#robert sheehan fic

[salvador-daley]

Clone | Part 1

Robert Sheehan x Reader x Female!Robert Sheehan | 🍆🍑👀

A/N: I’ve been sitting on this forever and it just seems like a waste to have it languishing in my WIPs folder, so I’m gonna split it into three (increasingly sexy) parts and give y’all one a week. It’s not strictly RPF - more like original characters based on you-know-who. If you like this chapter, please lemme know coz it’ll motivate me to write the *ahem*… climax.

CW: Smutty but very tame by my standards. Includes numerous health & safety violations at work culminating in a blow-job related accident.

Words: 2.5k

Gif by @circumstellars

THE LAB is quiet. Everyone else went home hours ago. As you raise your head from your microscope, you’re not expecting to feel two soft hands enveloping your eyes. The sensation startles you, but then a gentle Irish voice whispers in your ear, “Guess who?”

“Graham Norton,” you say with confidence.

He lifts his hands from your eyes and pops his head over your shoulder.

“Do I really sound like Graham Norton,” he says, pretending to be offended.

You reach up to your boyfriend’s face with a smile and bring his familiar lips to yours.

“Only sometimes,” you say once your mouths part. “How did you get in here? Didn’t you get stopped by security?”

“What, old man Joe on the door?” he asks, perching on the lab stool next to yours. “Nah, we’re old friends, me and him.”

You give him a questioning look.

“I signed some stuff for his granddaughter,” he says by way of explanation.

You roll your eyes; Joe is such a pushover. Considering the kind of work you’re involved in, one would think your employers would be keen to enforce stricter security protocols.

“It should not be that easy to get in here. This is highly sensitive work,” you say, shaking your head as you carefully pack away your slides.

“What’re you working on, anyway?” he asks, squinting to look down your microscope.

You slip your hand over it, obscuring his view.

“Listen, Irish,” you say, using his preferred nickname, “this is top secret shit, okay? You can’t just come in here and start messing around.”

“C’mon,” he says, flashing you his trademark smile. “I’m just trying to take an interest in my girlfriend’s work.” His hands loop around your waist and he draws you closer. You feel his hot breath on your face as his lips find yours again, kissing away your protestations.

His face comes away and you look into his deep green eyes. Much like old Joe succumbs to his charms with frightening regularity, Irish has on more than one occasion convinced you to bend the rules for him with his formidable powers of persuasion.

This is different though, this could get you into a lot of trouble. The lab might be deserted, but still you look around to check if the coast is clear.

“Okay, if I show you this one thing you have to promise me you won’t say a word to anyone,” you say.

He raises three fingers to his forehead and smiles.

“Scout’s honour,” he replies.

“This is Pedro,” you say, lifting the small white rabbit from its cage and holding it tightly to your body.

“Aw, hey, Pedro!” Irish says, reaching out to pet the shivering creature’s ears. “Is this what you wanted to show me? Because I’ve seen a bunny rabbit before, you know.” He pulls his hand away and lets out an exaggerated gasp, reaching up to his cheeks in simulated shock. “You’re not going to dissect Pedro, are you? You monster!”

You bat him lightly on the arm. “No, don’t be daft, I’m not going to hurt him,” you say, carrying the small animal to the other side of the lab. “We’re just going to do a little experiment, aren’t we, Pedro?” you add, murmuring into the rabbit’s soft fur.

You lead Irish and the rabbit to the end of the lab, where two large Perspex cylindrical booths reach from the floor to the ceiling. A short series of satisfying pips accompanies your fingers on the keypad belonging to the left booth, the curved wall of which rolls open, allowing you to carefully place Pedro on the floor inside. A few seconds, the door slides closed automatically and you move to the large dual computer monitors at a nearby desk, tapping away at the keyboard.

“If you’re going to make him disappear, wouldn’t it be easier to use a big top hat?” Irish quips.

“Shush, I’m concentrating,” you admonish him. Finally, and with a flourish, you hit the Enter key.

“Cloning sequence initialised,” says a computerised voice, followed by a flurry of electronic whirring sounds that echo around the empty lab.

Irish’s eyes search for the source of the noise before settling eventually at the end of the lab. Slowly, both cylinders begin to fill with neon green smoke until the rabbit has disappeared completely beneath the heavy fog.

“Pedro!” he cries. “You fucking gassed him!”

“Don’t worry, he’ll be fine,” you assure him.

He steps forward and presses his hands against the Perspex tube, his face illuminated by the bright green mist.

“This is mental,” he whispers, watching as the coloured gas swirls inside the cylinder, before finally being sucked into a vent at the top.

“Subject discharged,” says the computerised voice and the door of the left cylinder rolls open again, a puff of the remaining gas escaping into the lab. Unmoved, Pedro hops out and you scoop him up, placing him on the desk.

“See?” you say, indicating to the rabbit. “He’s totally fine.”

Irish reaches out to pet him and Pedro’s tiny nose twitches with excitement.

“Hey buddy,” Irish whispers.

Now the gas begins to clear from the right cylinder. You both turn to watch as the cloud of green smoke shoots up into the vent.

“Cloning sequence complete,” says the computerised voice.

The door to the right cylinder rolls open and you crouch down to reach inside, pulling out another small, white rabbit.

Irish’s jaw falls open as you stand, bringing the animal over to the desk.

