sporadically going forward gave the two of you something to be excited about.

#hook #aew hook #aew hook imagine #aew hook headcanon #aew hook drabble #aew #aew imagine

[bigskydreaming]

Doing some writing today off and on between errands and work, and jumping around various Kings of the Sky installments, specifically Dick, Jason and Cass stuff, so probably gonna post snippets from a bunch of them as I go. 

(Kings of the Sky is an AU that goes canon divergent from the point of Jason calling Dick for advice for dealing with Bruce after the Garzonas case and where things end up going dramatically different from that point on. Including Jason not dying, being part of his own lineup of Titans between Dick and Tim’s, Dick being adopted not long after the Church of Blood incident, Cass being the third Wayne kid to be taken in and adopted and with Tim and Duke being next and then Damian coming along later once they find out about him. This is basically my ‘the family’s alright’ AU with largely ‘Good Dad Bruce’ except for Dick and then Jason yelling some sense into him about the other, respectively, in the first two installments, just FYI).

Anyway, this bit is from a story called “In Their Shadows Grow Trees Of Good and Evil,” set about a year after Cass has been adopted, when she and Jason are both sixteen and Dick’s twenty-one. Also just FYI, because canon has never been specific about what ways Cass is neurodivergent due to the comic-book style ‘rewiring’ of her brain so that she could learn to speak later in life, I tend to go with her being dyslexic and having aphasia. She sticks exclusively to sign language and being a silent presence in her costumed personas, so that there’s no chance of people connecting the dots between Black Bat and Cassandra Wayne, as she mostly speaks verbally in her civilian persona and doesn’t hide her aphasia. The reason there’s not likely to be any obvious signs of aphasia in the snippets of her I post is because I wait until I complete something to choose words at random to replace with aphasia-born mixups, so its more realistic and I’m not gearing her dialogue towards deliberately placed moments. Just in case you were wondering.

In Their Shadows Grow Trees of Good and Evil

“Hey Todd,” sneered an exquisitely obnoxious voice. “Why’s your sister so fucking weird?”

Jason sighed the sigh of a soul a mere century into its eternity of damnation as he rose from the lunch table he’d been studying at and crammed the rest of his books into his backpack. Then he pasted a cheerfully bland smile on his face and turned around, geared for academia warfare (teenage prep school edition).

“Hey Craig,” he said brightly. “Why’d you come out of the womb so ugly your parents had to tie a piece of steak around your neck just to get the family dog to go near you? Mysteries abound.”

The advancing junior slowed a step, momentarily rocked by his truly impressive return volley. The grimace Craig’s already gargoyle-esque features twisted into made his face even more unpleasant to look at than usual, which was quite the feat. Jason would have applauded if just looking at it hadn’t already turned him to stone.

But the bargain basement basilisk kept on towards him rather than turn tail and skulk off to pop his emotional blisters, so Jason sighed a sequel to his first one. Looked like it was one of those days where Craig felt up to powering through. Guess someone had eaten their self-esteem Wheaties that morning. Joy.

“You think you’re pretty hot shit, don’t you, Todd?”

Jason shrugged. “I mean, to be honest I kinda have a one track mind, so right now I’m mostly just thinking about punching you in your mistake.”

“My what?”

“Your face,” Jason elaborated with exaggerated patience.

“Huh?”

“Oh my god, I’m saying your face is a mistake. See, its not as fun when I have to stop and explain it to you. Ugh, you ruin everything.”

He neatly sidestepped the older boy as R2-Dumbass stayed frozen, smoke coming off of his internal CPU while trying to catch up. For a second Jason thought he was home free, but then he remembered the universe fucking hated him so haha, sucks to suck. Also, a small crowd had gathered to witness the verbal jousting match, and nothing invigorated an asshole like Craig more than an audience of like-minded peers. So there was that too.

“Whatever. Laugh it up all you want, you little shit,” the junior rallied. “But just remember, mocking your betters will never change the fact that you were born street trash and you’ll be street trash until the day you die.”

Honestly? Not his best effort. Jason almost felt bad using any of his good material. Seemed like overkill at this point. But he did have a strict Scorched Earth policy to maintain, so.....

“Yeah but my dad could buy out and ruin your dad so that means I still win, right?”

He smirked as the barb landed and Craig’s face set into a sunset vista of strangled purple and furious red. Bam. Direct hit.

“Listen, you - “

“Oh for fuck’s sake, it was rhetorical,” Jason interrupted. “I don’t actually care what you think even a little bit. Nobody does. You don’t matter. Please go be irrelevant elsewhere, you’re fucking dismissed, you loser.”

“Speak for yourself, charity case.” Oh goodie, Craig’s backup singers had finally arrived. Now if only he could remember to care enough to learn their names in the first place. Seriously, who told the extras they could have lines? “All the jokes in the world can’t change who and what you are.”

Jason shrugged and continued nonchalantly up the hill to where his sister was standing with arms crossed, staring down at something on the other side.

“True genius is never appreciated in its own time,” he tossed back over his shoulder. “I’m sure I’ll be immortalized in song eventually.”

The mob of morons deigned to let him go without further incident. Though he suspected that had less to do with his scathing wit and more to do with him being headed towards Cass. She was immaculately presented as always, wearing the Gotham Academy uniform like she was born to it despite hating its uncomfortable stiffness every bit as much as he did. But that was just Cass for you. 

For all that she still struggled at times to engage verbally or speak up in social settings, her mastery of body language remained without peer. She could chameleon-camouflage her way into matching poise and posture with anyone - a skill that had allowed her to walk into school on her very first day with her head held high as though she owned everything in her sight. Exuding so much Queen Bee Intimidation Factor even the other hive queens were afraid to approach her  themselves. Sending forth their drones to try and woo her into an alliance, only to see her remain oh-so-casually above it all, a slightly contemptuous smile adorning her lips.

Basically, she scared the shit out of their classmates without them having anywhere close to a true understanding of why, and Jason was outrageously jealous. Rude. Unfair. Why did his siblings always get all the cool toys when all he had was his rakish charm, scintillating intellect and debonair.....nah, who was he kidding. He was fucking awesome. 

“Sup, sis,” he said, cresting the hill to stand beside Cass. “Just FYI, I just took a popularity bullet for you, which means you owe me your dessert tonight. Its a family rule that’s totally a real thing and definitely not something I just made up right now because Alf is making chocolate soufflé.”

She made no acknowledgment and remained stock still, a Colossus at Rhodes peering down into the shifting shadows of the parking lot below.

He peered down as well, though with absolutely no idea what they were looking at. Solidarity, yo.

“So are we staring fixedly at anything in particular, or should I just pick my own spot and commit?”

His humor was totally wasted on her as always. Instead of laughing and telling him what a lovable goof he was, she just inclined her head in the direction of a blonde girl where she was standing next to the driver’s side door of a Mercedes-Benz, dictating final commandments to her peons before departing. Well, probably. Jason was just guessing, based on his own body language reads, and like, general disdain for literally everyone at this school that wasn’t related to him.

He made a face. An extra special one reserved just for this classmate in particular. “Ugh, Madison Dunleavy? She’s the worst.”

Cass raised a cool eyebrow. “I thought Craig Hendricks was the worst.”

“He is. They’re both the worst. Its a hotly contested position here at Gotham Academy.”

She rolled her eyes and nodded back down at the Queen of Air and Darkness. “So. You know her?”

“Nope,” Jason said. “Come to think of it, I’ve actually never seen her in my life. No idea who that is. Can’t help you, sorry. Shall we go home?”

The Eyebrow of Inquisition speared him with clear intent. Who the fuck needed words when you could pack the Encyclopedia Britannica into a single facial expression?

Jason sighed gustily. 

“I had a slight altercation with her freshman year that led to her declaring her undying enmity for me until the end of time. The word nemesis may or may not have been thrown around once or twice. I can’t recall.”

The Eyebrow of Inquisition lowered nary an inch. Ugh, she wanted more? Why did everyone in his family hate privacy, with the obvious exclusion of himself when snooping through Cass and Dick’s rooms for blackmail material, which was actually intel-gathering and thus another matter entirely.

“Okay so basically what happened was my first week here I overheard her talking shit about me and not even twenty minutes later she was pretending to kiss my ass in homeroom, like probably because of Bruce, y’know? So I just busted out laughing and told her to fuck off and die and she has inexplicably loathed me ever since.”

Avoiding further Eyebrow Inquisition-ing, he made a show of peering around aimlessly. When the silence extended and it was clear Cass was absolutely not going to break first, Jason waved a hand in dismissal and took to peering oh so casually at his fingernails. "I suppose I was less tactful back in those days.”

He chanced a look up, finally, and saw his sister’s eyebrow had somehow managed to mighty morphin power ranger its way into a configuration evoking both judgment and disbelief, with the latter perhaps aimed at the idea he was significantly differing in the tact department these days either.

“I don’t love the implications your face is making right now,” he told her.

She ignored him, because of course she did. 

“Does she know Dick?” She asked instead. Jason shrugged.

“I mean, maybe? She’s probably seen him around at one of those stupid galas we have to go to, and actually I think maybe she has an older brother who was either in Dick’s grade or like, one above or below it? I don’t know.”

Now both eyebrows were doing the dance of disbelief. Okay, so maybe that was poor situational awareness on his part, since it wasn’t like Gotham Academy was a big school with a ton of other kids and also he’d only been in the same class as Madison for like over two whole years, but whatever. There were extingent circumstances.

“Look, she’s a total snob who’s always looked down on me and in return I willfully ignore both her existence and that of everyone and everything even tangentially related to her. Its called equality, Cass.”

She pursed her lips and went back to the peering, because of course in the mind of Cass it made total sense that the Grand Inquisition didn’t need to be followed up by any explanation on her part, what the hell. Like was he supposed to have inferred it?

“What’s this all about anyway?”

“I heard her talking about Dick earlier,” she said without peeling her eyes away from her personal recon mission. “I don’t know what she said though, I just heard her say Grayson, and then I was busy looking at what her body was saying. I know it was about Dick because she shut down when she saw me. And I didn’t like the way she....looked....before that happened. The way she was talking. It was.....”

Jason frowned but held back any follow-up questions while he waited - with total patience because he wasn’t an absolute cad, thank you very much - for his sister to find the word she was hunting for. It was a major source of frustration for her, that whatever neural map her brain followed put body language and spoken language in totally different regions of her brain, separated by a fairly great divide. Meaning she usually had to make a conscious choice to focus on body language or conventional languages - whether verbal or sign. But it tended to be one or the other; she’d yet to master taking in and comprehending both forms of ‘language’ at the same time. And none of them had quite figured out how to convince her that she wasn’t actually missing anything when she chose to focus on one specific form of communication - that she was still observing far more than most people ever would.

“Proprietary,” Cass settled on at last. She nodded her satisfaction with her choice of word, and Jason waited a whole two point five seconds before sticking  his whole foot in his mouth.

“Proprietary?” He asked with a scrunched nose as he weighed that for possible context and implications. “You sure?”

She glared. He winced. It was a whole thing.

“Yeah, I know, sorry, sorry, I heard it the second it was out of my mouth. We don’t actually have to experiment with the legitimacy of if looks could kill.”

Cass rolled her eyes, but eh. That could’ve gone worse.

Jason swiftly redirected attention anyway. Discretion is the better part of valor, after all.

“So. The Queen of Air and Darkness was talking about our big bro, and her mood was.....proprietary, huh?” He recapped while digesting the info like a boss. “Well. Definitely not loving that, I gotta say. Hold please.”

Pulling out his phone and pulling up his most recent texts, he began typing furiously.

“What are you doing?” Cass asked.

“Texting Tom,” he replied, because duh. Hah, now it was his chance to have the answers that should be patently obvious and thus make with the ‘are you kidding me’ when she asked obvious questions she should know the answer to! How do you like them apples, sis?

“Why are you texting your boyfriend right now?”

Jason rolled his eyes, because fair is fair, but never ceased texting for a moment. Time was of the essence here, probably. Well, maybe. Okay probably not. But it’d still been like half an hour since he and Tom had last texted and that’s a very fucking long time in teenage years.

“To be our getaway driver tonight, obviously.”

She stared at him. He didn’t look up, but he could feel it anyway. He was very intuitive like that.

“What?”

Jason heaved another sigh, one keyed to tones of ‘oh my god, do I really have to spell this out,” exasperation. He was just racking up the bonus points here. It was really too bad this wasn’t an actual competition he could actually win and this was all just pettiness taking place wholly in his own head. Lame. 

“Well, clearly we now have to go snoop in Madison’s house aka lair to see if its actually a house or a full on lair. Because she’s either a creeper or like, legit evil, and its important to know which one before we proceed, because obviously we can only bust her for being a weird creeper about our brother as Jason and Cass, whereas if she’s legit evil, that’s gotta go down as Robin and Black Bat. I’ll handle the snooping, you’ll take look-out, but we still need a wheelman and that’s why I’m texting Tom. This is all very mission-oriented, okay. I’m a professional.”

“Right,” she affirmed, while sounding anything but convinced. “Why don’t we just tell Bruce?”

Without looking up or breaking stride, he said: “I’m going to give you til I finish typing this sentence to figure out what was wrong with what you just said. Remember that we are talking about hypothetical danger to our brother, and also Bruce’s idea of a proportionate response to any of his children being in even hypothetical danger. And also our brother’s idea of a proportionate response to Bruce’s idea of a proportionate response. Look, you’re still new so I’m gonna need you to just trust me on this one. Its gonna be a no on telling Bruce without further intel.”

Cass said nothing in response to that, which meant that she was conceding the point and recognized the wisdom of his words. Or maybe that she was just gonna go ahead and do what she wanted anyway and just wasn’t bothering to fight about it, but it was probably that first thing.

“Well you better not just make out with your boyfriend all night,” is what she said at last, and that got his attention reeeeeal quick like.

“Umm. Wow. Okay. So, first off, you’re not the boss of me and who I make out with and when, so jot that down. And second, now I’m definitely going to make out with my boyfriend extra hard, with the exception of when we are actually on our recon mission because as previously established, I am a professional. And also, again, you’re not the boss of me.”

Jason ignored her Eye Roll With Extra Emphasis, and instead just held up his phone to Text With Extra Emphasis, as he read along with what he was typing.

“By the way babe, we have to make out extra hard tonight,” he said, tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth while he dragged out his dictation with the kind of focus that usually led to Bruce asking why he couldn’t apply as much intensity to training as he did to pettiness. “Cass has suddenly decided she can dictate terms to me and I need to shut that shit down ASAP, so thank you in advance for your assistance in this matter. Smoochies and other gay stuff to the best boyfriend ever.”

Jason frowned as a response pinged back seconds later. 

TheCatsMeow: ....the things I put up with for the sake of your weird family dynamics.

TheOnlyRobinThatRocks: Yeah, yeah. You’re a saint among were-panthers. Must you mock? Why can’t you just tell me I’m pretty instead?

TheCatsMeow: Sorry. Let me try again. OMG you’re so pretty Jase how did I get so lucky xoxo.

TheOnlyRobinThatRocks: No. Its too late. It feels forced and unbelievable now. You’ve ruined it forever.

TheCatsMeow: Got it. From now on I will only tell you that you’re repulsive and hideous.

TheOnlyRobinThatRocks: I’m breaking up with you.

TheCatsMeow: But after I help you with your mission tonight.

TheOnlyRobinThatRocks: Obvsly. I’m a professional. Why do people keep forgetting this?

TheCatsMeow: And also the making out to spite your sister.

TheOnlyRobinThatRocks: Yeah we should do that first too. I mean we already penciled it in.

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Inspired partially by the twitter trend of The Face Vs. The Face Sitting On It and just in time for Valentine’s Day! 

Gender Neutral Reader Insert. 

Enjoy my masterlist!

Support me on KoFi!

__________________________

While sitting in the car, you watch out the window. Folks buzz around you--some folks looking content, strolling about their day. Others are flitting around, a bit of crease in their forehead. And you feel for them. You know those days where there’s just not enough hours in the day to get it all done. Or it’s when one thing sets off a spiral of all terrible things. Or when you just don’t wake up on the right side of the bed. You know that crease all too well because currently you were having a bad sleeping week. 

You were getting tired when you were supposed to but the second you put your head on the pillow your brain was hot wired--keeping you up with all the things you needed to do, hadn’t done, all the appointments you had kept pushing off. It was finding the littlest things to find that anxiety and keep you staring up at the ceiling. Calum noticed the tossing and turning and tried his best to lull you to sleep this week, fixing you tea in the evening, getting you off your phone or laptop a couple hours before bed. He even started reading to you, but your ears picked up on the white noise of everything in the house. Your brain picked up the embarrassing memory that you hadn’t even considered in decades and now holding it in front of your mind’s eye for hours on end during the week. 

Like right now, you should’ve been at home sleeping. Your work was giving you a long weekend and you really could’ve used the time to catch some extra Z’s, but you were, admittedly, a little scared to stay home. Sure maybe you did fall asleep cuddled up next to Duke. But you worried that you’d stay up, worry yourself sick some more so when Calum told you he had some errands to run you immediately tagged along. The time running around would hopefully tire you out enough that when you got home you could actually fall asleep. 

So after Calum’s personal training session in the morning, which you sort of tagged along for, but mostly went through your own routine and getting a solid breakfast, you two were now buzzing around from store to store. Calum had gotten most of the grocery the other day, but he forgot a couple things so your first objective was to grab those and bring them back up. He then had to go to the post office to mail out his mother’s birthday cards and a few other things. 

While in the line at the post office, your head tucked into his back, Calum got a phone call from a guitar shop on the other side of time about a new model that had just come in. Calum had been eying it for ages, but he didn’t want to be reckless with his money especially after getting some work on his teeth and to the house. So he asked the guitar shop to keep an eye out for when more stock arrived in case it sold out before Calum felt comfortable spending a large sum of money like that again. 

The store agreed to set one off to the side for him and could keep it on hold until the end of the day. Which was perfect--still gave the two of you time to get lunch. You didn’t need to get anything, didn’t need to do anything. But even after lunch, Calum made one more pit stop. Here now at the gas station, you sit peering through the windshield and can see a mother with her two sons walking from the doors. They boys hold brightly colored icees in their hand, each clutching a bag field with goodies. 

You aren’t entirely sure whey Calum needed to stop here for anything. It’s not like he needed stamps, since he got those at the post office. He hadn’t pulled in to get gas. Lunch had been filling, though you tried not to stuff yourself too much just because you knew that on a long car ride, the last thing you wanted to do was be uncomfortably full. 

The door opens again, Calum strutting through with his glasses covering his eyes and resting comfortably atop the chubby cheeks. Barely hanging from the crook of his fingers is a brown plastic bag. The doors click open and he climbs into the driver seat. The guitar shop wasn’t that far, but today seemed to be a busy day on the road. Took you all too long just to get to the grocery store this morning. 

“Snacks?”

“Was craving something sweet after lunch.” 

You peer into the bag as he hands it over to you. Some gummy bears, gum, a bar or two of chocolate you can’t quite tell. You set it onto the floor at your feet. “Let me know when you want something.” But he’s already tearing into a Twix bar when you glance at him. “Or not,” you laugh. 

“The other stuff is for you--if you want to indulge. Can’t forget ya,” he pushes the glasses down for just a moment to wink at you and then looks into the rearview mirror. 

“Do you think you’re going to get this one?” you asks as the SUV rolls out from the parking lot and onto the asphalt of the highway. 

“Hmm, maybe. Gotta see how it feels first.”

You nod at his question, resting your head into the cushion of the seat. And it goes quiet for a while. The radio plays softly in the background, and every so often the packaging crinkles as Calum downs more of the chocolate and caramel treat. 

“Valentine’s Day is coming up soon,” Calum states, while paused in a bit of traffic. “Got any ideas on what you want to do for it?”

You think for a moment. Valentine’s Day has never been your thing--being perpetually single does that to a person. “Restaurants are going to be a nightmare.”

“Yeah, they will be.” Another crinkle comes from the right side of the car and then his arm reaches behind your seat, finding the small bag of trash you stash there--though you have to be careful when Duke sits in the backseat. Generally though, he doesn’t mess with too much. “My mom sent me a recipe of hers. It’s really good.”

“I’d be down for cooking.”

“Nothing else? Don’t wanna go sky diving? Give me another heart attack?”

You laugh thinking about the first birthday you spent with Calum together as a couple. “You didn’t die.”

“But I did almost shit myself.”

“You can play on stage to thousands of people, but no, jumping from a plane is a no-go.”

“Yes, because I am a sane human.”

You huff out a small tuft of laughter and turn to look at him. One hand on the wheel with the stainless steel linked chain dangling from his wrist. His other arm is resting against the door, gently tapping out a beat with his long slender fingers. “Do you want to do anything?”

“Valentine’s Day,” he scoffs. “How long have we been dating? When have I ever been dying to do anything on some random day in February.” His statement doesn’t fall venomously from his mouth. He even looks over to you with a smile. “I don’t need one day out of 365 to declare my love for someone.”

And it’s true. While Calum wasn’t super accepting of love from new people, while it took you months to show Calum that you were trustworthy and not someone to keep at an arm’s length, once he cracked open, he oozed adoration and love for people. And you knew it was a defense mechanism. You knew that when someone did care as hard as Calum did it wouldn’t always be an easy thing to win over. 

Calum, when he finally let someone one, loved hard. It could be a random Tuesday in July or a Sunday in February, and he would make sure his love was known. He never needed a special occasion to send flowers, to cook dinner, to offer to drive you to doctors appointments because he knew that sometimes you got too nervous or flustered by them to drive but did manage to push through if absolutely necessary. He’d easily pick up some gloves and an extra sponge if he saw you wiping down the walls in the kitchen or wiping through the counter. He kept fridge cleaning days marked on the calendar. And when you added reminders to wash bed sheets to the shared one, he also include rest breaks for you too. 

Calum had never needed someone to force him to show appreciation. 

“I mean, there is the option to literally do nothing on Valentine’s Day. Like treat it as any other day.”

“That’s still something,” he countered, turning on his signal and switching out from the middle lane. His exit was approaching in another mile and a half. 

“Oh fuck off,” you laugh. “We can’t cease to exist that day. Bare minimum we need to convert oxygen into carbon dioxide.”

Calum laughs softly, showing some of his teeth too. “Fair, fair. There’s another Netflix documentary coming out, true crime one. I forget what it’s fully about, but I think it’s about a serial killer if you’d be down to start it then?”

“When would I ever turn down the opportunity to be a detective with you?”

“You haven’t yet,” he states with laughter in his voice. 

“And I never will.” The ramp takes the two of you down and down and soon you’re winding through streets and not too far you can see the shopping center coming into view. He pulls into the lot of the shop and the two of you step out in unison. 

The bell above the door chimes as he opens it for you and you smile often in your thanks. “Hey, Calum!” one of the guys at the register calls out. The store is fairly empty. But you’re not shocked on a Tuesday afternoon. 

“Hey, Derek. How’s it going?” Calum heads directly over to the counter and you look up to the left wall, at the records on display.

“Let me know if you need anything,” the second guy states to you, “or if you want to see anything.” He’s younger than Derek, both look to be equally tattooed from the pieces that peek out from the short sleeve work shirts, but his face is significantly brighter. 

“Thanks,” you return and go back to the displays. You can hear Calum and Derek chatting but slowly tune it out, make it background noise to the music playing through the speakers. 

You turn to walk towards the back where more instruments sit and you can see Calum leaning into the glass display of the counter. The palms of his hand pressed into the metal edge. The sunglasses sit on top of his head and you notice the younger guy glancing over at you again.

He nods again and then goes back to his computer. Nothing else is said. And you look over the stringed instruments, ukuleles, some violins and then you spin around again, done with that lap and go to head up to Calum. “See anything?” he asks. 

You shake your head. “You’re the musically talented one. I just nod and smile when you talk about it.”

Derek returns, a case in hand. He comes out from the hinged doors that separate the sales floor from the registers and back of the store. You scoot a little closer to the display as the case is transferred over. Calum takes it easily heading to the corner you just abandoned to sit and check out the instrument. It’s a beautiful deep green, almost reminds you of the thick Washington forest. The body is slender. 

“That’s a pretty cool color,” you note, watching Calum work his fingers over the frets. 

He grins up at you. “Think so?” You give another nod. He doesn’t inspect it long before you can see the desire to give in crosses his face. 

Derek’s standing close by and you turn to him and keep your voice as close to a whisper as you can while still being heard. “What’s a bass like that cost?”

He rattles off the price, one eyebrow slightly raised over the other. You know Calum will riot--he’ll pitch a fucking fit. But you reach into your wallet and slide out your card. You had been saving--for a year. You wanted to do something big for Calum. You just didn’t know what it was yet specifically though you had some ideas, a bass was top of the list.  But you didn’t want to try and go out and buy a bass without consulting him, without getting an understanding of what he liked. You thought about maybe a really good leather jacket and some more boots. He loved the ones he had, wore them as much as he could. 

And when you mentioned possibly getting him more, he told you the ones he had were still in good shape. Calum wasn’t the type to just buy clothes to buy them. He indulged here and there, but always made a point to wear something he had down before replacing it. You’d tease the subject a couple more times after that, but he never took the bait and you weren’t going to force him into a thing he didn’t want or need. 

But it’s clear to you that this is something he wants. But he’ll tussle with himself and never give in on it. It’s pricer than you thought it would be. But you too were being smart, having finally paid off the last of your car, you start moving those payments to savings and it helped a great deal. You were fine. You get insurance and the whole deal as Derek advises. By the time you slide the receipt back across the counter, Calum comes back to the registers. “I appreciate you holding it for me, man. But I don’t think I can right now.”

Derek looks at you and you look down into the glass. “It’s--it’s yours, dude.”

“What?” Calum breathes behind you. 

“They-uh, they paid for it,” Derek says, nodding at you.

You can feel the heat in your body now and spin around to face Calum in a rush. “Consider it a not Valentine’s Day gift.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“Ever since I finished paying off my car, I saved the payments to do something nice for you. Didn’t know what it was going to be for sure. But I know you, Calum. You’d want something and tell yourself no. I mean you can treat yourself sometimes.”

“You-you didn’t?” His eyes are rapidly blinking, head shaking like he doesn’t want to believe you. Like he can’t believe you as his mouth mumbles out, “No,” repeatedly. 

“It’s yours,” you nod. “It’s really yours.”

If it weren’t for the weight of the bass, you’re sure Calum would’ve tipped over, maybe even rushed to Derek to hand the case back over, but instead he’s weighed down, chained to this spot in the blue speckled carpet of the store, still repeating, “No,” softly. 

“‘I hate to break it to you, but you’re gonna have to find space in your office for it now. Because I refuse to return it.” You step forward, find the handle and slip your hands around it taking it from Calum. A small grunt leaves you and then you start to the door, throwing a thanks to Derek. 

The lights to the SUV blink and you can hear the locks clicking open as you push open the door to the store. “Wait--what are you doing?” Calum asks. 

“Open the trunk please,” you ask. 

“Let me do it,” he demands, stepping in close to take the case with the bass now. “What the fuck did you do? Baby, this is expensive.”

“It’s not a Valentine’s Day gift,” you answer again. “Because I love you. On a random Tuesday.”

He gets the instrument safely into the trunk and then closes it, watching dumbly as you climb into the passenger side. He walks to the driver seat and climbs in, taking you gently by the chin. “That was absolutely reckless and unnecessary-- ”

“I am just absolutely reckless and unnecessary then,” you counter, “because I’m not returning it.”

“--but thank you. Thank you so much,” he continues as if you hadn’t interrupted him. “I love you.”

“I love you.” Then it’s silent, as the two of your gaze at each other, watching what could almost be tears well in his eyes, but they don’t fall. 

“I don’t know what I did to deserve a person like you, but whatever it was, I’m glad I did it.”

“I’m glad you did it too.” The two of you return home, Duke rushing to the front door as the two of you step through it. Calum safely places the bass in his music room/office and returns shortly after to help you decide on what to order for dinner. 

As the two of you settle onto the couch, Calum takes your hand and presses a kiss to teach knuckle. “I’m gonna teach you how to play.”

“You know we’ve done this before.”

“And you were good at it.”

“I was alright at it.”

“It’ll be your bass,” he whispers. 

“I bought it for you,” you return tossing your head back to look at him. 

He kisses your lips. “Yeah, but it’ll be the one that I teach you to play for real one and it’ll be yours--just as much as it is mine.”

“A true sap,” you laugh, but nod and return your focus back to the TV. 

In the week that follows, Calum makes sure to take an hour in the evenings to set you down and pick up on the lessons. They fizzled out as work for the both of you picked up. But now things are a bit more calm. He sits next to you, assessing what you remember from last time and correcting finger placements as needed, but they go smoothly. 

When Valentine’s Day does come, Calum pulls you back into bed for just five more minutes of sleep. And five minutes turns into half an hour. But finally you two pull yourself out from the sheets, figure out what to do in the midmorning that results in food being consumed and then you slowly gravitate towards different sections of the house. 

There’s still a bit of laundry to be done and Calum takes Duke out for just a little bit. The two of you migrate back together by mid afternoon. He finds you making a quick lunch and presses a kiss to your cheek. You turn to face him, squeezing at his. “I bought some face masks,” he offers. “Care to join me in doing the bare minimum of converting oxygen into carbon dioxide after your lunch?”

“Don’t see how I could pass up such a wonderful offer? You want anything?” He shakes head, mentioning grubbing on some of the leftovers earlier while you took a nap. 

With your lunch done and the plates cleaned, you find Calum in the bedroom and let him know you’re ready for the face masks. He shuffles to the bathroom. “I hope I got the right one for you,” he mutters. “I got them forever ago it feels, so who the hell knows what I got.” His laughter is soft as he rummages through the bins under the skin. 

“I’ll be in the office,” you tell him and he nods, still pulling bins out. You settle into the couch and spy the green bass still on the stand from yesterday. You pull it into your lap and sling your arm over it. The amp next to you is off, you know but you still pluck away at it as if it were on. 

Calum shuffles in a few minutes later. “Um, babe. It’s off.”

You don’t reply but do look up. He holds up three different packages. “Here’s to hoping one of these is worthwhile.” You place your bass back to the stand and take one that sounds like one you’re okay with using. Calum hands you a towel so you can wipe your fingers off after you get it placed onto your face. He helps get it right and then you help him with his and the two of you slip onto the couch, legs entangled and leaning into opposite ends of the couch.

You laugh at Calum’s story as you scroll mindless through app after app. In the boredom you snap a picture of Calum with the face masks on and don’t think too much of it, saving it to the album with all the silly and cute photos of him are--there are tons. 

“I mean the sun is a star. Though the ones we see have been dead for a long time.”

Calum taps your leg with his foot. “It was a simple question--to be the sun or the stars. I didn’t ask for this philosophical crisis.”

“Why would it not weigh in your decision! If you’re a star like the ones we see at night, you’re technically already dead. You wanna be dead?” You huff, sitting up. 

“I mean, no, but c’mon.”

“It’s a valid thing to consider, that’s all I’m saying!”

He laughs. “Okay, sun or the moon?”

“You first,” you return and just then your alarm on your phone goes off. The two of you shuffle back to the bathroom and take off the masks. 

“Moon, maybe,” he counters. 

You nod. “Fitting. When should we get started on that recipe of your moms? Is it super involved?”

“Nah, it’s pretty easy. Normal time should be good. I’m going to read outside if you want to join.”

“Maybe in a bit.”

Calum nods, grabbing his book as he passes through the bedroom and the patter of Duke’s claws follow behind him. You go back to the music room, turn on the amp and then actually play a little something. It’s nothing fancy--just the arrangement you put together with Calum as a practice exercise once. You play it for a bit, adding a little flair. When you phone rings, you pause to answer it. You wouldn’t normally, but the number looks semi recognizable so you answer it. 

It’s just a scam call and you hang up but then notice some other notifications. Before you realize it, you’re deep into Twitter. You’ve run across the trend of people posting pictures of themselves and their significant others with the caption, The Face Vs The Face Sitting On It. It made you laugh just a little bit at first. And then you kept going down the rabbit hole. Some are silly, most are good pictures. 

While it’s not exactly secret that you and Calum are dating, you two don’t post too much. Calum isn’t incline to post on social media in the first place and while you use it a bit more than him, you try not to post too much about him out of respect. However, as you look tap on quote retweet and bring up your photos you think maybe one silly post wouldn’t hurt. So you grab the one of him recently with the face masks and then one of yourself--it’s silly too, a little blurry too in the darkness that it was taken in. 

You hit post and watch the likes come in. Then keep scrolling. Eventually you have to put the bass away and peel yourself from the couch to find Calum and see if he’s hungry enough for dinner. Just as you round the corner to the office, you spy him stepping through the glass sliding backdoor. “Hungry?” you ask. 

He nods, “Yeah.”

The two of you, with Duke trotting ahead, make your way down the hallway and into the kitchen. “You’re funny,” he states, washing his hands first. 

“Thank you. I’ll be here until you kick me out.”

He laughs. “No, the pictures you posted. On Twitter.”

You’re shocked that he noticed it that fast. Normally it took him a bit longer to see silly stuff like that. “Hope you don’t mind.”