“This,” you say, allowing the two rabbits to make their introductions, “is Petra.”

“What the fu-” Irish says under his breath.

“She’s identical to Pedro in every way. Well, every way but one, obviously. All of the clones have come out female so far. We’re still working out some of the design kinks.”

“You invented a fucking cloning machine?” he says, the magnitude of what he’s just witnessed finally dawning on him.

You shrug: “Well, I helped.”

He crouches down until his head is level with the desk, watching with fascination as the two rabbits sniff each other with curiosity.

Pedro hops around the desk, then approaches Petra from behind, mounting her without hesitation and beginning to rut with a certain level of determination.

Irish gives out a high-pitched laugh: “Ha! They seem to like each other.”

“Oh,” you chuckle, “yeah, they do that sometimes.” You lift Pedro off his female counterpart and place him back down on the desk. “Horny little buggers.”

“Gives me an idea,” he says, rising and turning to you with a familiar look in his eyes.

“Here?” you ask, incredulous.

“Yeah,” he says, wrapping his hands around your ass and drawing you closer. “All this clever clogs stuff really turns me on,” he growls, biting his bottom lip.

You put up a weak protest as his mouth begins to travel around your neck. “Someone might come in…”

“No one’s gonna come in, there’s no one here,” he says, his lips dotting the space behind your ear with persuasive little kisses.

You let out a gentle sigh, signalling your assent. You know it’s risky to fool around in the lab, but you have to admit it’s been a long-time fantasy of yours. Besides, you always let him have his own way in the end - he’s just too damn hard to resist.

“Mmmn… you smell so good,” he murmurs into your neck, his voice melting any lasting trace of resistance on your part.

You run your hands underneath his tank top and press his body to yours, feeling his warmth envelop you.

His lips are on yours now, his tongue teasing your mouth open as his hands move under your clothes.

You start to remove your long white lab coat, but he stops you, tugging it back over your shoulders.

“No, no, leave the lab coat on,” he whispers with a smile, “it’s sexy.”

Now he’s pressing his hands into your flesh over your clothes, drawing you closer as his lips move to your ear.

“Your big fucking brain turns me on so much,” he says, nibbling the side of your neck. “I just want to bend you over one of these lab benches and fuck you senseless.”

As fun as that sounds, you have other ideas. Pulling away from him, you lift his tank top over his head and his fluffy curls bounce around his ears as you drop the garment to the floor. He grins that irresistible grin at you - the one that sparks something raw and animalistic inside you. Feeling bold, you press your palms into his chest, pushing him up against one of the cylinders.

“There’ll be time for that,” you say, allowing him to feel your breath on his face before your lips seek him out again.

He moans into your kiss, his breaths becoming short and staggered as your hands find his belt buckle. You tug on his fly and reach inside for his cock, feeling him already straining against the thin material of his underwear.

His eyes close and he presses his head against the curved Perspex as you palm him, rolling him between your lightly tented fingers.

He exhales one long, jagged breath: “Oh, you’re teasing me,” he complains with clenched eyes, his voice straining under your feathery touch.

You love to watch him like this, each stroke of your hand releasing more whispered pleas from his lips.

Now you’re tracing tiny kisses down the length of his body, dragging his clothes off as you go. You pull his trousers down to his ankles and he shakes his feet out of them, kicking his flip flops off at the same time.

Kneeling in front of him, you grab his naked ass and pull him towards your face, rolling circles around him with your tongue.

“Ah, please, please,” he begs under his breath.

He whimpers as you finally take him into your mouth, pushing his hips against the curved plastic wall behind him.

Slowly, indulgently, your mouth moves over him, pulling him towards you with two firm hands clasped around his ass.

As your lips reach the light scattering of hair at the base, he releases a heavy exhale, the air leaving his lungs in one, long relieved chuckle. You cast your eyes up to meet his and he reaches down to stroke your hair, a delighted smile on his face.

“You look so good like that,” he says, moving his hips in a tentative rhythm.

You start to pick up speed, swirling your tongue around his length with each bob of your head until his back is pressed against the booth, his breathing coming now in short, anguished gasps.

Before long, you’re diving on him, aided by your hand, sucking and slurping, drooling and gagging. He begins to thrust his hips into your face and you sense he’s getting close.

Approaching the edge, his legs begin to buckle and he reaches behind him to steady himself, his fingers scrabbling for purchase on whatever they can find.

As his moans of encouragement ring around the lab, you hear a short series of satisfying pips.

His cock pops from your mouth and you look up at him. “What was that noise, was that the keypad?” you ask.

“Huh? What?” he says, looking down at you over his heaving chest, unable to hide his displeasure that you’ve suddenly stopped sucking his dick at the crucial juncture.

At that moment, the cylinder door rolls open and he topples asslong inside the tube, smacking his curly head hard against the inside wall and landing in a naked heap on the floor.

“Irish!” you call out, scrambling to your feet.

Before you can react, the cylinder door has closed around his unconscious body, trapping him inside.

“Irish!” you call again, hammering on the cylinder to wake him up, but he’s out cold.

Your fingers are frantic, hammering on the keypad, but in your panic you hit the wrong buttons and the machine beeps at you in stubborn refusal.

You race around to the desk, but you’re a split second too late. You watch as Pedro does a slow-motion bounce across the keyboard, giving the Enter key a firm smack with his furry foot as he leaps out of your way.

“Cloning sequence initialised,” says the computerised voice.

“No!” you cry. “No, no, no, no!”

Your shaking fingers bash uselessly at the keys, trying to find a way to stop the sequence, but you know it’s futile - there’s nothing you can do at this point.

“Shit. Shitshitshit.”

You watch as the cloud of neon green gas begins to curl around Irish’s body and you run back to the cylinder, crouching down as he disappears beneath the lurid fog.

“Irish! Irish, wake up! Irish!” you shout, still banging on the Perspex as his bodily form sinks beneath the gas.

“Oh God, ohgodohgod,” you say in quiet panic, pressing your palms and forehead to the tube as it fills until you can no longer make out his form beneath the fog. After what feels like an age, you hear the familiar sound of the vent springing to life, sucking the neon mist off his body.

“Subject discharged,” says the computer as the door swings open.

You crawl inside, choking on the remaining gas as you lean over his crumpled, lifeless form.

“Irish, Irish, baby, wake up,” you plead, cradling his head and slapping him on the cheeks.

His pretty green eyes blink open and he grimaces as he comes to, a hand seeking out the back of his skull.

“Ow. Fuck, my head!” he manages, wincing.

“Oh, thank God. I thought you were dead.”

“No, I’m fine,” he says, struggling to sit up. “Just a bump on the head is all, I’ll live.”

You reach around his head to feel for lumps inside his soft curly hair. He’s not bleeding, but he’s clearly dazed.

“Maybe we should take you to the emergency room, just in case. You could have a concussion,” you say, fussing over him.

“No, seriously, I’m fine, I’m fi-”

“Cloning sequence complete,” interrupts the computer, the synthetic voice bouncing around the lab.

He freezes and looks at you, his eyes wide.

“It only works on rabbits, right?” he asks.

You shake your head, terror visible in your face. “We’ve only ever tested it on rabbits,” you squeak, unable to hide the panic in your voice.

You lift him to his feet and emerge from the cylinder just as the door to the other tube rolls open, releasing a light gasp of green gas into the lab.

You both stand there, your mouths open, as one long leg emerges from the vestibule, then another, followed by a slender figure. Your eyes take in the tall torso, the narrow hips, the slim waist, the small, perfectly formed breasts, the head of long, chocolate-coloured ringlets and then, finally, those unmistakable green eyes.

“Oh, fuck. Irish, what did we fucking do?”

Check back in this time next week for Part 2. And if you enjoyed this, please give it a little reblog. Go on, the button is right there… 😘😘

If you’ve been tagged it’s probably because you asked to be a long time ago. If you don’t wanna be tagged in future updates, just send me a DM: @iamsexytrash @pickledbeefwastaken @m0onlitmadness @blog-kyku-us @super-unpredictable98 @love-is-dirty-baby @maerenee930 @simplymesam99 @sheehaniphilia @rob-private @rina-cydonia @icarusklaus @nostalgiawings @orangepear18 @p0tat0nug @21stcenturywitchcraft @ssanjuniperoo @the-freckled-luba @motherofanimals @archivemysins @faceache111 @lezzy-4 @firstpersonnarrator @inspiremeandsetmefree @sands7 @granddeaneaglesports @hanatashii @one-dizzydreamer @itscarolsainz @septicrebel @zombiedixon89 @amanda-hotchner @spaceclone-mom @readersinflammation @jender123 @juicyj28 @badsext @bunybordelaux @vomkimmeren @shaneen828 @klausmikaelsonswolf @kittenqueen04 @itsophiebby @itsjustmylifeconfessions @mypsychoticlove @jizzmans-world @thislovelylife

#robert sheehan #robert sheehan x reader #robert sheehan smut #Robert Sheehan rpf #klaus hargreeves #the umbrella academy #tua #robert sheehan fic #umbrella academy #selfcest #klaus umbrella academy #rob sheehan #tuacast #bisexual sapphic #clonecest #tua netflix #klaus tua #tua klaus #robert sheehan fanfic #robert sheehan fan #robert sheehan imagine

[imyourbratzdoll]

Can you do Robert Sheehan frenemies to lovers? Maybe they are co stars and shooting cherrybomb? Because that era was HOT

hi! I've never seen the film, so I hope you like it!

summary - you have an annoyingly attractive co-star and things get slightly heated in your trailer.

the gif I use isn't mine, divider by @newlips (deactivated)

Why did you have to work with him? He annoyed you with his good looks and his stupidly attractive voice. You sit, sipping on your coffee as you watch the scene play out before you. A frown rests on your lips as in between cuts Robert would look over at you and wink. You scoff, standing and walking toward your trailer, you were going to wait inside until you had to do your scene. 

You flop down onto the couch, sighing as you rub your face. “Why couldn’t I film with someone else? Why him?” 

“Don’ know, love. But I’m sure glad I’m filmin’ with ya!” His Irish accent filled the room, you groaned and removed your hands from your face. It had been like this since the first day, you’d bicker and then act friendly, most of the bickering came from your side because if you didn’t, you’d end up falling for him and Robert loved to push your buttons. “Now why did ya leave? Was just getting to the good part of the scene!” 