“Nah. What I hope you don’t mind is my reply.”

At first you’re nervous. Calum could’ve gone one of two ways--super silly and broke out even worse photos of you possibly not sober or he went super on trend with it and pulled out a photo of you done up for a date night. Not that you preferred one over the other, but sometimes you liked to keep your relationship light on social media. It was easier that way. There wasn’t any real pressure that way. Though the fans seemed to have enjoyed it when you posted more posed and serious content. 

You liked to keep it a bit more real. You and Calum didn’t do the whole nine yards a lot--you two were normal people who hated getting out of bed some days and went as well into the afternoon before showering at times and walked Duke and went to doctor’s appointments like everyone does. So you always opted for a bit of a joke, a silly Tweet or photo whenever you could. 

“What did you post?” you ask. 

He shrugs, taking up the knife to dice the onion. “I’m not telling you.”

You glance at the printed out recipe and get a pan on the aisle over medium heat before pulling out your phone. As you load the app, you listen to the snap of the knife fitting the wooden cutting board. You type Calum’s name and tap onto his profile. 

While there’s is silly--I do want to take a moment to show off my favorite person in the world. So here we go, The Face Vs. The Face Sitting On It. Below is attached a picture of him--you snapped while you two were out for lunch one day. The black t-shirt tight around his biceps as he slyly grins into the camera. The lights in the background are just barely in focus of the resturant and Calum’s glancing out of the window next to him. You remember that you were recording him, or at least you thought you were, and told him that he was handsome. Not the first time, but everytime he did, he blushed and turn away. And you captured it here too. 

The photo of you is actually one with him in it. The guys got together and did a big family dinner and the two of you posed at Crystal’s request in the slightly matching outfits. You hadn’t intended to match--though black was a staple in both your wardrobes. You were a bit different thanks to the pop of color in your shoes, but in the lighting of the street lamp, you had to admit that you did look hot. The first couple of  buttons on your shirt you were undone and with your hands tucked into the pockets, you looked like you owned shit. 

“While I hoped that you’d go with something more silly, I will take this,” you finally say. 

“That picture is literally my background for a reason,” he returns. 

You kiss his cheek and then trace over the stubble with your teeth to his ear. “Can I make a reservation for tonight?”

“The table is reserved for you literally at all times,” he returns in a breathe. 

“Good,” you laugh and then glance back to the recipe. 

#calum hood #calum hood blurb #calum hood x reader #calum hood x reader insert #calum hood imagine #calum hood smut #Calum Hood smut adjacent #5sos #5sos fanfic #5sos fic #5sos imagine #h writes #5 seconds of summer #5 seconds of summer fanfic #5 seconds of summer fic #5 seconds of summer imagine #gender netural reader

[kjack89]

For the prompts for 300 fics, some kind of angst and reconciliation fic? I know that’s vague but I’m in the mood for some angst with a happy (or not!) ending, and you’re my go to for that :)

Angst with an optional happy ending? Nonny, you know me too well.

This is part 1 of what will be either multi-chaptered or just longer once I get it on AO3, so at the moment we’re just dealing with some light angst, and who doesn’t love that on a Saturday night. Hopefully the second part will be posted in a few days.

E/R, modern AU. Former relationship.

Enjolras pulled his hood even tighter over his blond curls and glanced over his shoulder before reaching up to feel for the key hidden on top of the door jamb. He was surprised, and more than a little concerned, when his fingers touched nothing but very dusty wood, and he chanced another glance over his shoulder before rapping lightly on the door.

The door opened no more than an inch. “Password,” a gruff voice barked, and Enjolras sighed.

He really should’ve known.

“Grantaire, if you don’t let me in, I will break down the door and use one of the splintered pieces of wood to kill you,” he said, as patiently and politely as he could, just in case someone was listening.

Grantaire opened the door enough to admit him, closing it after him and locking the doorknob lock and deadbolt before sliding the chain into place. “Firstly, I’d like to see you try,” he said with a grin that Enjolras did not return. “Secondly, for future reference, the password we were looking for was ‘my full glass’, with a security question of ‘what do I believe in?’.”

Enjolras tugged off his hoodie and balled it up before tossing it onto the couch, one of the few pieces of furniture in the tiny, cramped apartment. “Would you also have accepted ‘nothing’?” he asked waspishly.

“No, but I would’ve accepted ‘absolutely fucking nothing’,” Grantaire said cheerfully. “Adjectives matter.” His smile faded when he caught sight of the shiner beginning to darken around Enjolras’s left eye. “What happened?”

“Same thing that always happens,” Enjolras said.

Grantaire’s eyes narrowed. “Meaning you have other, less visible injuries that you’re not going to do anything about until it’s too late to keep them from getting worse?” he asked dryly

Enjolras rolled his eyes and dug his phone out of his pocket to send a quick text. “What are you even doing here?” he asked, purposefully ignoring Grantaire’s question.

He didn’t see the look Grantaire gave him, but he could hear it plainly enough in his voice. “It’s a safe house,” he said. “I think that’s somewhat self-explanatory.”

“No, I mean—” Enjolras did glance up then, to examine Grantaire for an impatient second before telling him, “I didn’t even see you at the protest.”

Grantaire shrugged. “I’m pretty sure we can charitably refer to that as a riot,” he said.

Enjolras rolled his eyes and looked back down at his phone, which he powered off before disassembling it to remove the SIM card. “Whatever nomenclature you want to give it aside—”

“Speaking of nomenclatures,” Grantaire interrupted, “can we talk about how we’re referring to this as a safe ‘house’?” He flopped down on the couch. “This is a safe studio apartment. And I’m being generous with the term ‘studio’.”

“It’s illegal,” Enjolras informed him without looking up from his phone.

“Well no shit, this place is just plain criminal.”

Enjolras tucked his SIM card in his wallet before setting his phone down on the coffeetable. “No, I mean it was illegally built. It won’t show up on any building schematics or floorplans.”

Grantaire blinked. “Meaning…?”

“Meaning as long as you and I are in here, we don’t exist.”

Understanding flitted across Grantaire’s face. “I can see how that would have its advantages,” he murmured before glancing up at Enjolras. “Speaking of, how long do you think you and I will be staying in this lovely 250 square foot box?”

Enjolras shrugged, going to pour himself a glass of water from the tap in the corner of the apartment designated as the kitchen. “Hard to say,” he said, carrying the water over to the coffeetable and hesitating for only a moment before dropping his cellphone into it. He looked at Grantaire. “I assume you took care of any of your electronics with a GPS signal?”

“Yeah, but unlike you, seeing as how I don’t have the disposable income to just buy a new iPhone after every riot, I just left mine at home.”

“I don’t buy a new phone after every riot,” Enjolras muttered, feeling his ears burning red, and he sat down on the futon with a huff. “Only ones that ended badly and with potential criminal charges.”

“So...every riot.”

“I certainly hope you find yourself amusing enough to get through the next few days,” Enjolras said sourly. “Because we’re going to be here awhile.”

Grantaire groaned and tipped his head back to rest it against the back of the couch. “What did you do this time?” he asked, sounding resigned. “Molotov cocktail? Improvised incendiary device?” He turned his head to give Enjolras a wink. “Of course, that’s more Courfeyrac’s style than yours…”

“None of the above,” Enjolras told him, suddenly wishing he still had his phone to give him something to do with his hands. “I, uh, may have – shoved a cop.”

Grantaire’s eyes narrowed. “Shoved?” he repeated. “What does shoved mean in this context?” He didn’t wait for Enjolras’s answer. “And keep in mind that I’m not a cop or a prosecutor before you decide to obfuscate or lie.”

Enjolras shrugged again. “Maybe not, but you could also be tried as an accessory if I explain further.”

“As if I wouldn’t immediately execute my fifth amendment right against self-incrimination.”

Enjolras half-smiled. “Cute,” he said. “But you weren’t there.”

Grantaire arched an eyebrow at him. “And it’s on them to prove that,” he said coolly.

“So you’d risk a perjury rap for me?” Enjolras asked skeptically.

Something darkened in Grantaire’s expression. “I’ve risked worse for you,” he muttered, and Enjolras looked away, feeling his face color and hating himself just a little for it.

He bit back his initial response of defensiveness, of turning the tables back on Grantaire and asking him just what, exactly, he had risked over the course of what one could charitably call a relationship and more accurately call a friends with benefits arrangement – but then again, when had they ever been friends? – but something in Grantaire’s expression stopped him.

Or maybe it was just because he was stuck with his ex for the foreseeable future, and even he knew this was a bridge not worth burning right that moment.

“A cop decided to beat up a Black girl,” he said. “She couldn’t have been more than 14, and he didn’t even bother with his baton. She was on the ground and he wouldn’t stop, so I…” He trailed off and shrugged. “I stepped in.”

Grantaire let out a low whistle. “So you’re looking at aggravated battery,” he mused, looking up at the ceiling. “That’s, what, a class X felony? So you’re looking at 6 to 30, unless you can plead it down.”

Enjolras made a face. “Battery’s a stretch,” he said dismissively. “I’ll probably get slapped with aggravated assault.”

“Because the state’s attorney’s office is going to take one look at your record and decide to be generous.”

Enjolras barked a laugh and shook his head. “How do you know all this anyway?”

Grantaire shrugged. “I watch a lot of Law & Order reruns.” He gave Enjolras a critical look. “But potential criminal charges aside, are we just supposed to wait here with no link to the outside world until things blow over or something?”

It was Enjolras’s turn to shrug. “Or something.”

Grantaire sighed. “Great,” he said mournfully. “Well, thankfully, I was planning on quitting my job anyway, or I’d definitely be fired after this next round of no-call, no-shows.” He shoved himself up off the couch and slumped over to the small refrigerator humming ominously in the kitchen, and he opened the tiny freezer portion, pulling out a miniature ice cube tray. “That’s just pathetic,” he said, shaking his head.

Enjolras frowned. “Please don’t tell me you’re already making yourself a drink.”

“Hilarious,” Grantaire said. “But I already checked, and the only booze someone thought to stock this joint with is a couple bottles of bourbon, and I take my bourbon neat.” He cracked the ice cube tray into a ragged dishcloth, which he bundled up before carrying it over to Enjolras, holding it out for him. “This is for you, to try to keep that eye from getting worse,” he said, a little gruffly.

“Thanks,” Enjolras said, hesitating for only a moment before taking the dishcloth-wrapped ice and holding up to his eye, wincing at the cold. 

Grantaire looked at him carefully. “I’m guessing from the way you’re sitting, you’ve also got hit in the ribs – bruised or broken?”

“I’m sure they’re just bruised,” Enjolras assured him, but judging by the look on Grantaire’s face, he didn’t believe him.

Instead, he returned to the kitchen and refilled the ice tray, placing it back in the freezer. “So what are we gonna do now?” he asked off-handedly.

Enjolras shrugged. “Honestly? I have no idea. I’ve never exactly been someone good at relaxing.”

Grantaire snorted. “No shit, Sherlock.”

Enjolras arched an eyebrow, watching with his one good eye as Grantaire flopped down on the couch again. “You know, there was once a time when you would’ve given anything for it to be just you and me, alone, with no outside world for a few days.”

He had intended for it to be a funny, lighthearted memory, but he knew immediately by the way Grantaire sucked in a breath that it had landed as anything but that. They clearly weren’t to the point of joking about what they’d once had yet – if they’d ever get to that point. “Yeah, well,” Grantaire said, carefully avoiding Enjolras’s eyes, “that was a long time ago.”

Enjolras felt himself flush, but before he could offer some kind of apology, or explanation, Grantaire cleared his throat. “I think I’m just going to take a nap,” he said, still avoiding looking at Enjolras. “Riots really take it out of me.”

“Oh, right,” Enjolras said, hurrying to stand. “You can have the futon—”

“Nope, I got dibs on the couch.”

Enjolras frowned. “Take the futon,” he said. “I’m not going to make you sleep on the couch.”

“And I’m not going to make the person with potentially busted ribs sleep on the couch,” Grantaire shot back. “Besides, I checked out the futon before you arrived, and trust me, you’re not doing me any favors by switching.”

He said it with a sort of forced levity that told Enjolras not to push it further, so he didn’t. “If you say so,” he muttered instead, standing up and making his way over to the small pile of books stacked along one wall, hoping he could find something to keep his attention. 

By the time he returned to the futon with a novel that looked like it might do the trick – or at least make him angry enough that he’d have written a very thorough letter to the book’s publisher by the time he got out of there – Grantaire had rolled over onto his side, his back to Enjolras, ostensibly asleep.

But even though it had been a while since they had slept in the same bed, let alone the same room, Enjolras still knew Grantaire well enough to know when he was faking being asleep. And as he cracked open the book he had grabbed, he knew that Grantaire’s too-even breathing definitely indicated that he was not actually sleeping.

Which meant he preferred pretending to sleep to Enjolras’s company.

If that was any indication of how their time stuck together in the safe house was going to go, Enjolras couldn’t help but feel that they would both be very lucky if they made it out of there alive.

>>Read part 2 here>>

#exr #enjolras x grantaire #enjoltaire #enjolras #grantaire #ask #answered #hey nonny #fanfiction #les miserables #modern au #former relationship #reconciliation #well sort of #coming down the pipeline anyway #~tension~ #sorry to break this into 2 (or more) parts #writing has been a s t r u g g l e #and I figured i could use the additional motivation to actually finish this #Anonymous

[ilooklikeaburntchickenugget]

Hi, I love your writing. I really want to make a request where the readers have eating disorder but works in the modeling industries. She is like dating Gerard, but they were in a super big fight because of her eating disorder, as well as her constant traveling for fashion weeks, and at the end, they make up, and Gerard is helping her getting better, and stuff like that. I really love your writing, can you please write one? THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!!!

Title: Poisons A/N: I actually got two requests for something like these. The endings for both requests were slightly different, but here’s the first one. I didn’t really edit it, just because I haven’t updated much content in forever, but here you go! Pairing: Gerard Way (probably late Black Parade era) x Model!F!Reader Word count: 3,170 Warnings: Eating disorder, swearing, angst, drama, there’s just a lot.

Okay, so this was not what Gerard expected to come home to.

The man expected to go back to his New York apartment, shared with his gorgeous girlfriend, and for everything to be perfect. Well maybe not perfect, but perfect in Gerard’s mind.

He wanted nothing more than to just eat some chips, not having eaten in 16 hours due to his flight and partial distaste to airplane food, and curl up with his girlfriend, hugging every inch of her curves.

Instead he came home to a house that was nearly empty of any food, only a few protein shakes resided in the large fridge. This was already a huge warning sign Gerard looked out for. His mind attempted to justify itself, thinking that maybe he was jumping to the worst of the worst conclusions. No, you were probably just traveling so much that you weren’t at home enough to actually buy food.

He sighed, moving to one of the cabinets he knew the take out menus were hidden in. Opening it up, he picked up one of the cheap paper menus covered in dust, shaking it with his hand to get it off. Great, these hadn’t been touched in months.

After debating mentally between Chinese and Italian, he moved to your bedroom, in hopes to finally see the love of his life after months of being absent on tour. There you were, peacefully sleeping in bed. Jetlag, he knew.

He carefully removed his shoes, moving to his closet to change his airplane clothes to more comfortable ones. Climbing into the warm bed beside you, he placed his hands on your hips as he always had. His initial smile soon turned into a frown.

Even under the large hoodie you were wearing he could feel the painful outlines of your ribs. Grimacing to himself, he heard a small sigh fall from your lips. “Gee?” You coarsely called out.

“Mhm,” He hummed back, kissing the top of your head despite the pure disappointment towards you that coarse through his veins.

“What’re you doing? Weren’t you supposed to be gone for another week?” You asked again, still half asleep.

“The guys and I decided to cancel the last week where we were just supposed to travel, I missed you too much.” He smiled lightly, moving your hair to the side to kiss your neck.

“Mmm,” You hummed quietly, your consciousness growing back. Within seconds realization hit you, your eyes internally going wide, not wanting to show anything to Gerard, and you pulled away from him slightly.

“Babe,” He sighed, “We’re not doing this again.” “Doing what again?” You tried to pretend to not understand what he was saying.

“You’re a gorgeous, talented model,” He began with a soft smile, “But don’t go into acting, you’re not good at it.” “Gee, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You fired back.

“Take off your hoodie,” He insisted, “Now.” “Gerard, what the fuck?” You scoffed, “Take off my hoodie?” “You heard me,” He stated, “Take it off.” “Why would I take it off?” You scrowled.

“So I can confirm that you haven’t been eating like you’re supposed to.”

“Gerard, please-” You begged, now falling off your pedestal of lies. He sighed heavily, rolling his eyes.