“Ugh, what are you doing here? Don’t you see that I’m trying to get away from you.” You stand, moving toward the tiny kitchen area and you lean against the counter, anything to put some space between you two. Your eyes roll and a huff escapes you when he moves closer, a smirk on his cute face. 

“I’m here to see ya! You left so quickly, but I didn’ mind watching ya cute self walk away!” His eyes move up and down your body, continuing to smirk as your face flushes. 

“Stop it. Now, you gotta go. I have to get ready for my scene and I can’t have you messing with my head.” You move forward, about to move around him when he stops you, arms caging you in and he leans down. 

“How bout ya make me, sweetness.” You can feel his breath against your lips, his pretty eyes making you melt. “Hmm, I see how ya look at me. I bet ya won't’ stop me if I kiss ya, huh?” You whine as his lips brush against yours, pulling you in until he suddenly pulls back and backs away. “Welp, gotta go! See ya on set, love!”

What the hell just happened?

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

#imyourbratzdollasks #anon reply #imyourbratzdollwork #robert sheehan imagine #robert sheehan #robert sheehan fanfiction #robert sheehan fanfic #robert sheehan fic #robert sheehan fluff #robert sheehan imagines #robert sheehan oneshot #robert sheehan one shot #robert sheehan angst #robert sheehan x reader #robert sheehan x fem!reader #robert sheehan x female reader

[sheehalloween]

Go here for more information

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[seanfalco]

Keep Y’Warm

Nathan Young x f!Reader

Word Count: 1.3k Tags/Warnings: flirting, suggestive themes, pretty tame really Prompt: I decided to participate in @/yearoftheotpevent‘s Year of the OTP (except using reader inserts).  For January’s prompt I chose ‘Snow’. a/n: Struggled with breaking out of some writer’s block, so I’m not sure how I feel about this one, but I’m glad I finished something.

“I can’t believe they’re makin’ us do our community service outside in this weather,” Nathan whined, half heartedly scraping his snow shovel through the wet slush that covered the sidewalk in front of the Community Centre.  “Look, my trainers are already soaked through!” he cried, lifting a wet sneakered foot as evidence.  “I can barely feel my toes!”

“Maybe you should’ve worn more weather appropriate attire,” Shaun drawled indifferently as he passed, a steaming cup of coffee in hand.

“Well maybe some of us don’t have weather appropriate attire!” Nathan countered, sneering at the back of the probation worker’s head.

Shaun paused as he opened the door.  “That’s not my problem,” he shrugged, sparing a dry look for Nathan before pushing the door open with his shoulder and heading back into the warmth inside.

An incredulous scoff left Nathan’s mouth as he gaped after the man.  “Fuckin’ prick!” he muttered, crouching down to grab a handful of wet snow and flinging it against the window in harmless retaliation.

“At least y’have a coat,” you muttered, huddling further in on yourself against the cold to keep your teeth from chattering.  The thin long sleeved shirt you had on under your jumpsuit did little to protect from the icy wind that cut through you and threw heavy wet snowflakes in your face.

Nathan looked over at you, a frown pinching his brows.  “Don’t’cha have one?”

“I do, but I left it at my stepmum’s.  I didn’t think I’d need it yet,” you grumbled, blowing on your frozen hands in an attempt to thaw them somewhat.

Nathan’s frown deepened in thought for a moment.  “C’mere,” he exclaimed, unzipping his coat.

At first you thought he was gunna offer it to you and you were about to protest, not wanting him to freeze either, until it became apparent he had something else in mind, holding his coat open for you and beckoning you over.

“Get in here.”

“I don’t think we’re both gunna fit,” you snorted, looking at him doubtfully.

“Will yeh shut it and just get over here?  I’m losin’ th’rest of my body heat!”

Heaving a fond sigh, you did as he asked and moved closer, letting him wrap his arms and the sides of his coat around you.  Almost instantly you felt warmth seep into you and you pressed your face against his chest, trying to get as close as possible. “Better?” Nathan asked, pulling back to get a look at you, a goofy grin on his face. “Yeah actually,” you replied, distracted by the snowflakes caught in his long lashes and the faint smell of his body spray. “Ugh, get a room,” Kelly muttered, rolling her eyes. “C’mon, let’s just get this done!” Alisha whined, interrupting the moment.

“Yeah, th’faster we get this done, th’sooner we get t’go back inside,” Curtis added, attacking the pile of snow in front of him with renewed vigour.

Instead of freeing you, Nathan simply picked up his snow shovel and shrugged.  “This might be a bit awkward, but at least we’ll be warm,” he chuckled, his breath fanning warmly against your cheek.  “I’m not lettin’ y’freeze on my watch,” he exclaimed, and you shuffled backwards as he attempted to continue clearing the sidewalk, smiling to yourself.

With every movement, however, you were reminded of just how close you were, hyper aware of his body pressed up against yours.

“Nathan!” Kelly groaned, her expression contorting in disgust as she passed, clearly overhearing his thoughts.  “You’re disgustin’!”

“What?  I can’t help it!” he laughed, carefully avoiding your curious look.  

By the time the walk was clear–no thanks to you and Nathan, who mostly goofed off–and Simon had spread a layer of salt down, your cheeks and nose were flushed from the cold, and even Nathan’s coat wasn’t doing much to protect you any longer.

“C’mon, let’s get back inside,” you exclaimed impatiently, wriggling your toes uselessly in your sneakers.

“Don’t hafta tell me twice,” Nathan huffed, finally freeing you from his jacket and you all hurried inside to warm up.  

Hastily toeing off your wet trainers as soon as you hit the locker room, you shucked your jumpsuit and hung it in your locker to let the sopping legs drip dry while Nathan plopped down on the locker room floor to pull his shoes off.

“I think there’s somethin’ wrong with my toes!” he cried, stripping his soaked socks off. “Look they’re turnin’ white and I can’t feel ‘em!”

“Sounds like th’beginning stage of frostbite,” Simon observed, leaning over from his locker to get a better look.

“Frost bite!?” Nathan yelped, his head whipping up frantically.  “Are my toes gunna fall off?” he cried, gesturing wildly toward his bare feet.

“They might,” Simon murmured, wearing a tiny mischievous grin.

“Not if we get them thawed out,” you interjected quickly, throwing Simon a dirty look as you passed him, grabbing Nathan by the arm and hauling him to his feet.  “C’mon,” you urged, dragging him to one of the shower stalls across the room and yanking the curtain shut behind you.

“Get th’hot water on!” Nathan whined, twisting the faucet handle all the way to hot.

“No, wait!” you yelped, smacking his hand way to dial it back.  “We only want luke warm.”

“But I’m freezin’!” Nathan countered, pouting at you as the water spluttered on.

“If you go to hot too fast, you’ll scald yourself and not even feel it,” you explained.

Nathan frowned, taking your words in with a grain of skepticism.  “Alright, fine!” he finally cried, unzipping his coveralls.

“Here lemme help y’with that,” you murmured, reaching out to grab hold of his arms to stabilize him as he shrugged out of the top half of his jumpsuit.

“Your hands are like ice!” he yelped and you couldn’t help but snort in amusement.

“Yeah, no shit!  I’m just as cold as you are!” you countered, reaching out to feel the temperature of the water.  “Okay, I think that’s good t’thaw out with and then we can crank up th’heat some more,” you murmured.

Nathan nodded, shedding the orange jumpsuit completely and sticking his feet under the stream of warmish water.  “I’m never opposed t’turnin’ up th’heat,” he joked, giving you a cheeky grin.

“You’re such a flirt,” you chuckled, shaking your head ruefully before stripping the rest of your undergarments off while Nathan’s back was turned.

After a few minutes, his feet seemed to return to a normal pinkish colour, but when he turned to tell you he could feel his toes again, his gaze fell to your bare chest and the words died on his tongue.  

“Well, hello there!  If it isn’t my favourite girls!  When did this happen?” he asked, unable to tear his eyes away as he pulled you into his arms.

Grinning, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders as the water rolled over you, pressing your chest against his, just as you had earlier when he’d wrapped you in his coat, except now there were considerably fewer layers between you.

“Wanna tell me what you were thinkin’ bout earlier that Kelly overheard?” you asked, glancing up at him, the water plastering his curls to his head.

Nathan’s chapped lips pulled into a smirk at the thought and he shifted against you, his cock slowly stirring in response, pressing against your hip.  “It had somethin’ t’do with wishin’ we were wearin’ less…” he replied, his gaze flicking over your face.  “Kinda like we are right now.”

“Look’s like y’got your wish,” you murmured, arousal tingling through you to pool low in your gut and between your legs.

“Will y’look at that,” Nathan teased lightly, though his voice had turned husky.  “Would y’like t’know what else I was thinkin’ about?” he asked, dangling the implication tantalizingly before you, his chest rising and falling against yours with each breath he took waiting for your answer while the water trickled down your bodies, warm seeping into you.

“I think I’d rather you show me.”

@super-unpredictable98​ @salvador-daley​ @elliethesuperfruitlover​ @firstpersonnarrator​

#misfits #nathan young #nathan young x reader #misfits fic #robert sheehan character fic #joz.fic #year of the otp 2023

[super-unpredictable98]

Oh that's lovely. Can you do Klaus Hargreeves falling for a Johanna Constantine kind of reader while working with her? (She is an exorcist , an excellent demon hunter on hire , is a beautiful mixture of selfish, selfless , self-hating , self important and I feel mirrors Klaus but is not his female version if you get what I mean) Love ya 🤧

Not So Haunted | The Umbrella Academy AU

Pairing: Klaus x Reader

Word Count: 1,1 k

Warning: Strong language, alcohol

a/n: Thank you for the request, I hope I was able to capture the character you imagined. I'll admit I was not familiar with this idea, but I did my best to make it come true and I hope you like it <3

(Masterlist)

You were already used to the creepy houses, the creaking doors, the dark rooms. It was your job after all, to go to these haunted houses and cleanse them so some hipster could remodel them and tell all of his friends he lives in a house where there's a ghost but without having to deal with an actual ghost. 

"God, but this place is a dump..." you mumbled to yourself. 

"I don't think it's that bad," you heard a voice and looked around trying to find the source. Spirits could be vocal, even though they usually didn't straight up talk to you like that. 

But there was no ghost, there was a man. He was tall and slender, wearing a long coat with a furry collar. His leather pants were as tight as they get, his eyeliner was smudged, black nail polish chipped from his nails, and he wore a top that could only be described as slutty. 