“Why haven’t you?” He asked, looking at you, “What has caused you not to eat again? I thought we were over this.”

“I don’t think that’s your problem.” You snapped. You rarely if ever did so, but this was only further confirmation that you hadn’t eaten in a couple of days. You were cranky.

“Damn right it is my problem.” He sat up next to you, his face had gone completely serious. There were traces of anger in his eyes, his pulsing veins along his muscular arms told you all you needed to know. He wasn’t only infuriated with your habit, he was disappointed.

A word you hated. You absolutely hated. The way it sounded, the meaning, how it made you feel. “Please,” You begged him, your once bright eyes gray from the torture you had put yourself through. “Please what?” He asked, his tone still somewhat harsh.

“Just don’t be mad.” You pleaded. You could see his eyes scan over your face, looking for any signs that you were lying. He found none.

Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes to clear his head he nodded lightly. “Alright,” He said barely letting out a breath, “But you need to tell me everything.”

And you did. Most of it at least. You explained how your insecurities resettled themselves in your mind, starting the moment he left for Tour. You talked about how you were getting more gigs and all due to your tinier size. You explained how skin and bones was basically the new trend.

He sat and listened to you. And he believed it, because he knew it was true. But naturally, he also was a human lie detector. Especially with you.

“Okay,” He began, “And what else?” So maybe that one small part your left out was something that you really didn’t want to admit. Gerard had this strong distaste for most of your model “friends”, ya know, the ones who are naturally tiny and eat salads 24/7, never genuinely enjoying a single meal. The one’s who flashed their designer shit everywhere they went, who posted bikini photos every other day and managed to somehow photoshop themselves into complete Barbie dolls. It made Gerard’s blood boil, he never liked you hanging out with them. Because are them you were not Y/N, you couldn’t be. And that made you even more secure.

“There’s nothing else.” You lied. He looked you in the eyes, waiting another moment.

“I’m gonna give you one more chance to tell me the truth,” He sighed, “What else?” “I said nothing.” Your tone was adamant. He rolled his eyes in disbelief.

“You lied to me,” He began, “You just fucking lied to me. We’ve been over this how many times?” “I didn’t fucking lie to you,” You stuck up for yourself, moving further away from him.

“Another lie, damn Y/N.” He sighed, “We’ve been dating for three years, and you still can’t trust me.” “I do trust you, Gerard.” “Then why are you lying to me?” He asked, his tone going to a much harsher pitch.

“Ya know what?” You said, grabbing your pillow violently, getting up from the bed, Gerard looking at you with no emotion. “Fuck you.” You stated.

“Are you seriously gonna leave?” He asked, rolling his eyes, “Immature.” “No, I’m going to the fucking couch where I don’t have to sleep next to a complete dick.” You fired back, going into your closet and grabbing a spare blanket. “You didn’t mean that.” He scoffed.

“Then why the fuck did I say it?” You marched out of the bedroom, flipping him off to which you heard a sarcastic laugh.

This was far from how you had planned his return. You were gonna stock the fridge and pantry, ya know, not give him a chance to think you weren’t eating, and probably have dinner made. You would eat a small portion, making the excuse you had a big lunch with your friends, and bam! Everything would be okay.

But naturally, shit didn’t work out and after numerous insults thrown at each other you found yourself on the couch silently sobbing. You and Gerard had never gone that far, ever. This fight was beyond messy, it was a complete dumpster fire.

You wanted no more than to apologize to him, but you also wanted an apology from him. You should’ve told him everything, that was on you. But he pushed your buttons and he knew what he was doing. It only took 15 minutes, before you heard his soft footsteps coming from the bedroom, and his warm arms wrapping around you, to which his shoulder became one to cry on. His slow and soft coos calming you down, as he began apologizing over and over again, clearly more mad at himself at this point. “Sugar, I’m so so sorry,” He apologized, “I was just really upset.” “I know,” You sniffled, “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have called you a dick.” You looked up at him. “Well, I was kinda being one.” He lightly smiled, to which you giggled in his chest. “Just promise me, you’ll start eating again.” “Gee-” You were about to make an excuse when you were interrupted.

“Babe, you have to.” He began, “Remember what your manager said last time?” You sighed, remembering. Yep, they would place you right in a psych ward. “So here’s what’s gonna happen. We’re not gonna tell anyone, but I need you to start eating, okay? We’ll go gradually, start small and build up. Together, okay?” You nodded, placing you head on his shoulder.

“I love you,” You smiled, looking up at him. “I love you too.” He smiled right back down.

-Six months later-

"Gee, that’s too much salt!” You scolded as he put a tablespoon of salt not a teaspoon into the cookie dough you were making.

“Oops.” He looked down to which you smiled lightly. You took a chunk of it placing it into your mouth, and he did the same. You couldn’t help but gag at how much salt was in it. “Salty.” He admitted, and you lightly nudged him.

“Yeah, ya dork.” You smiled. “That’s what happens when you add too much salt.” He lightly laughed, wrapping his hands around your waist from behind and placing his head on your shoulder.

“So what’re we gonna do to fix it.” “Nothing,” You said, “We could like, triple the batch, but that would be way too much.”

“Don’t forget we’re seeing the guys tonight,” He smiled, “They’re gonna eat this shit up.” You sighed, nodding.

“Maybe it isn’t such a bad idea after all.” The two of you spent the next half hour adding more of every ingredient, thankful that your apartment was stocked with food to use.

Carefully, you placed as many trays as you could into the oven, closing it and setting the timer. Giving Gerard a quick peck on the lips, he went off to review some emails as you checked your phone. Of course, the group chat was buzzing.

You sighed as you open the text chain reluctantly, scrolling through only to see your name pop up numerous times. “Y/N, where have you been?” “Yeah, fr, we have been out to lunch with you in forever.” “Why are you ignoring us?” “Really? Now you’re being a fake friend.” “Guys, I’m okay.” You simply responded, “Just really busy.”

“Uh huh, you’ve been doing boutique stuff for months.” “Literally nothing even big.” “Not since that Prada show.” “It’s Gerard, isn’t it.”

And just like that, you were about to light these girls up. Gerard was the only one willing, and quite frankly able, to get you out of the huge hole you had dug yourself into. And damn, now these bitches (I hate misogynistic terms against women, but I think it may fit here) were really gonna act like the good guys. “Don’t bring Gerard into this.” You simply responded. “It has to be him.” “He’s not even worth it.” “You could have any guy in the world, and you chose him.” “He’s way out of your league, and you’re still on your knees for him. Smh.” You knew damn well they were trying to get to you. None of these girls had had any true romance, only summer flings with football players, actors, and singers. Granted, Gerard was a singer, but he made good music. He was an artist at his core, singing was just apart of that art. It didn’t take you more than a moment to remove yourself from the group chat, and block all those girls. The real fake friends. The timer went off, which startled you a bit, but placing your phone down with a heavy sigh, you turned it off, to check out the cookies. The top row was done, which you were going to take out. Naturally, the tsunami of inappropriate texts from who you would once call your “girlfriends” was still flooded in your mind, and like a complete idiot, you reached in, touching and grabbing the sheet. With you bare hands.

“Shit!” You yelped, dropping the pan on the open oven and rushing to put your hand under cold water.

“Y/N?” You heard Gerard rush in. You looked up at him, and judging your hand under water, and the cookie sheet which had clearly gone through it, he took a slight sigh, first going to examine your hand. “You alright?” You nodded despite the tears forming in your eyes.

It wasn’t even the burn that hurt. It was the fact that you knew you let those girls get to you so easily, and the just embarrassed yourself in front of Gerard. You knew he didn’t find it embarrassing at all, it was an honest mistake. But still, it embarrassed the shit out of you. “Baby,” He cooed, moving your head up with his fingers under your chin to see the tears that were now slowly cascading down your red cheeks, “It’s okay.” He said lightly. You nodded, placing your head into his chest and sniffling a bit. “What happened.” “I was just distracted,” You admitted, “Forgot the oven mitt.” He nodded, holding you for a moment longer before he knew you were okay, and going to pick up the mess. “Gee, I can clean it up, I made it-” “No, no, please, just worry about your hand, okay, sugar?” You nodded, attending back to it.

The bright red mark across your hand didn’t want to budge, which you were fine with, considering it didn’t hurt as much, just stung a bit. He managed to clean up all the cookies pretty fast, putting them on the stove top to cool, and quickly going back to you. Giving you a kiss on the top of your head, it was his way of messaging he didn’t want to push the topic. But if you wanted to talk he’d be there to listen. It wasn’t but a few hours later that the guys came over. The mistake from earlier was long forgotten, other than the mark on your hand.

The guys were honestly some of your best friends, just like they were Gerard’s. They truly cared about you, just as much if not more than you cared about them. All of them knew about your struggles, and they were honestly your number one cheerleaders.

So the looks on their faces when they saw you healthy again was one that you could not pay for. It was definitely a lot of pride in you for doing it, and it made you feel even better about your decision to get healthy again.

Honestly, you loved the relaxes atmosphere of just hanging out. Sitting next to Gerard with some water, as he drank a Diet Coke, and some of the guys had beers, some opted otherwise. You could theoretically drink as well, but you didn’t want your boyfriend to ever feel alone or strange not drinking alcohol, considering his rough past with it. So you typically opted for a non alcoholic beverage.

It wasn’t until after the guys were gone and you were in the shower that Gerard figured out what was wrong. Your phone kept buzzing, going off constantly. He had never once checked your phone without your permission. There was a huge element of trust in your relationship, and he never felt that there was a reason to. He knew your passcode, you two had openly shared each others in the case one of you needed to use the others phone, but when he picked up yours and saw all those girls name pop up he scoffed.

He knew he probably shouldn’t have done it, but he opened your phone, scrolling through the messages. Some of them you had yet to block, and they were obnoxious. He went into the group chat where the messages were flooding, reading from the beginning of the day until now.

Pissed was an absolute understatement. If it wasn’t for the sound of the shower you were in keeping him aware of his surrounding, he probably would have smashed your phone. Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, he placed it face down on the counter right where it was, resorting back to your bedroom in some hope of calming down before you got out, not making anything too obvious.

Everything was fine, completely normal. The two of you laying in bed together, doing your typical night time routine of reading a bit, maybe watching something, it really depended. You could feel how tense Gerard was, even by your head just leaning on his shoulder. His muscles flexed together, twisted into tight knots. You weren’t sure what had him so stressed, there wasn’t a need for him to be, right? “Babe?” You asked, to which he quietly hummed, “Are you alright?” You had caught on quickly, like you always had. And now he had cursed himself for looking at those messages. Transparency, he remembered, transparency.

“Honestly,” He sighed putting his book down, “I- I- I saw those messages.” He stumbled on his own words. You gave him a confused look, “The ones the girls sent.” You let out a sigh. Oh shit, he thought, thinking the worst of the worst. “Please don’t listen to them,” You insisted, “You know you’re not the reason for any problem in my life?” “Of course not,” He scoffed, “You’re totally fine. It’s just, how they treated you that bothered me.” “Gee-” “Y/N, we’ve talked about this.” He turned to you, “I’m not a controlling person, I try my hardest not to be. But damn, those girls are complete poisons. They’re hurting you, they’re doing far more harm than good. And I hope that doesn’t make me sound like a manipulator or anything, but even you’ve admitted you’re a lot different around them.” You sighed and nodded.

“I know, I just-” You began, “I’ve spent so many years of my life surrounding myself with people like them that it’s hard for me to know what to do without that, ya know?” He nodded.

“You don’t need a bunch of model friends thought to still be a great model.” You nodded.

“I’ll cut everything off with them in the morning, okay?” “Babe, you don’t need to rush it,” He said, “I mean, sure, the sooner the better, but this is your timing okay?” You nodded.

“Do you think everything will be okay?” You asked him next.

“Well, after they very possibly blame you for everything over text and try to put you down a psychological spiral, because that’s what they do, then yes, everything should be okay.” He smiled to which you nudged him. “You’re making this so much easier.” You sarcastically said, “I don’t even know why I ask you.” “Because you love me.”

#gerard way #gerard way fanfiction #gerard way x reader #gerard way x y/n #gerard way x you #gee way #my chemical romance #my chemical gerard #My Chem #my chemical gee #my chemical romance x reader

[wish-that-i-was-buckys-girl]

hey! could i possibly request a blaine one shot where the reader is another girl working on the ski patrol with blaine and they absolutely hate each other, but one day they get stuck in a snowstorm during work and end up lost for a few days? and during those few days they just get more and more lied up with each other until they just end up hate-fucking our in the open? it can end however, but i’ve been dying for some blaine action🥰🥰thank you💕

Thank you so much nonnie! I enjoyed writing this so much. I hope you enjoy it too!

Warnings: Fat Shaming, smut, slight bullying.

If there are any misspellings I’m sorry! I wrote this all on tumblr and didn’t get a time to proofread it in a different document.

Ice, Ice, Baby.

_______________________________________________

You walked to the cafe for hot chocolate at seven o’clock in the morning to prepare for your shift. It wasn’t easy being on ski patrol, that’s for sure.

Dads always tried hitting on you while you were trying to watch their wives kids struggle to learn the most basic of skiing. You just nodded in agreement and smiled a little to get through the conversations. Wouldn’t wanna get written up for being “rude” to a paying member of the resort. It wasn’t always so bad, some of the dads were kind of cute, and they always tipped well if you just did the bare minimum of looking good and reacting to their advances. You weren’t even supposed to get tipped, but that didn’t stop them. However, you didn’t enjoy watching their wives glare at you around dinner time. You could always feel their eyes burning into the back of your head.

Although you absolutely loathed the attention from the dad’s (besides the occasional tip), there was one reason why you absolutely dreaded going to work every day.

Blaine. You could say he was the Blaine of your existence. Shitty dad jokes always crept into your head due to how much time you end up spending with them.

You had tried being nice the first couple of weeks into the job, only to be met with incredible amounts of misogyny and downright assholeishness. God, you hated him. It was so unlike you to hate anyone, but the kid was ruthless.

He always made nasty remarks about the way you look, whether it was your facial features or your weight, he had it covered. Even though he always tried to get his friends to join in on the action, they never did. Everyone else liked you at the resort. Blaine was the only problem.

You made your way up to your snowmobile, tredging in the deep snow with your backpack and snow shoes on. You secured your hot chocolate and your backpack before riding it all the way up to your post. The post wasn’t too bad by itself. It was close to a nearby cabin in case of emergencies, stocked with food, with working water and electricity to last for up to a month. Even longer if it was less than 4 people.

You finally arrived at your post, hoping Blaine wouldn’t be there yet.

He was.

Fuck.

“You’re looking plump today y/n, more than usual. Must be from all the hot chocolate you’ve been drinking” he said laughing to Chaz. Chaz just rolled his eyes under his sunglasses. You could tell.

“Ha ha Blaine, you’re so original. It’s not like I’ve heard that one before yesterday. Or the day before that. Or the day before that.”

“Yeah, well I think saying it everyday is a good reminder. Maybe I’ll see you in the resort gym one day because of it.”

“Why? Is it cause ya wanna see my tits bounce in a sports bra? Get ya all hot and bothered?”

Blaine just gritted his teeth in response. You could tell he wanted to say something, but didn’t cause he didn’t want to give you the wrong idea. Or the right idea.

Blaine always had a pretty girl on his arm. You doubt he was attracted to you, but you say those things because it shuts him up every time.

You bundled up extra today. The news said there was a possibility of a snow storm, but it was highly unlikely. Still, the wind chill was extremely cold today, making you double up on the clothes underneath your snow suit. You wore a beanie, mittens, and a scarf too, just in case.

You and Chaz chatted for a while, Blaine giving you resentful side glances and a few eye rolls here and there to show his detest towards your interaction. God, what was his fucking problem?

At about noon, Chaz took his lunch, leaving you and Blaine alone for at least a half an hour.

Silence filled the mountains. Barely anyone was out on the slopes due to the potential storm coming, but that didn’t stop your job from making you go out anyways.

The silence was broken with a call from the walkie talkies. It was your manager, Janice.

“Get off the slopes, news just confirmed one of the worst snow storms to hit this side of the mountain in three years. I repeat ge-“

The walkie talkies went silent. The wind began to pick up, starling both you and Blaine. You acted quickly, knowing this could be a life or death situation. You both hopped on your snowmobiles to get to the cabin nearby. Unfortunately, Blaines wasn’t working. You quickly shouted “Get on!” Reluctantly, Blaine hopped on the back of your snowmobile. Thank god it was his snowmobile that wasn’t working. You’re not so sure Blaine would’ve rescued you if it was your snowmobile that died and not his.

You reached the cabin just in time, the snow finally picking up with the wind. You quickly grabbed the keys from your snowmobile and stuck them in the front door.