"Excuse me, what are you doing here? Something tells me you're not the owner," you quirked an eyebrow at him. 

"This place has an owner? I could've sworn it was abandoned... I just came here to get high in peace." 

"It was just bought by some guy who wants to flip it and resell it. But first I need to clean it up."

"So you're the maid."

"I'm the exorcist."

The man's mouth fell open and he nodded, finally understanding what was going on. He held his hands up almost like you had a gun pointed at him and you tilted your head seeing those tattoos on his palms. Maybe with a better light, you'd be able to see he was quite attractive.

"That's why this place is so weird," he sighed, relieved to be intoxicated and not having to deal with the spirits. "I'm Klaus, by the way."

"Y/n," you held out your hand for him to shake, but he kissed it instead. Despite his affectations, he was quite sweet.

"So, y/n, can I interest you in a drink?"

Klaus held up a bottle of whiskey already half empty, and you thought for a moment. You were strictly against drinking while working, but... he was so intriguing, you didn't wanna blow him off and miss the opportunity to have a conversation and unveil his mysteries. 

"Why not?" 

After a while, you were both laughing and talking like old friends. Alcohol has that sort of power. The house didn't seem scary anymore when the lights were on and you were both sitting on the floor sharing that drink. It was just a silly house with some spirits in it, nothing you were not both used to.

"So, you hear these spirits and all that shit and that doesn't freak you out?" Klaus asked after taking a large sip.

"Not really, I'm sorta used to it and it gives me money. I think it's a pretty cool talent actually," you shrugged.

"Well, I think it's a nightmare. These ghosts are horrifying, I hate seeing them, I hate hearing them, I hate when they ask me to finish their unfinished business. I'm not a fucking mailman, it's exhausting!"

"Is that why you're like this? You're constantly drinking and God knows what else to drown out the voices?" you asked.

"Yeah... I gotta stay high all the time, to keep them off my mind," he sang, slurring a little bit from all the whiskey.

You laughed, taking the bottle from him to drink some as well. Even though you knew good decisions never came from drinking too much, you couldn't help but want to get that buzz and show him you were also interesting and cool. You wanted to make bad decisions if they would lead you closer to him. 

"So, what else do you do besides exorcisms? Any hobbies, interests, dates..." he casually asked.

You swallowed before answering, it had been a long time since you thought about dates. Not that you were saving yourself for someone special, but you also didn't want anything to do with the assholes that crossed your path. 

"I like... movies?" you laughed.

"Movies? Oh, come on! This is the most cliche thing ever, everybody likes movies. Give me something real!"

"Fine! I don't really know, when you put me on the spot like this I get nervous and I don't know what to say."

"Do I make you nervous then?" Klaus smirked and you looked away, trying not to think about his penetrating gaze locked on you. 

"Someone thinks highly of themselves. I'm way out of your league," you scoffed playfully.

"That's cause you haven't seen me with my clothes off yet," he teased. 

"I gather you're single?"

"Always, relationships haven't been really my thing. I liked someone a long time ago, but it didn't work out."

It wasn't hard to understand why he would open up to someone he just met half an hour ago about things he was hesitant to talk about with everyone else in his life. There was nothing to lose, someone from the outside wouldn't judge and if they did, it wouldn't matter as much. 

"I'm sorry it didn't work out. I'm sure you have no shortage of people interested in you though," you said before you could stop yourself. 

"You really think so?" he grinned smugly, knowing damn well how attractive he was. "Would you get in line?"

"You wish!"

Klaus took a bit of a chance and leaned over, pressing his lips against yours. You could taste the alcohol on his tongue, but also something sweet, you couldn't quite put your finger on it, but you liked it. 

"Oookay, we just met and you already interrupted my work to get me drunk, asked me all sorts of questions, and now you kissed me?" you tried to hide how much you wanted to keep going. "How am I supposed to concentrate on the cleanse now?"

"Sorry, but I think I waited long enough, usually at the club I don't even have all this talk, we drink and get down to business."

"Wow, romantic."

"I didn't peg you for a romantic type."

"That just shows how little you know me then."

Klaus bit his lip, watching how red your cheeks had gotten and it felt like a victory to him.  

"If I help you cleanse this house, will you go out with me?" he asked.

"I thought you hated the ghosts."

"I do, but it's worth it sometimes. So, will you?"

"Why do you even wanna go out with me?"

"You're nice and funny and your face makes me wanna smile."

Those peeks at his sweet side melted down your walls and you couldn't say no. "It's a date."

"See? I knew you liked me."

Tag List: @elliethesuperfruitlover @salvador-daley @seanfalco @firstpersonnarrator

#request #tua klaus #tua #tua imagine #tua fanfic #umbrella academy fanfic #umbrella academy imagine #umbrella academy klaus #klaus hargreeves #klaus hargreeves x reader #robert sheehan character fic #robert sheehan fanfic #fanfic

[simon-x-billy]

Simon x Billy

Year of the OTP: November

Chapter 11: What is my hand doing?

[Gif not mine]

Prompt: Secret relationship reveal

Masterlist || ao3 || start || prev || next wip!