“Hurry! Jesus Christ we’ll die at this rate!”

“I’m trying asshole! Stop yelling at me!”

The door finally swung open. You and Blaine rushed inside, aggressively slamming the door behind you and locking it.

Both catching your breath while clutching onto your things, you made eye contact.

Of course you thought.

Of course I’m stuck with the one goddamn person who hates me in the middle of one of the biggest snowstorms of the decade.

Blaine didn’t hold back what he was thinking.

“Great, I’m stuck with Fat Albert with minimal supplies. We’ll be out of food by tomorrow.”

You scowled at him snd stood up.

“THAT’S IT. First of all, I’m not fat. Second off, even if I was, that is none of your goddamn business to make comments on it. I have fat on my body. Just because I’m not the twink of the century like you doesn’t mean I should be degraded for it. We are stuck here for god only knows how long. If you just shut up I’m sure we can make it through this. But you’ve got to stop being such a fucking asshole to me all the time.”

Blaine just stood there and rolled his eyes again at your response. At least he didn’t open his loud mouth.

Such a fucking drama queen.

_______________________________________________

As the sun began to set, your stomach started to growl, loudly. You resisted eating all day due to Blaines comments, but you knew you had to eat at some point.

You gathered the courage to make your way into the kitchen to look around.

Thank god they keep this up to date regularly.

There were tons of cans of different soups, ravioli, spaghetti, fruits and vegetables, and non-perishables that would keep you sustained for a long time. Especially with only two people being in the cabin.

You decided to microwave some of the ravioli. Just as you opened the microwave door, it shut again with a hand directly planted on the glass.

“Well well well, what do we have here? Is two ton Tony looking for a little snack?” Blaine said in a mocking tone.

“Fuck off Blaine. It’s dinner time, I’m hungry and I know you are too. You just haven’t eaten yet to prove a damn point and humiliate me. Now if you don’t shut up I will eat all the food and make sure you starve to death.”

He grimaced at your response and walked to a cupboard to look for food of his own. Thank god. You swore you were five seconds away from giving him a swift punch to the face.

You both ate your dinners in separate rooms. You didn’t want to interact with each other more than you had to.

After a few more hours of existing in separate rooms, you decided you wanted to fall asleep for the night. You casually walked into the bedroom, having absolutely no pajamas to change into, you figured you would either sleep with the clothes you had on or just sleep in your underwear. There were enough blankets to keep you warm if you did end up choosing the latter. As you walked into the room you noticed something horrible.

There was only one bed.

How could this even be possible? There were supposed to be four, as most times three to four people were on ski patrol.

Then you remembered three out of the four beds were taken out two months ago, as they were desperately disgusting. The shipments for the new beds hadn’t come in yet, figuring a situation like this wouldn’t even happen at all.

Go figure.

You decided since you got to the bedroom first, you’d have the bed. Fuck Blaine, he’d been an asshole to you the entire time you’ve known him, he can sleep on the damn couch.

You began to strip, thinking it was wise not to smell up the two sets of clothes you had to last you for god only knows how long.

You ended up sleeping in a bra and underwear. Normally you wouldn’t have even worn the bra, but considering Blaine was in the building and you couldn’t lock the bedroom door, you figured it was the safest bet.

As you crawled into bed you heard footsteps heading towards the bedroom.

Here we go.

Blaine entered, looking just as bewildered as you did when you found out there was only one bed.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

You ignored his comment, simply rolling over under the covers.

He stormed over to the bed and ripped the blanket off, revealing your half-naked body in the process.

You became infuriated.

“Hey!!! Do you fucking mind!” You said screaming and grabbing for the blanket.

Blaine stood there in a daze for several seconds, not expecting to see as much as he was planning on seeing.

Thank god I had my bra on.

You expected Blaine to have a comeback to seeing your body. Something about a beached whale ending up in the bed, or anything along those lines. Surprisingly, he didn’t. He had nothing to say at all. He just turned around and slammed the door behind him.

What the fuck was his issue? Whatever it was, he better fix it fast. Your patience was running thin, and it was only day one.

_______________________________________________

Several days had gone by, and the snowstorm wasn’t slowing down at all.

Blaine had ignored you at all costs. If he had to interact with you, he always made some snide comment under his breath. This somehow pissed you off even more. At least before you didn’t have to guess what he was thinking, he said it directly to your face. Now, you had no clue what he was saying about you. God it made your blood boil.

It was around lunchtime again when you saw him. You had chosen to eat chicken noodle soup that day, as you had been colder that day compared to most others.

On your way out of the kitchen, you bumped into Blaine.

You heard him make a comment under his breath again, something alone the lines of “.......fucking bitch.......where you’re goin.”

You had had enough.

“What the fuck did you just say?”

He was taken aback by your abrasiveness. Nonetheless, he still had a response to your question.

“I said, watch where the hell you’re going you fucking bitch.” He enunciated slowly, in a condescending manner.

You were done.

“I’ve had enough of this fucking bullshit Blaine. Why the hell do you hate me so much? What the hell did I ever do to you?”

“Your looks have insulted me from the day I met you. I learned all that I needed to know by just looking at you.”

Out of no where, you decided to shove him. You shoved him so hard he hit the wall behind him.

He looked confused and offended.

“Did you just shove me?”

“I don’t know, did I just shove you? Or did you trip over your enormous fucking ego?”

Blaine stood up tall and pinned you to the wall.

He looked you dead in the face, his eyes piercing into you with anger and something else...

You returned his stare, hopefully having the same effect on him that he was having on you.

After staring at each other for what seemed like an eternity, Blaine kissed you, hard.

You resisted, you resisted so much but your head didn’t have anywhere to go. After a few seconds you gave into the kiss, slowly moving your lips with his. You hated to admit it, but his lips were so soft. It was like kissing clouds surrounding the gates to heaven.

Finally, Blaine pulled back and began staring into your eyes once more. Again, you lept at each other. You grabbed his hair and the side of his face, while he grabbed your hair and your ass to hike up your leg against his hip. Your lips were on each other in no time, sucking and pulling on both his lips and his tongue.

God you were so turned on.

You hated that he made you feel this way but fuck if he wasn’t good. He felt so goddamn good.

He hoisted you up against the wall, your legs wrapping around his hips as you continued to aggressively make out like the two horny twenty-one-year-olds you were. After kissing for five minutes straight, Blaine put you down so you could both remove your pants.

You spoke first “We don’t tell anyone about this.”

Blaine just nodded in agreement, eager to put his cock inside of you.

He hoisted you up against the wall for a second time, wasting no time shoving his cock into your pussy.

“Ohhhh fuck Blaine... go slow go slow...”

You also hated to admit it, but he wasn’t lacking in at least one department.

He smirked, knowing it was too much for you in such a short amount of time.

“What’s wrong y/l/n, can’t get fucked right either?”

“Maybe if you fucked me better I wouldn’t have to complain so much.”

All the talking had allowed time for your pussy to become soaked. Blaine could feel how wet you were. He also noticed how tight you were.

“Fuck, your pussy has been this tight the entire time and you never told me?”

“Oh Jesus Christ just shut up and fuck me before I change my mind Blaine.”

That’s all he needed to hear. He also took it upon himself to take that as the cue to go as fast as he needed to.

He started pumping in and out of you at a rapid pace, making absurdly loud slapping noises in the process.

You couldn’t help but moan into his neck, his name on your lips every ten seconds.

“Fuck, fuck , fuck Blaine don’t stop! Oh god don’t fucking stop.”

He loved hearing his name come out of your mouth like that. In all honesty, Blaine has wanted to fuck you since the day he met you. He suppressed that lust with crude comments, hoping the feelings would subside. Guess that didn’t work out too well.

“Yeah you like that baby? Huh? Like that I’m fucking your pretty pussy?”

“Oh god yes Blaine! Fuck me harder!”

He wasted no time, pounding into you as fast and as hard as he could. You couldn’t help but let your eyes roll in the back of your head as he fucked you so good you thought you were about to see God himself.

Blaine loved seeing you like this, drained by him fucking you relentlessly. In fact, he loved it so much he felt the need to repress his feelings once again, which would be his last effort in trying to do so.

“I still fucking hate you, oh god, oh fuck.”

You looked at him, dead in the eyes, and said “Bold words coming from a man who’s cock is in me.”

All he could do was smile, going in for another kiss while he continued to plow you.

Both of your moans filled the cabin, screaming with no shame, knowing for a fact no one would hear you.

You felt a tight coil forming in your lower stomach, causing you to hold onto Blaine’s shoulders tighter.

“Oh fuck Blaine, I’m gonna cum, oh god I’m gonna cum.”

Blaine took it upon himself to whisper more comments in your ear as you reached your climax together.

“Goddamn right you’re gonna cum on my cock. This is my pussy. No one else gets to touch it, just me. Cum for me baby, you can do it.”

You both screamed as you came, Blaine unintentionally spilling his seed into you. Thank god you remembered to bring your birth control pill.

Just as you two were coming down from your high, you noticed something out of the corner of your eye.

Not something, but someone.

It was Chaz.

You hadn’t noticed while you were fucking, but the snow had cleared up enough just for a one person rescue party. Chaz had come in just moments ago. However, he didn’t say anything. He really didn’t have anything to say. He was stunned.

As you both stared at Chaz, you were the first to speak.

“Well, fuck.”

#hot tub time machine #sebastian stan characters #sebastian stan #Blaine/reader #Blaine x reader

[j-pankratz]

The Slumber that Creeps to Me

Geraskefer. 7208 Words. Rated T.  Jaskier pulls an extreme all-nighter (read: 60+ hours) to finish a paper he procrastinated on, and finds at the end of it that sleep does not come as easily as he’d hoped. Tags for: Sleep Deprivation, Self Destruction/Lack of Self Care, Hallucinations, Nightmares, Overstimulation, Hurt/Comfort, Whumping the Bard, very loving partners, and a happy ending. <3 AO3 link in the reblog!

As with most disasters spurned by his own cockiness, Jaskier felt as thought that all in all, the situation could have been worse.

The idea to have Geralt and Yennefer spend the spring holiday break at Oxenfurt was, in his defense, ingenious. His students weren’t around, the weather was gorgeous, they all had varying degrees of business in the city, and they could fuck each other senseless at any hour of the day. In a bed. A nice one, provided he was a legitimate professor, now. Well, visiting. Well, it was complicated. But they were his rooms, and that’s what mattered.

When Jaskier gotten the prestigious offer to write the season’s main article for the Continent’s most respected Bardic Journal, he’d just sort of figured he’d… fit it in, somewhere. He had seventeen months, which was plenty enough for him. Then he’d just work with the editors, and have a centerfold piece. It was an honor. He was excited about it! He’d meant to get to it sooner, but decided the summer before that he’d devote the winter to it. But… he’d… he’d been distracted. It wasn’t often the entire family gathered at Kaer Morhen. So, he thought, he’d do it later.

But the first few weeks after winter were, of course, spent with Geralt. And the week after that, a trip to the coast, where he’d played a festival and met up with Ciri, who was becoming an amateur critic herself. And then by pure, absolute happenstance, after 3 more weeks of travel he happened to end up at an inn that he definitely hadn’t heard Yennefer was staying at. So that more time gone. And then he’d arrived in Oxenfurt, and he’d really meant to get to work on it, but there was so much to prepare for! He wanted things to be right for them.

And then Yennefer and Geralt had actually arrived, and the idea of anything possibly being more important than their presence flew his mind.

And now, here he was. If he wanted to get it in on time (unfortunately, that wasn’t a suggestion in this case, more of an actual, terrifying requirement,) he’d need to submit it in… gods above, less than three days. 60 hours, if he was doing the math.

There was no word limit, nor a minimum. But, ever the maximalist, he knew it was going to be… long, if he was going to do it right. They’d edit it down, but it was the focal point of the journal, they’d been leading up to it for ages now. Ahh. Well. There was only one thing for it, he supposed.

“I’m working through the night on my paper!” He’d announced that morning, sitting straight up in bed, jostling his sleepy lovers. “No one bother me! I will be at the dining table until further notice!” He swung himself out of bed and made for the door.

“Pants,” his lovers chorused together.

“Right!” he'd said, and marched back into the room.

He’d pulled all-nighters in his youth. In fact, he couldn’t count the times he’d worked through the night, deposited a composition or essay on his professor’s desk with some polite conversation and maybe a wink, and then promptly fallen asleep during the lecture itself. Just a 15-minute power nap, really! Then he’d be back up and at it again, working through another night just to sleep through the weekend. He’d done it before, he could do it again.

Well, it’d been 25 years ago, but that didn’t change much, did it? He still felt spry, agile, hearty— hell, he’d spent the better part of the last twenty odd years chasing after a Witcher, and later an additional princess and mage— surely he should be in better health now!

This was completely accomplishable. Admittedly, he could have written this sooner… but he hadn’t, and here he was.

Geralt and Yennefer both set out early on different errands, leaving the bard to some peace and quiet. Relatively.

He spread his work and references out before him. 7 books, 4 pamphlets, his favorite quills, a hundred fresh pieces of parchments, his lute at his knee. “Alright,” he said aloud to his empty Oxenfurt apartment, “Just sit down and write the damn thing. Sitting part, definitely done. Writing next. Just… write.”

He stared at the page.

“No! No, no, do not be impossible about this. Just start the thing.”

The page stared back.

“Ah, blast,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes. This was fine. Just… do the awful, disgusting part of beginning, and then he’d be off. The sooner he started, the sooner he’d finish, after all! He took a breath, and put his pen to paper.

xx

Yennefer returned a few hours later, a book and small parcel in hand. Jaskier looked up to see her sweep through the room, a commanding presence, though she didn’t acknowledge him yet. A few waves of her hands and a pot of tea was put on to boil, her hair was put in a bun, and three mugs were floating down from a shelf.

“Lovely to see you too,” he smiled as Yennefer poked through the tea collection. He could practically hear her fond eye roll. She neatly plucked two from one box and looked back at him in question. “Ah… peppermint, if we’ve got it?” and she turned back to the cupboard grab it.

“Any progress?” She finally asked.

“A bit, actually!” Jaskier said cheerfully. It didn’t look like much, but he’d done half a page with almost no errors, and he’d made plenty of notes in the margins of the books he’d need later. It was better than he’d hoped it’d be going by this point, at least. He was kicking academia’s ass. Or, he would be.

The kettle whistled and Yennefer poured the tea, bobbing all three of the tea bags up and down as they steeped. He watched her lean against the counter, casual, relaxed, gorgeous, before realizing she was staring back at him. “Um! Yes, no, definitely good. Got a lot of… those words, you know, they are definitely here. Looking very sexy. The words! The writing is looking… very sexy, very curvy… letters. Sensuous words, you know.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Sensuous words.”

“Yeah, yes. Like… contemporaneous… and… iguana.”

“Iguana.” She let out a little huff of a laugh and something in Jaskier’s chest tightened and loosened in quick succession. And in a moment she was there, sliding him a large mug with the carving of a rather playful looking bear on one side, batting at a butterfly.

“Oh! My favorite. Thank you, thank you.”

“Mmm,” she said before waving a hand to cool down their tea a bit. She took a seat opposite him, scanning an eye over the table. “Think you’ll be done by tonight?”

Jaskier laughed. “Darling, I’ll be lucky to be done by tomorrow morning.”

“You’re planning to stay up all night, bard?”

“Unfortunately.” He took a sip. “Should be done by tomorrow afternoon, if I keep steady at it.”

“After tea, of course.”

“Of course.”

Yennefer stretched out a bit, kicking her feet onto Jaskier’s lap and rolling her neck. They sat there a moment, sipping, pausing, drinking in each other. There was something nice about taking a moment of stillness with someone just as frenetic as he was, someone who was usually just as itching for something to do, even if she went about it differently. The grace of choosing stillness, he thought, was not something to ignore.

Yennefer reached the end of her mug and tapped its ceramic walls lightly.

“What’s next for you?”

“I have to refresh my potion stock, so I’ll be at the market for supplies. You sure you don’t want to take a break and join?”

Rat’s ass. He fucking loved the Oxenfurt markets. “I’m afraid I can’t. Academia calls.”

“Who does it call for, exactly? What’s that I hear…” She cocked her head and listened intently. “Who is it calling for… is that… V… Val… Valdo?” Jaskier hefted her feet off of his lap in protest, and she laughed. He plucked his quill from its stopper, and went back to hovering over his paper. Introduction mostly accomplished, now he had to really lead in to his point, give some proper context. He flipped through a book beside him.

Yennefer rose smoothly from the table and went to move her mug to the sink. “When Geralt gets in, tell him I need toadflax and bluebells from him? Might as well put him to use.”