RECAP: When last we left our lovers, Simon was still stuck in Brooklyn for career purposes, but at least he got to tell his besties that he is A. on a panel at Comic Con for reasons; B. moving to Italy; and C. talking to someone there. That would be Billy, but the besties think it’s Billie — so that’s fun. Billy, on the other hand, has not been told about Simon’s decision to move. But at least he finally has been told when Simon is coming back to see him — in two days. Today is not that day. Tomorrow is. Until then, the pair are inventively and intuitively making use of technology to come together again. But before we can get to that, the plot thickens/deepens/moves forward. TW: Phone sex written by someone who has never had it. If this is a hideously awful embarrassment to phone sex-havers everywhere, please leave a comment, DM, whatever. Why should they have bad phone sex when they can have better phone sex? Seriously, I ask you.

Chapter 11: What is my hand doing?

———/Simon/———

Ugh, Brooklyn. (Blasphemer! I’m calling myself out and I am a-shamed.) But it's true. Brooklyn is ugh to me right now. At least the wait is almost over. Kelly finally arranged to have me sent back to Italy tomorrow night. Like a- Well, like whatever kinds of objects get sent back to Italy.

Wait.

I rewind that thought back to where I said ‘tomorrow night,’ and this time think it with a bullhorn. TOMORROW NIGHT! Hallefrickinlujah.

The fear is that she’s probably made all the arrangements necessary to have me air dropped from a moving helicopter to get back at me for announcing I’m abandoning Brooklyn. She is truly angry at me. It became particularly apparent when I asked for help with the real estate stuff. That might have been exactly the wrong thing to ask for her help with. This will require a fitting gesture of my undying admiration, and my amazement at her next level ability to put up with me. She levels up every time I breathe in her general direction.

I’m calling Billy without even realizing it.

“Hey, man,” Billy answers. “Howeyeh?” I can hear him smiling.

“Do you have plans tonight?” I ask. “Beyond sleeping, I mean.”

“Just sleepin,” Billy replies with curiosity. I can hear him yawn at the other end and it feels endearing in my stomach. Which is weird, but pleasant. “What did you have in mind?” I can hear his smile change to a sly smirk all the way from Italy.

“I want to fall asleep listening to you fall asleep,” I admit, and immediately die of cringe. Hello, creeper. It’s too late, and I can’t take it back.

“Now, see, yeh can’t just go round sayin beautiful stuff of that sort. It’s unfair, that’s what it is. Say it again.”

“I want us to fall asleep together,” I repeat. “Even if we can’t exactly be together when we do it.”

Billy makes a noncommittal sound. “Time difference is a heartless bitch, Simon. How early can yeh manage fallin asleep?”

“Well,” I pause in frustration cuz I hadn’t thought about that at all in my internal fantasy of hearing him sleep. (Creepy? Romantic? Romantically creepy? Don’t know, don’t care.)

I offer an alternative. “Wake up just for me, then go back to sleep?”

Billy snorts right about the time I realize that that’s actually kind of a tall ask. And again, possibly creepy. Or romantically creepy. “Am I creepy? Or romantically creepy?”

“It’s more romantically presumptuous, really. But I’m setting my alarm, nonetheless. Now let me alone so I can finish prepping the zeppole. Hot pillows of sweetness sent by the Lord himself.”

“Like my own hot pillows of sweetness?” I giggle. I’m giggling.

“Er,” Billy begins. After a moment’s consideration, he clears his throat. “You bake?”

———/Billy/———

“Will yeh be wantin a tour guide and a driver for Pompeii, then?” I ask the pair before me, tryin not to yawn into the late afternoon sun as I count out the change for their beach chair rental. No less than 70, if they’re a day.

“Why? You think we can’t find our way ourselves without them? We’re more than capable, young man,” says the missus. I can see she’s just windin up for a tongue lashing. Grumpy in the mornings, could be.

Grumpy.

I head her off at the pass, picking up the beach bar’s ancient phone with a finger poised to dial. “Not in the least, not in the least. But I guarantee you’ll get more out of it with a guide to show you all the secret corners, peek inside the archaeologists’ tents, tell yeh the local lore and the wisdom of the ages.”

She relaxes. Guaranteed it was the ‘wisdom of the ages’ bit what did it.

“Ah, go on. Let me call the front desk. They’ll arrange for everything.”

“I can arrange for everything my-” she begins, pugnacious as ever.

“Martha,” the man says softly with his hand on his wife’s back. “Let the boy do his job.”

Bright eyes, big smile, Delaney. Simon would be proud of my Guest Services face, and then demand I’m lying about never attending theatre school. I hmmm inaudibly to myself.

Shocked am I, the whole thing is managed entire without another objection, and the mulish Martha and her man are sat there happily installed on their beach loungers.

Oh, Lord. Here comes trouble. “It’s to be that sort of day, is it?” I grumble.

At the very least, I have fair warnin as I can hear the trouble comin. The soft tinkle of bells at her toes announces her arrival. “Well if it isn’t the lovely and mysterious Sabina. Docked the barge, have yeh.” Land ho.

“It’s Billy, isn’t it.” Not a question. Lovely.

“More a ‘he’ than an ‘it.’” Get your pronouns right, miss.

She doesn’t deign to acknowledge my comment. I’m to be ‘it,’ then. Is she offensive on purpose, or does it just come naturally? Perhaps she’s simply gifted that way.

“To what do I owe the honor, my dear?”

“Instructions,” she says with a coolness that verges on frostbite. “For a party next Saturday night. You will come out to the boat as my guest,” she informs me, and tips her head to the side as she gauges my reaction.