Jaskier flipped through the pages, thumbing through for a note he’d sworn he’d made ages ago, when he belatedly tried to register his mage’s words. He could have his fun, too.

“Blue…Yennefer, you want me to tell Geralt that you need blue balls from him?”

“Bells! Bells, you absolute child!” she said. “Honestly. Blue balls? Really, Jaskier?” He was giggling. “I don’t need to ask to give either of you blue balls.”

“Exactly, Yennefer, you provide that service for us anyway, free of charge!” A balled-up napkin hit him in the head and he laughed joyfully.

“I can’t stand you. I’m leaving, you’ll never see me again.”

Jaskier looked up through his grin and met her twinkling, happy eyes. “Tonight then?”

“Tonight,” she agreed, and left with a quick ruffle of his hair.

xx

“Still working?” Geralt said as greeting later in the afternoon. The desk was neater than Jaskier expected it to be this far in, only a few books open, dog eared and marked in colored ink. He’d written a page and a half since Yennefer left, and it was good, it was, but he’d need to go back and make edits later. His long empty mug of tea sat far across him.

“Mm,” he agreed, continuing to write. “Ah, Yennefer came through earlier,” giving a gesture to the waiting mug of tea on the counter. Geralt made his way over to the mug, and gave it a small igni to warm it. He smiled fondly down at the drink—what a terribly lovely sight he was. Warm here, and safe. Couldn’t it be like this always? The three of them here, comfortable and happy? No, he supposed, but gods how he wanted it.

“She’s at the market now,” Jaskier continued, “wanted me to ask you about...” He lifted his pen and squinted. “Ah, toadflax and bluebells.” He looked up at Geralt, smiling. “Blue balls,” they said together, sporting matching shit-eating grins, Geralt’s albeit much smaller. “I made the same joke myself,” Jaskier added.

Geralt snorted. “How’d she take that?”

“Oh, as well as you’d hope. We’ll never see her again, of course.” He turned back to his work, reading over the last paragraph. He could feel Geralt approach to stand behind him, and while he’d normally shoo his witcher off, he was too deep in concentration to bother.

How long was too long to linger on the progression of oral storytelling to bardship? It’s not like he could ignore it, (Geralt’s hand came to grip his shoulder, a thumb rubbing against it tenderly) as it was a crucial tenant of the argument— but there was plenty to be said for assuming the literacy and foreknowledge of the reader. (He leaned in to get a closer look at Jaskier’s page, the soft warmth of the tea in his other hand bouncing off his chest) But this was to be in a journal often referenced by first years, and he knew how much he would have loved a paper that had everything all in one—

“How’s it going?” Geralt asked softly in his ear.

Jaskier waved a hand over the mess before him. “You know. It’s fine, I’m just not sure at what point I’m lingering on points to excess.”

“Mm,” Geralt hummed understandingly. “Tell the story. Trust your gut.” He gave Jaskier a nuzzle and light kiss against his cheek before taking up the empty mug off the table and walking off further into the apartment.

“I always do!” Jaskier called back. Mm, if only this were as simple as telling a story. Well…Oh—if he spent this paragraph referencing the progression it would end up taking up more room, be a run of the mill lead-in, but if he wrote the actual history as a short story itself, now there was an idea, he could make his point and give the context. Oh, fuck, brilliant—

“Back soon,” Geralt was saying as the front door slipped shut, but the bard was too lost in his work to do more than give a small nod of his head.

The sun was falling, making a graceful bow into the horizon. Warm light spread out over the streets of Oxenfurt like the last pushes of tide, ebbing, and flowing, and sinking back into night.

“Ah, fuck,” Jaskier muttered, crossing out a spelling error with a snarl.

His shoulders ached, and his lower back was going to be the death of him. He was on page 7. All he could see was the work ahead of him, winding off ad infinitum. If he didn’t pick up the pace, he might have to go 60 hours straight—he shivered. Not ideal. He took a breath, stood up and stretched a bit, his muscles groaning in thanks. A quick bathroom break later and he was sliding back into his chair, still warm, his papers grinning up at him, sardonic.

He’d take a meal break at 10 pages, he told himself.

He stood to stretch and his head swam. Well. Plenty of reason to stay seated, he supposed.

Geralt and Yennefer returned at 12 and a half pages. He turned his head in greeting, and when he looked back he got the first real look at the table in hours—it was a disaster, crumbled pieces of parchment, empty quills, and little notes strewn everywhere. Some books propped open, the pile of parchment looking more like a mountain slope, an empty glass from when he’d chugged water hours ago.

His loves were clearly a few drinks deep as they came through the door, and completely unmarred by the woes of academia. Bastards, honestly.

“Hi, hello, hope you had a good evening, I—”

“Come to bed,” Yennefer said, suddenly right behind him. Two small but firm hands came to his shoulders, rubbing deeply.

“Ah! Oh, fuck—oh, yes, darling, right there—”

Geralt came to his other side, tipping his head up for a kiss, which he moaned into. His witcher’s tongue was soft, pleading, tempting him—his mage’s hands pushing almost painfully against his aching muscles. He wanted to cry, it was so good. It was so different than the last… however many hours it had been that he had been sitting here. Geralt pulled away, and Yennefer’s hands came to rest as well.

“So?” Geralt asked, his voice deep and velvety. “Bed?”

“I…” gods, who had he become? “I can’t. I want to, I just—”

Yennefer placed a kiss to the top of his head. “It’s fine,” she said, and he knew it was, but he hated denying them something they all wanted. “Have you eaten?”

Jaskier frowned. “Fuck. Not really.”

Geralt sighed and went to the pantry. “You’re getting a sandwich,” he grumbled.

“Ooo, Geralt, dear heart, would you heat it up? Use some of your,” he wiggled his fingers “your witchery magic?”

Geralt turned and glared. “You’re getting a sandwich.”

“He’s so mean to me,” Jaskier muttered to Yennefer, “I can’t believe he’s so mean to me.”

His mage snorted a laugh into his hair. “You’re really staying up all night, then?” She waved a hand and the curtains around the room swept shut, and his lantern began to burn steadily.

“Looks like it,” he sighed. Geralt retuned a moment later, plated warm sandwich and glass of water in hand.

“Fuck. Thank you.” He took it and took a bite, suddenly ravenous. He looked up at both of them, staring down in fond amusement. “Fank—” he swallowed his mouthful of sandwich. “Thank you both, truly. I’ll be up a bit. If you need something, call, yes?”

They rolled their eyes. “He tells us to call if we need anything,” Yennefer muttered. “Don’t get into any trouble,” she said, and with a peck on the cheek from both of them, they disappeared into the bedroom.

He looked back at his work.

Okay. 12 ½ pages in. He could do this.

x

At 15 pages, he felt ravenous again, and made a second sandwich. Not as good as Geralt’s. Geralt’s sandwiches weren’t even that good, but they were made by Geralt, which added a certain kick, a novelty he adored.

He drank another glass of water and shook his head. Back to work.

At 17 pages, sometimes the world swam before him. He gripped the edge of the table. Fuck.

He was so tired. 23 pages. He kept writing.

It was terrible. The whole paper was a mess. Nothing made sense and people were going to laugh at him. 25 pages.

He heard a sound. Was that Geralt rising for the bathroom? Was it an intruder? Light crept in through the window. 27 pages.

There was a ringing in his ear. His writing was getting increasingly larger. 27 ½ pages.

Geralt gave him a soft nuzzle to the top of his head before padding through to the kitchen. Jaskier’s heart ached. His bones ached. Writing was hard but right then it felt impossible. 27 ¾ pages.

Geralt lingered, and Jaskier felt his nose twitch. He tapped his foot impatiently, waiting for him to leave. He couldn’t have any distractions right now. He shut his eyes tight until he heard the bedroom door close once more.

Yennefer entered hours later, sweeping the curtains over with a flick of her hand. Bright light flooded the room, painting the desk in all its full, disgustingly messy glory. “Well—”

“Could you ask next time?!” Jaskier snapped. “Some of us need consistency to concentrate!”

Yennefer raised an eyebrow, and they stared at each other. Some part of him wanted to slap himself but the rest was just so irritated. Who’d she think she was, anyway?

After a moment, the mage turned and left with a flick of her hand to sweep the curtains shut again.

“Headed out,” Geralt said at 30 pages. “Contract.”

“Good,” Jaskier muttered. “I mean. Good that you’re—fuck. Whatever.”

Geralt stared. “You need rest. It’s been more than 24 hours.”

“I need to fucking finish.”

“Yen said—”

“I’m sure she did,” Jaskier muttered, driving his heels into his eyes. Gods, his eyes burned. Silence hung.

“She portaled out this morning.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Great. Love that. I’m a fucking disaster, thank you for the reminder, Geralt.” He waved toward the door. “Don’t you have a contract?”

He turned back to his papers, shifting around to look for page 11, and didn’t think about how long it took before Geralt left the apartment.

His hand was shaking but he was at 34 pages. He still had so much to say. Fuck. But he was in it now.

He scarfed down some soup that was mostly broth at some point, and he’d under-salted it, but it was something. His eyes kept going blurry; traitorous things.

The bear on his mug was plotting his downfall.

38 pages and Jaskier felt like the gods themselves had gifted him with the knowledge he now bestowed onto meager commoners. He was a genius.

At 43 pages, he had stopped to lay out the entire essay on the ground, so he could see it all. The words sometimes swam before him, and he had trouble remembering what he was meant to say next. Once, he looked up, confused as to where he was. And then, at 44 pages, the guilt of snapping at his dearest loves, the weight of this behemoth paper he wasn’t even sure he could finish, and his own self-doubt crept in and seized him up, leaving him breathless and in tears for… awhile. Everything hurt. He had to keep going.

At 48 pages, he saw a griffon fly through his window, and he named it Kalvin. He turned whatever color Jaskier wanted him to turn, which was very considerate of him. Kalvin was his only friend now, and with a little convincing, might become his editor, too.

At 55 pages his chest seized, and it was hard to breathe for a moment. He closed his eyes but—no, no, couldn’t do that. If he fell asleep now, he’d never finish in time. He tried to relax, got some water, leaned against the counter. Everything was a mess.

He sat back on the floor, his work around him. Keep going.

“I don’t think there’s anything about anything that I have to be doing right now. Kalvin, you’ve… you’ve got to understand, this could be my finest work! It’s good. It’s pretty good here in… in this part, here. In that other part it’s just okay, but that’s why you come in with your big claws and you’re gonna. Rip up the bad parts. Don’t rip up the good parts. Right? Yeah. Do you think they’ve forgotten about me by now?”

He looked down. 57 pages. Took a long blink.

“Yeah,” he said softly, “That’s fair.

He had to write two extra pages so that he could skirt around referencing Valdo Marx’s work as anything other than a contradictory point. Maybe it would have been fun to use his own writing against him but he didn’t want to give the satisfaction of being referenced positively in a centerfold piece.

He lost the essay.

“Fuck—oh, gods, where did—”

He turned around, looked down. Oh, there it was.

“Thank fuck.”

The curtains were still closed and the charmed lantern was still burning, but Jaskier knew it was night by the time he reached 63 pages and Geralt came in.

Jaskier looked up from his spot kneeling on the floor. Geralt looked fine. He was a little dirty. There were some gushy bits. Probably blood. He was tired. Or just mad. Maybe he hated Jaskier.

“You’re still—?!” Geralt asked, looking at Jaskier like he’d just said a griffon named Kalvin had flown in the window earlier and now they were friends.

“I met a griffon,” Jaskier heard himself say. Geralt stared. “We’re friends now.”

“…You need to fucking sleep.”

“No.” Jaskier went back to the margin he’d devoted to drawing circles in. “Sorry ‘bout earlier.”

Geralt sighed. He might have talked but Jaskier didn’t hear, just kept writing.

“How often has that been happening?” he heard Geralt ask.

“What happening?”

“Where you fall asleep for a moment.”

“I haven’t! Fallen asleep.”

“Fuck,” Geralt said. He looked very nice, except for the goop all over him. Well. Even that wasn’t so bad, when the underneath bits were Geralt. His Geralt. Looked so warm, so strong, so able to carry him.

“Later,” Jaskier replied, and went back to his words. The familiar pop of a portal sounded in the bedroom. Their eyes lingered on the direction it came from, but Yennefer didn’t open the door. They looked at each other, and then back at the door which remained very much shut. “She’s mad.”

“Yep.”

“At me.”

“Yep.”

There was a pause. “Are you covered in blood?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Oh.”

“Not mine.”

“That,” he said pointing to the Witcher, “is good.”

“Mmm.”

“Sticky though.”

“Definitely sticky.”

Yennefer came out of the doorway, and Jaskier blinked. When he opened his eyes again she was much closer than she’d been and was in the middle of talking. Magic, he assumed.

“—yourself very lucky, bard.”

“Yeahh,” he said. “Sorry. ‘Bout… Sorry.”

She huffed and crossed her arms. There was a look in her face. Eyes? And her mouth. It was hard to name. Words were hard, when they weren’t the words he desperately needed to write.

“—for a while,” Geralt was saying. “Jaskier. How close are you to finishing.”

“Soon!” Jaskier said. “Soon! Soon. Due… 1pm tomorrow. What time is it?”

“10pm.”

“Fuck. Psshhh. I can… I can do it.” He looked up at Yennefer. “Sorry. Really. I… I’m just tired,” he admitted. “Shouldn’t have snapped. Not fair to you.”

Yennefer stood there, arms folded, emanating some emotion Jaskier had lost the concept of around page 41. Geralt walked further into the apartment, into the bedroom. Oh right. Blood armor. Ick.

He went back to writing and tried to ignore the desire to cry again, and then suddenly Yennefer’s shoes were in his line of vision.

“Let me read it,” she said.

“Oh.”

They stared at one another. She had such a pretty face. He might have been smiling. She rolled her eyes and then came to sit next to him. She quickly found the first page and began.

Halfway through it, he spilled ink on the bottom half of page 64, and wept. Yennefer gave him an attempt at a comforting pat on the back.

Yennefer had read the pages and risen; “It’s good. You need edits, but it’s somehow decent. Good. Whatever. A little… loose, toward the end, though,” made herself a cup of tea, and entered the bedroom.

Either a few moments, or 20 minutes later, Geralt emerged.

“What are you at now?”

“69 pages.”

“Nice,” Geralt said.

“Ha. Yeahhh,” Jaskier agreed.

“That’s not what I—” Geralt sighed the sigh that meant his face was going all pinch-y. “Close to the end?”

“Mmm. What is the end, really?” Geralt made a different pinch-y face. “Soon.”

“Come to bed tonight, Jaskier.”

“I’ll try,” he said. He blinked, and Geralt was gone.

There are a lot of words in an essay that are very hard to spell.

Jaskier ate the rest of a loaf of bread.

For a while, he swore he walked the streets of Oxenfurt while still warm in his professorial housing.

Kalvin’s accent changed three times and at one point he was on fire.

85 pages.

Geralt woke first, as always; There he was! That was his love. So much of his heart.

With shaking hands, Jaskier had brought himself up to sit in his chair, and sat staring down at his work. He looked up at Geralt with a lopsided grin. “I did it,” he said weakly.

“Need help putting it together?”

The tears fell so quickly he didn’t realize it was happening. “Really?”

Geralt sighed softly and knelt down, organizing the papers.

Yennefer emerged a bit later—There she was! His love, a chunk of him was hers entirely. He smiled. “Look!”

“Mmm. And now you can sleep.”

“NO!” Jaskier cried and leapt to his feet, “No, no, now… now is presenting time. To… the editors. Not Kalvin. But I turn it in… and then sleep,”

He had a sudden burst of energy, and tried to step over Geralt and the papers, but fell into the table instead, before the Witcher steadied him from below.

“Ohhhh, thank you dear. It’s time for… presentation! Mm.” He leaned into Yennefer’s warmth at his side, though she did not wrap her arms around him as he’d hoped. “Help me pick out an outfit.”

He blinked. Yennefer was in front of him now, looking at him with a frown, her hands around his waist. Geralt’s hand was against his forehead. “No! Stop that! I’m fine. I’m fine! See me! Fine. It’s action time. Let’s go!” and he marched off to the bedroom.

The floor was suddenly very close to his face.

“Did I—”

“You fell on your face.”

“Have I—”

“You’ve asked three times now, yes.”

There should have been fanfare when he turned it in, but there was only the grateful smile of Edmond, the young new assistant, a firm handshake, and a promise he’d hear back from them very soon, for a quick summarization of their initial thoughts. Or, he’d used all those words, Jaskier forgot which order they’d come in.

The three returned to the apartment, and everything happened very slowly and so quickly he found it hard to keep track. There was definitely a bath drawn for him—gods, it had been days, hadn’t it— oh, fuck, he was gross, wasn’t he—a full meal, and a celebratory drink. He’d made a few good jokes, and all he could see were Geralt and Yennefer, smiling at him. An empty glass. A bar of soap. A long quill. A messy table. A pile of books and an empty mug. They deposited him on the bed for sleep, and left together.

Jaskier lay there, waiting for sleep to take him.

It did not.

He was so tired he could cry. He did, a few times. He couldn’t think straight. All of it, everything, hurt. His body ached. He tried to soothe himself down alone, rocking himself in the hopes it would work. But nothing.

What if he could never sleep again? What if he would always be awake, forever? What if this was how he died?! Oh gods, he didn’t want to die! He still had edits to approve!

Eventually, he could feel himself getting closer. He adjusted himself, lay on his back and took deep, measured breaths, kept his eyes closed but relaxed. Okay. Okay. Sleep.

He was falling, so violently and so fast that when he jolted awake, he forgot he’d been lying on a bed in the first place.

Fuck.

He tried again. It happened sometimes, it was fine. He’d be fine.

He tried breathing deeply once more, trying to let the distant scents of Yennefer and Geralt now embedded in his pillows overtake him.

A fear so powerful it gripped his heart and twisted, whispered to him, ‘this is what dying is, you’re going to die’ and he once again jolted awake. He threw his head back against the pillow and winced; even that hurt.

Fuck. Fuck.

He kept trying. Over, and over, he’d get so close to sleep and then right at the precipice, something would yank him out of it.

Once, he saw Yennefer falling off a cliff. Another time, he saw Geralt stabbed through the chest. At some point, he saw Ciri screaming, and his hands flew out to pull her close, only to find nothing there. Sometimes it was himself falling, and sometimes it was the world below him falling instead.

He’d really done it this time. Stayed awake so long, sleep had abandoned him entirely.

It felt like twelve years before Yennefer and Geralt returned, slipping into the room quietly. He sat up in bed, startling them both.

“Please,” he said quietly, “I can’t. I don’t know why I can’t I just—I can’t. My body won’t let me, I want to but I can’t—”

“How the hell—” Yennefer started, walking over to him with a palm out to check for a curse, maybe? It didn’t matter. He wrapped her hand in his and clutched it to himself, desperate for her. She was so warm. So alive.

“Fuck,” Geralt sighed, “It’s been nearly 70 hours already, Jaskier.”

“Let me just put him down with magic,” Yennefer started, but Geralt put a hand up.

“We can’t. It’s a temporary fix. if he can’t fall asleep on his own without magic, it’ll get harder and harder for him. We need to get him to fall asleep without it.” They looked down at him. What a disgrace he must look like, how pathetic he was. He turned his face away in abject shame. He couldn’t even fall asleep right.

While he looked away, Yennefer tore her hand from his as she and Geralt discarded their clothes into heaps beside the bed, crawled beneath the covers on either side of Jaskier. They hated him. They must. How could they not?

“It’s fine, you don’t—fuck, sorry—”

Geralt shrugged. “Don’t be. I know how bad it gets. It’s different for a Witcher, but no sleep is the whole reason we met Yennefer.”

“Oh, yeah,” Jaskier said softly.

“As I recall, the solution then was to have vigorous sex on the floor.” Yennefer ran a finger along Jaskier’s chest. “Sound appealing?”

“I—yes, Yennefer, it sounds appealing.” He fidgeted, tried to focus on the feeling of Yennefer’s delicate touch. He was oversensitive enough that it felt like fire, but nothing… stirred, and each word he spoke felt like he was pulling honey from his tongue. “I don’t… much as I’d like, I’m not sure I’d be... up for it right now.” Yennefer’s head fell against the pillow and she flattened her hand, ran the palm up his chest to rest above his heart. Pressed a kiss there.

He closed his eyes and tried to breathe deeply, but they were looking at him, he could feel every inch of their gazes and it was all too much. He whined in agony. “I can’t do this. Fuck. I can’t, just put me out. We try it again tomorrow, I—”

“Jaskier. You can. Tell us what you need and we can help you,” Yennefer said, sweet but firm. And that was her, wasn’t it?

He couldn’t think. Wanted to. Wanted so much. Wanted to be asleep.

Jaskier curled up on his side, exhausted of being exhausted, when he felt Geralt slide up closer behind him. “Can I hold you?” he murmured into the bard’s shoulder. Jaskier nodded, and felt Geralt’s arm come around him and under his own arm, felt it slide up his chest and cross it protectively.

“Feel good?” Jaskier nodded, and then cracked his eyes open, met Yennefer’s, concern palpable.

He lifted one arm just slightly. “C’mere?” And she did, curled into his arms and around him, tucked her head under his, kissed the top of Geralt’s fingers. He held her close, and was held by the two in turn. Breathing, somehow, felt easier between them.

“Breathe, bard,” Yennefer urged him softly. Geralt buried his nose in Jaskier’s hair, took in a deep breath, and Jaskier tried to follow.

They breathed softly, all together, slow and safe. Soon, he was drifting into sweet oblivion.

‘You,’ Fear said, wrapped around his sternum, ‘will crumble, the moment you let go of wakefulness.’ It gripped him, and tugged him back to reality.

He jolted again. “Fuck, dammit, cock wringing—”

Yennefer pulled back to look at him worriedly. “Is that what’s been keeping you up?” she asked.

“It’s, I don’t know, something just pulls me back, I try to fight it but…”

“Mmm,” Geralt agreed. “Sleep starts. Happens sometimes.”

“The hell are sleep starts?”

“They’re… when you’re too on edge to sleep, or just haven’t in too long, brains… fizzle. Keep you awake. It’s a survival instinct—it makes you think you’ve got to stay awake to stay alive. Feels like falling? Or… a shock. Sometimes other things. Hallucinations.” Geralt pressed a kiss to the back of his head. “It’s scary. It’s meant to be. Your body thinks it’s fighting for its life.”

“I am never letting you doom yourself like this ever again,” Yennefer said, and while it was probably meant to come out angry, she just sounded worried.

Geralt hummed and agreement. “Try again, we’ve got you. We’re not letting go.” Jaskier took a breath. They had him. They had him.

Yennefer lifted a hand to Jaskier’s temple. “May I?” And he let her in, easier than breathing. She gave him Ciri laughing, wind chimes on the breeze, the soft roar of the coast. Geralt hugged him tight, ran his other hand through Jaskier’s hair, tried to keep the bard’s breathing aligned. Now, what had he ever done to earn these two?

Soon, sleep came to him again, and he could feel Yennefer ready to soothe anything that came for him in his mind, Geralt ready to defend against anything that dared hurt his resting body. The darkness crept in, and he felt peace.

Geralt was reaching for him, falling, bleeding, screaming.

“FUCK!”

“Shh,” the real Geralt hushed him. “We’ve got you.”

“Fuck, there’s got to be something else,” Yennefer groaned. “What’ve you tried so far?”

“I have tried… to fall asleep.”

Yennefer and Geralt both huffed small laughs. “No. Positions—”

“Only the good ones.”

“Meditating?” Geralt asked.

“Darling, I haven’t had a thought in my head in hours. This is meditation.”

“Drugs?” Yennefer asked.

“I will try the drugs!” Jaskier said with a drowsy cheerfulness, as Geralt replied “No drugs. No.”

“Ugh,” Jaskier groaned, and shifted to lie on his stomach. Oh. This was… better. He nestled into the pillows, and a soft contented sigh drifted from him.

“That feel better?” Geralt asked as he ran a hand up and down Jaskier’s back. “Mmm,” Jaskier replied. Yennefer’s hand joined Geralt over his chest. Oh, they were going to make him cry.

And then it was too much, too much feeling, like his brain couldn’t handle all the sensation, and he felt Yennefer come to pause, and a moment later, Geralt’s hand as well. ‘That better?’ Yennefer asked in his mind. Jaskier gave her the memory of his favorite hug with her, warm and happy as her legs wrapped around his waist, and his favorite with Geralt, crushing and firm and full of too many emotions to speak aloud.

“Could…” he said softly, “Just. Talk? Not to me. Just… to each other. Just wanna hear you.” He could almost hear their smiles, and felt as they settled in on the pillows beside him, arms and hands intertwining on his back. Yennefer’s head on his shoulder, the gentle planes of Geralt’s chest on his other side. “If you need us, Yennefer and I are here. We’ve got you. You’re safe.”

He nodded into the mattress, cool and soft below him.

“Goodnight, Jaskier.”

“G’night Yennefer.”

“Goodnight, Jaskier.”

"G’night, Geralt.”

He started to fade into oblivion, but stopped himself before he got too far. Not fear, not anxiety, a conscious stopping. Somewhere above him, Geralt was telling Yennefer about the contract from… sometime in the past few days, and Yennefer was telling her own story about some town gossip with a woman and her hens, which, it might have been a metaphor, but he’d basically forgotten what those were by now. He breathed deeply, felt their words flow through him, and when he felt brave enough, he let go, trusting they would catch him.

He could have sworn he heard wind chimes, somewhere.

x

The small amount of light filtering in through the curtains was golden when he awoke. His head both ached and felt light as a feather, his muscles screamed and cried but half of it was in relief. He gave a small stretch and yawned. “G’morning,” an amused Geralt said to him, lounging in a chair he’d brought beside the bed, reading a book. His legs were propped up on the bed beside the bard’s and Jaskier stretched to bump their toes together.

“What time…?”

“You slept 13 hours.”

“Fuck.”

“You probably need more.”

“Yeahhhh.”

“Feel alright?”

“Like a real human being,” he said. “Hungry, though.”

“Mmm.”

Yennefer slipped in the door, but, noticing Jaskier was awake, rose a hand. “May I?” she asked, voice dripping in sarcasm, gesturing to the curtains.

“You may,” Jaskier offered, covering his face with his hands. “Ohhhh, gods, how bad was I?”

“Genuinely awful,” Yennefer said, as Geralt was saying, “There’s been worse.”

“Normally I’d withhold this,” the mage said, withdrawing a small envelope from her pocket. “But, under the circumstances…” she cleared her throat.

“To one Julian Alfred Pankratz. We were extremely pleased to receive your manuscript yesterday afternoon. Our editors are will have their notes to you by the weekend, but we wanted to reach out and extend our most sincere compliments on your work. It is—oh, a flood of adjectives, I’m skipping these. Etcetera, etcetera, sucking your dick, etcetera alright, here—and meticulous in construction. We can tell,” Yennefer said, dragging out the final sentence, “you made good use of your year of writing time to complete the work.” Jaskier and Geralt by this point were holding back true howls of laughter.

“And won’t you believe it, there’s more. Ahem; we have a number of suggestions and questions already, but encourage you to get your well-deserved rest as we prepare our feedback. We are grateful to work with you, and thank you again for your stunning entry. There’s a postscript,” Yennefer added. “As a quick and personal note, we cannot have helped but notice the nature of your penmanship; we mean no offence, but would encourage you to see a doctor of the eye to fit you with some spectacles.”

“My—my penman…? What’d—” and Yennefer, who had clearly been waiting for this moment, brought out a rather crumpled piece of parchment with an ink stain at the bottom—ah, yes, the original page 64— and showed it to him. His eyes were… gods, they were aching, but he was clear minded enough now to see that each line had become at least twice it’s normal size. The lines were far from straight, dipping and bending toward the edge of the paper, the letters changed directions at random points, and a fair amount of the words were smudged so completely they were hard to make out.”

Jaskier stared in horror.

“They. Is that. Is that what it looked like? Really?”

“It’s worse than most of the ones that made it in,” Geralt said, carefully.

“Most?!”

“You drew pictures on one of them,” Yennefer said.

“Oh my god. They…they must…”

“Adore it, clearly,” Yennefer said, setting aside the paper. “It wasn’t worth the strain, and you’ve definitely firmly embarrassed yourself, but they’re either embarrassing themselves by fawning praise on you,” she said, sliding onto the bed, “Or you’re actually just… very knowledgeable and talented, even when addled by sleep deprivation.”

There was a pause, Jaskier soaking this in; it hadn’t been worth it, exactly, but it wasn’t all bad. In fact, it was quite good, and Yennefer was complimenting him outright, so, very good.

“Or both,” Geralt added.

“Definitely both,” Yennefer agreed.

Jaskier groaned. “You can’t be mean to me. You’re in my house and I am extremely tired, which means that you, by law, must kiss me and tell me nice things about myself.”

Geralt laughed, light and free, and Yennefer slunk slower down into the bed. “You get no kisses,” she said, “You get sleep and rest.” She grabbed a pillow from under her head and plopped it delicately onto Jaskier’s face.

“Boo,” Jaskier said, muffled beneath the thing. He closed his eyes. Geralt muttered something, and Yennefer gave a snort of laughter, and then there was silence.

“Are you two kissing up there?!”

More silence.

“UGH,” he groaned, and sunk into his soft, sweet mattress. Oh, beautiful mattress. How he adored it, how he adored his two loves on top of it. He listened to their kissing, soft, and sweet, and knew he’d join them soon. But it was so warm down here. Even as one of them removed the pillow, he could only bring himself to open his eyes for a moment, to see them both leaning to kiss his face gently, before returning to each other. He took a long, deep breath, and listened to them swirl around him, until all he could feel was their love and the sweet caress of his pillow.

#Geraskefer #Jaskier Whump #Soft Geralt #Soft Yennefer #The Witcher #Witcher Fic #jaskier #geralt #yennfer of vengerberg #sleep deprivation #insomnia #hurt/comfort #Witcher Whump #Butterbard's Fics

[slashssunglasses]

Mafia Slash- “Craving” P1

okay so the concept of “mafia slash” is something my friend Lily introduced to our friend group and since then we’ve all been building off of this, Mafia Slash will most likely appear several times here so be read ;)

✧༺♥༻∞　　∞༺♥༻✧ ✧༺♥༻∞　　∞༺♥༻✧ ✧༺♥༻∞　　∞༺♥༻✧

Slash: early 2000s end of snakepit- beginning of velvet remover Slash.

Backstory: (a/n I’ll do a full imagine solely on the origin story if y'all would like :}) 

Anywho, Slash was the most well known, ruthless, and feared mafia boss in the entire city- hell the entire state. His entire bloodline being gangster royalty. He never really wanted this life but after the tragic murder of his father his heart froze, a wave of pure power washing over him as he was forced to lead the “family business” at such a young age. You, see now you knew all about him, you’ve heard the stories, I mean cmon everyones heard the stories: the knives, the guns, the beatings…this guy enjoyed getting his hands dirty. It’d been rumored that Slash had been eyeing you but you never gave him attention, you didn't fear him. maybe it was because you knew he’d never hurt you. 

Unfortunately, your father-that bastard- used the common knowledge that Slash fancied you to his advantage when he found himself in some hot water with the Hudson family. It’s common knowledge that in the mafia life, fathers tend to offer their daughters as sort of “peace makers” the idea always disgusted you but you never thought that your father would be so quick to give you away like that, as if you were property. That fucking coward. But, a deals a deal, and growing up in this life you know that you never break deals, no matter how hard it’s gonna be or how much youre gonna suffer you never break a deal…especially with guys like Slash. It was done, as much as you hated it- you were now his. 

It’s been some time since you moved into the Hudson residence, Slash had been giving you your space because he understood how unfavorable it was for you to be forced into a relationship with someone you didn’t love but he was determined to make you fall for him and that you were. 

You’d never tell him of course.

 You slept in different rooms and you stayed away from his business even though you were quite used to it and even a little good at handling said business thanks to your father. You didn't think he noticed but he definitely did and it took every ounce of willpower to restrain himself from drooling right in front of you. Day and Night he fantasized about the business endeavors you’d go on, how good you were at talking your way out of things. Yet, you still had this sort of ‘dependance’ (?) on him, I mean you were one bad bitch- you did everything for yourself but you still found a way to make Slash feel like you needed his protecting or that you just needed him in general, no matter how hard you tried to push him away he still felt it, he felt that buzz in his tummy, he felt needed.

He thought you didn’t see him pulling knives and beating people up, he had this facade going on: the nice misunderstood gangster. 

Part of it was true-except the nice part, only towards you was he ever ‘soft’ and caring.  You were getting sick of him trying to act like he wasn’t evil, plus the months you’d gone without any contact other than your fingers and a few toys you’d manage to slip in. Boy oh boy, the more you were around him the more you wanted him, the more you fantasized about him using those same toys on you. It was becoming unbearable you held a grudge against him at this point. You didn’t want to want him! God it was just something abut the way he growled angrily through his teeth, laughed in the faces of petrified snitches, was just a scary guy but then would turn around and try not to stumble over his words when talking to you, he would rock on his heels nervously, he was a wreck! 

You enjoyed the power trip you got from having so much power over one of the scariest guys you’ve met. But you just wanted him to quit the act, show his true colors. What? Was he scared? Maybe then he’d know how it felt, you were scared a little at first too, living with a man in his 30′s while you were just starting to enjoy your 20′s. The hate bubbled into horniness but, you wouldn’t admit just how badly you wanted him, never! You did however watch from afar and look back on the memories your brain kept while you worked yourself on the silk sheets of the room you’d been living in. 

Riding the dildos suction cupped to the floor of the bathtub, spreading your legs under the faucet. like an animal in heat, you did anything and everything to get yourself off, the idea of it all being under Slash’s nose sent sparks of adrenaline through you. You smirked every time you two had a ‘lovers spat’ -as his men called it- because you saw his patience wear thinner and thinner each time, his desire to hide his nasty side evaporating. 

It was only a matter of time before one of you snapped 

You two had gone out for some business thing, you had no clue what it was for and frankly you didn’t care. All you knew was that you had to be done up real nice. You felt adventurous wanted to give yourself a little ‘foreplay’ beforehand by putting on the sluttiest lingerie set you owned. equipped with a garter belt, stockings, a g string, and transparent bra. It was beyond skimpy. You truly only wore it for yourself, and the idea that you’d have it on under whatever dress he bought for you for the night and he’d have no clue, was beyond thrilling. Gosh if he were to catch a glimpse what would happen? You didn’t even know. 

The night went by slowly so you decided to entertain yourself by actually speaking to the other people in attendance. A line of men drooling for you seemed to work. 

After finishing up another painfully boring conversation you slumped in your seat at the bar signaling for the bartender to bring you another whiskey. “On the rocks please” you sighed leaning on your elbow. “Whiskey? i’m sorry but you’re a woman?” a voice chuckled from behind you. 

You couldn't believe what you just heard. 

Turning your head around you scoffed, “and you’re clearly a misogynistic asshole. look at us both stating facts” you sarcastically smiled before turning back around

“No, I'm sorry I didn't mean it like that” the man chuckles awkwardly sitting next to you, “it was my lame attempt at a sarcastic joke” 

“Oh yes very lame” you giggle turning to face him, “sorry, usually I do see most of the women drinking the fruity cocktails” he awkwardly rubbed his neck, “it’s ok, don’t worry” you smile warmly. “Uh I'm Mike” he extended his hand out, “I’m y/n” you giggled. 

You two began chatting and hitting it off. 

He provided a tasteful change from all the boring drooling duds that usually attended these functions. You payed little to no attention to where Slash was and what he doing, you were too busy enjoying your time with your new friend Mike.  

“Who’s this honey?” You heard Slash’s voice perk up as you felt his arm snake around your shoulder. His touch burning your skin as you felt that thick sexual tension from these past few weeks resurface again. You tensed- an action that was supposed to keep you from melting under his rough touch. Clearly it didn't work since you could feel that familiar horny buzz in your panties. 

You looked at mike, absolute panic laced his face. 

“Oh uh, I’m sorry I didn't know I- uh ok” he scrambled away in pure fear. “Why would you do that” you jolted angrily out of his hold. Your arms crossed as you tried not to fall to your knees. God why was he appearing so sexy lately? “Why would you flirt with another man?” he snarled lowly, trying to contain his anger as to not set you off. He hated seeing you with another man, he wanted you to be his and only his. 

“I was not flirting” you scoffed, “oh yeah? I saw you, touching his arm and giggling. that man was drooling over you!” he whisper yelled, “he was?” you smirked, you did this as an attempt to make him rage, you were so tired of the fake face he put on, you wanted to see him get mad. He clenched his fists stretching his neck out, “what're you gonna do? you gonna beat him up?” you pouted, “no” he scoffed, “good. I didn't want him anyway, he was a coward. Pfft scared of you, scurrying away like a scared little mouse. I can’t with such wimps” you sighed walking away from him. 

You could feel his eyes burning into your back as you hips swayed, the clacking of your heels giving you a nice rhythm. 

Some time had passed and you were exhausted. You hadn't seen slash again for a while which normally wouldn't strike you as odd but for some reason you didn't feel okay about him being gone. On top of that you wanted to go home. Growling to yourself in annoyance you begin your trek to go look for him. 

Searching throughout the building, the front door, the bathrooms…nothing. 

Finally you exited through the back door thinking he probably stepped out for a cigarette or something. That’s when you were met with an angered Slash surrounded by his men. His fists flying up and down as he beat the absolute living shit out of some poor soul. His Blazer off, sleeves rolled up showing his tattoos, skin dewy with seat as he grunted between punches. Your brain managing to make the situation filthy.

It was then that you caught a glimpse of who he was destroying.

 Mike. 

“Slash!” you screamed and everyone’s heads shot towards yours. Mike was dropped onto the ground, his bloody face weakly crawling away. Slash stared at you, his chest rising and falling quickly as he panted. “I thought I told you to make sure she stayed inside” he grabbed one of his men by the collar

“Hey stop it!” you pushed him off, the men around you gasped quietly. “God you’re such an asshole!” you growled storming off towards the car. You didn't want him to beat someone who was innocent up, someone who didn't deserve it. You wanted him to be angry with you, that was the thrill you got, you enjoyed seeing him get angry at people who deserved it, although he was a scary guy he was also a just one. 

Slash couldn't help himself though, he wanted to make that guys face unrecognizable, he wanted him to be unable to attract anyone. 

He followed you towards the car. “Hey wait” he called out from behind you. Finally he grabbed hold of your arm right in front of the trunk of the limo you two had arrived in. “Don’t fucking touch me!” you ripped your arm from his, “I'm sorry okay, I don’t know what came over me” he sighed. The words flowed unnaturally from his lips, he was trying to keep the nice guy facade. 

“Oh my god give me a break already! Yes you do, you know exactly what came over you! Stop trying to act like this nice guy okay? Because I know you’re not” you yelled in frustration, all he did was shake his head. 

“Oh my god spare me please! I'm so sick of you acting like you’re this sweet guy. You’re a fucking pussy” you tugged on your hair. 

All of the sudden you were pushed against the car, Slash’s face close to yours, your noses touching as you felt the cool metal of his knife against your neck. “This is what you want? hm? you want me to hurt you?” he snarled tapping the cold blade around your skin. 

An orgasmic rush coursed through you as your adrenaline pumped, you could feel the blood speeding throughout your veins. Your breath shocks the flicked the knife back into the protecter. 

Once the blade was out of sight he pushed off of you. All you did was stare at him absolutely breathless. “Fuck you” you finally pushed him harshly, all he did was look back at you with that cocky grin of his, the one that would spread across his face when he knew he was winning. You didn't know what came over you but you grabbed him by his collar pulling him close to you as you leaned on the car. 

Your lips crashed in a desperate sloppy make out. You didn't care that you'd just caved, the way his hands explored your body overtop the tight black dress made your knees fall weak. 

You wanted him. 

You needed him.

 You craved him.

Your fingers tangled into his curls as you pushed his face closer to yours smushing your lips together as his tongue explored your mouth. Big ringed hands squeezing your lower back pressing you close to him. You could feel his hard pressing against your thigh. God you were soaked. The horniness taking over you, turning you into the filthiest woman he’s ever encountered. 

You pulled a hand away from his shoulders and palmed him through his pants. “This, this is what I do to huh?” you panted in between kisses as he groaned into your mouth. “Mm fuck” you whined as you felt him pulsate through his pants, “take me, take me home and do all the things you think about doing to me while you pump your cock, I want you be the big bad man you are” you whispered desperately in his ear as you stroked him through his pants. 

He looked at you with nearly blacked out eyes, full of lust, full of desire, he was like an animal in heat. “Take me home big guy” you giggled squeezing his muscles. 

“Fuck me” he growled grabbing you and throwing you in the car…

TO BE CONTINUED...

#guns n roses #slash #slash x reader #music #my writing #fan fic #rockstar x reader #rocknroll #classic rock

[eyeofthedrgn]

A Heavy Battle Symphony Chapter 8

Catch up here >> AHBS Masterlist

TW: language, mental abuse, verbal abuse, physical abuse, violence, depression, anxiety, panic attacks, self harm, self-esteem issues, sexual abuse (only alluded to briefly in future chapters), drinking (comes up late in the story) just a lot of trauma, angst, smut - lots of lovely gay smut

Word count: 1739

Notes: This chapter is slightly graphic on the physical abuse. It's only like two lines, but I wanted to make it known.

Chapter 8 - Sorry for Now

After a while you may forget

But just in case the memories cross your mind

You couldn't know this when I left

Under the fire of your angry eyes

I never wanted to say goodbye

Four months, thirteen days, and ten hours, not that he was counting, since he left. Since the dark haired boy had walked away, leaving Rowan standing on the sidewalk. Since his mind spiraled out of control, and it felt like part of him died.

Rowan had been seeing a therapist for the last three months. It had helped, somewhat. At least he could function as a relatively normal human being again, when he was around people anyway. Most of the time. He almost didn't graduate. Thankfully, his mom, his friend group, and his therapist had helped him get through it.

But all in all, Rowan felt empty. Somehow his heart was broken. He hadn't realized someone could get so attached to someone so fast even though they never really talked or hung out. Maybe it was because they shared such vulnerabilities with each other that day in the park or there really was such a thing as a soulmate and his just left him. Either way, he was broken inside. Yet, he still went to parties with his friends, hung out, but he wasn't always present. Everyone noticed the vacant stares, but they usually left it alone. They all knew the general gist of what happened that day, but they could never understand the emotional gravity well that that day had caused. No one knew that Rowan had fallen for the other boy.

Except the ever observant Elide. She noticed everything. The way Rowan spoke about Lorcan, the way his eyes lit up when he saw the other boy walking down the hall, and the small looks they both shared on cast signing day.

But nobody had seen Lorcan after he had walked away. He never came back to school. No one knew what to think. Most assumed they moved again and they left it at that. Rowan assumed the worst after seeing Lorcan's bruises and him basically saying this was a usual occurrence.

Rowan was brought back to the present when a beach ball hit him in the head. He was sitting on the edge of Aelin's pool, sulking, feet dangling in the water. Aelin was throwing one of her parties, it was nearly the end of summer and soon most of them would head off to college. The noises from his friends finally filtering back into his head, it was suddenly too loud, too bright, and too hot. He ran a hand down his face.

Fenrys had been the beach ball throwing culprit, Rowan just glared at him.

"Come on, Ro. Try and have some fun?" Fen had swam over to Rowan and crossed his arms over the edge of the pool. The roguish blond just wanted him to be happy.

“I’m sorry.” He said that a lot now. Fenrys just raised an eyebrow at the boy… man.

He was eighteen now and he wasn't that scrawny, nerdy looking boy anymore. Rowan supposed that was one good thing that came out of Lorcan leaving, he got addicted to working out. There was a punching bag set up in the garage with some weights. He was fit now, muscles defined, but not bulky.

Elide walked up and mussed up his hair. "Come help me get some drinks." She didn't leave any room for argument.

In the kitchen, Elide just leaned forward on the island and looked at Rowan.

"I thought we were getting drinks."

"Yeah, we will. But-"

"But what?" He really didn't mean to say that with such an attitude, but he was hot and emotionally exhausted. Honestly, he just wanted to go home.

Elide was on her phone, waiting for him to chill. Taking a deep breath he said, "I'm sorry. What did you want to talk about?" Rowan was trying, he really was. She just slid her phone over the counter towards him. He furrowed his brows as he looked at the article on the screen.

Consultants for Erawan Enterprises arrested on counts of fraud, child abuse, human trafficking, and other illicit activities

"What's this?" He had no idea what this was about. Why would he care about Erawan Enterprises?

He picked up the phone and kept reading since Elide clearly wasn’t going to answer. It was short and there was a photo of a devastatingly beautiful woman with dark as night hair, that reminded him of Lorcan, and alabaster skin in handcuffs being pushed into a cop car and a very angry man shoved against the hood of the same car.

Maeve Valgerian and James Perrington were arrested Wednesday night. After some anonymous tips to the Morath Police.

"Who are these people?" Rowan didn't understand.

"Pretty sure she's Lorcan's aunt."

Oh.

Rowan had searched for Lorcan online after he disappeared, but there was literally nothing. Absolutely zero results. It was like he was a ghost.

They were consultants for Erawan Enterprises and moved all over the world for the very powerful man. Erawan Enterprises is under investigation for fraud, money laundering, and human trafficking.

After Valgerian and Perrington were arrested, MPD searched their residence and found incriminating evidence against them.

There was also a teenager held captive in the basement. They were taken to the nearest hospital with severely critical injuries. The name and gender of this individual will not be released for their safety.

The article was published nearly two months ago.

Human trafficking…

Held captive...

Severely critical injuries...

"Please, don't break my phone." He was squeezing the device and didn't realize it. Quickly handing it back to her, his hand went straight to his hair.

“Are you sure this is his aunt?”

“Well, not 100%, but they have physical similarities and their hair…” she trailed off. “And Lorcan had mentioned his aunt’s boyfriend living with them one day in class.”

"Fuck!" He felt like he wanted to rip his hair out.

"Ro." Elide's voice was quiet.

"FUCK!"

After a couple deep breaths, he ran his hands down his face, and then turned to face his friend. "Is he dead?" His voice cracked.

"I don't know. All of the other articles I could find are just about them and Erawan Enterprises. No mentions of Lorcan. Anywhere. It's like he doesn't exist."

Elide pulled him into a hug and he broke.

---

Lorcan had been through shit show after shit show since he left the Whitethorn house. As soon as he returned to the apartment, it was packed up into a moving van and they were gone.

They were in Fenharrow for a couple months. Maeve didn't enroll him in school. He was locked in the basement of the small house they rented, it felt like he had gone crazy. He hadn't seen the sun until they moved again. His skin turned a sickly gray. By the time they moved again, he could feel every one of his ribs, and his hips stuck out, his fingers overlapping when wrapped around his wrist.

Next move was to Morath. Lorcan didn't know if he would survive. He didn’t have a good feeling about this place. The basement became his home yet again. It was filthy. There were thick iron hooks in opposite walls and chains hanging from them. This was where he was going to die. He closed his eyes as Perrington latched the shackles around his wrists.

---

One day, Lorcan heard sirens intermittently. He kept passing out. He wasn't even sure he was hearing sirens or if it was just a ringing in his ears. They were always ringing nowadays. A punch to his face made his vision flicker. Blood and saliva leaked from his mouth as his head rolled down to his chest.

The ringing in his ears got louder. There definitely weren't sirens. No one was going to save him. He was going to die here. He knew it. It was what he deserved. The bastard born half-breed that no one cared about, left to die in his own filth in a disgusting basement. The world slowly faded to black.

---

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

He was in Hel. He had to be.

Beep.

The incessant beeping was there to drive him insane. And the smell of bleach was there to make him sick.

Beep.

---

Lorcan startled awake. How could he be awake? He was supposed to be dead. Right?

The nightmare he was having felt so real. Probably because he had lived it before. He assumed that was just what Hel was supposed to be, reliving the worst parts of your life.

But instead, he was in a bed, a hospital bed. Why did they save him? Lorcan wasn't worth saving. Yet, here he was covered in wires, tubes, a needle stuck in his hand, a device on his finger. It was dark outside and the lights were dim in the room.

Deciding he wasn’t actually dead, he took stock of his body, he was certain he had some broken ribs, but nothing else seemed to be broken which was surprising. He was definitely sore and stiff. And exhausted. So exhausted.

---

After… Lorcan didn't know how long he was discharged. He had put on some weight, though not a lot. The staff made sure he ate. They were all nice and cared for him. But now, he stood outside the main entrance of the hospital in some scrubs they gave him. Now, he had nothing. Nobody. He may as well have been lost at sea.

Why had they saved him? He still couldn’t figure that out.

Somehow, he managed to find the small house that he had been stuck in for who knows how long. There was police tape over the door. The door was open.

He pushed through the tape. The house was a mess. It seemed the cops had ransacked the place. But he finally found his things, they were strewn about the floor. Thank Hellas, his journal was still there. After changing, he packed up his books and journal, some clothes, and a few other other necessities.

He needed money or something he could sell. Maeve's jewelry would help. He could pawn it.

Lorcan asked the pawnshop owner for directions to the bus station, and then he set out to see if there was still one person who cared about him. Hopefully this wasn’t a bad idea.

____

Thanks for reading. Things will get better, I promise! Let me know if you'd like to be tagged.

Edit- oops! I forgot to actually put in tags... My bad. Sorry!

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#rowcan #rowan x lorcan #rowan whitethorn #rowcan fanfic #lorcan salvaterre #linkin park #heavy battle symphony #crackship #throne of glass