Is she- I mean, she wouldn’t be- askin me out? Never.

“Bring Simon as your +1.”

“He’s the +1?”

“You be the +1 if you like that position better.” Her monstrously oversized sun hat casts shadows across her tip to toe, straw letting through tiny, bright dots of light that shift as she shifts. Just as the day I made her cheerful acquaintance.

Has it really only been two weeks? Really? That can’t be right.

“Greta will text Kelly the details, technicalities, all that,” she informs me. Kelly is Simon’s PA, so I’m assumin Greta’s her own.

“Kelly? You know Kelly.”

“Of course. She’s Kelly. People know this about her.” She waves away the question as if it’s both beneath her and boring.

“Sabina, has anyone ever described you as a piece of work? I’m meaning a work of art, acourse.”

She lowers her sunglasses and without cracking the slightest smile, winks at me. Well fuck me sideways.

“How did you know?” I ask, takin my opportunity where I find it. “It’s been botherin me ever since your show. You well knew the party was at a pan club. Why us? Tellin the two of us to come. What did you see in Simon and me that told you somethin would happen?”

Ignoring my question, she floats onto a barstool and flips her curtain of glossy, black hair behind one tanned shoulder.

I put back on my Guest Services face. “Something to drink? Might enjoy an espresso, biscotti,” I offer.

“No. I will not eat,” she informs me.

“Then what can I do for yeh, my dear?”

“Come next weekend. Another birthday party. They happen every year,” she says, lackadaisically. “The house. The boat. You know how it is.”

“Do I?”

“Maybe you don’t.”

She never answered my question, and I’m of a mind to persist. “We’ll consider it, if yeh answer me. Why did you tell us about your show in Naples? What did you see in the pair of us? How could you have known, when even we didn’t?”

“Billy.” She places her hand over mine. I use wiping down the bar as a reason to casually free it again. Watching my reaction over her absurdly large sunglasses, she gloats almost imperceptibly. “Make me a bellini.”

Sabina taps her fingernails on the bar top and takes the opportunity to study me as I pull out the peach purée. I add the sparkling prosecco and place the drink in front of her, giving her an arched eye caterpillar.

She tips her head toward me and says, “All right. I’ll tell you. Simon, you know he’s from New York.”

I nod.

“We know the same people,” she says as if that explains anything.

“And?”

“And from the cafe I saw Simon Lewis sitting in my marina.”

“Your marina?”

She bats the question away. “Of all the times Simon and I have wound up at the same parties, I’ve never seen him look at anyone else the way he looked at you.”

Fuck me.

She continues, “He wanted me to go away, deeply. Who could make Simon want such a thing? So I thought I’d have a little experiment. Nothing outrageous.” She smirks. “You couldn’t take your eyes off him. But he practically pissed a circle around you.”

“Not at all. He spent the whole time dealin with you, my darlin. And if anything, it was me as was sat there doin the pissing. I didn’t much care for the way you spoke to him.”

She laughs low. “Your expression gave you away, you know. The kiss was a test; a simple one.”

“Then what if we hadn’t been, I don’t know, swept up in the whole thing that night?” I challenge her. “What would have happened then?”

“Does it matter? Were you? Swept away? The right music at the right moment can make anything happen.” She dismounts with the tinkling of tiny bells, bellini untouched.

Before she reaches the hotel elevator, Sabina calls back over her shoulder, “Oh and Billy. Dress for Capri.”

Ah. Understood. I take a deep breath. “I’ll do the best I can.”

She nods, and departs without a word.

“Lovely to see you, too,” I mutter.

———/-/———

It’s Wednesday? I thought yesterday was Wednesday. Fuck me, an extra day. Life drags on at a snail’s pace.

Opening photos, I realize Simon’s face was the last shot I took that wasn’t of my genitals. It’s of him in the tunnel, moments before we entered the club. All bold, confident, and full of excitement, with not a clue of the direction the night would take.

When I look at him, I’ve no idea who I am anymore. I’ve never really been that certain to begin with, in all honesty.

For a man without a rudder, I’ve never needed to know who I am. Just all the whos I’m not. Not a father, not a son, not a brother, not a bother.

Alfie tells me I’m the best of friends. Cheers, mate. Nice to hear, but I’m not sure I believe it overmuch. Not when I’ve never stuck round long enough to be a good friend to anyone.

I’m a nomad. And I hate it.

I’ve only just realized that I hate it. Before Italy, before this glorious place, I’d have described my life as Freedom. Carefree, exciting, mind-broadening, instructive, adventuresome, even a right good time. But as I feel all these words strung together in my mind, I realize they’re all empty and meaningless, when it’s clear I’m the one who’s strung together. Like stringing lights about a Christmas tree. Invariably there are big holes crying out to be filled. Gaps with nothin big enough to fill them. That’s me — gaps big enough for a man to fall through. Never to be heard from again.

For certain, not a sole Delaney has ever noticed I’ve gone. Isn’t that just grand. All the times I’ve lived under one roof or another, time done for what? Some stories told over a pint at Christmas. And not the funny kind.

“Remember that cousin Billy?”

“Oh sure’n let me see now. He was the one as had the curly hair, yeah? Nice fella.”

Or the older generation? They might say, “Oh that Billy, he always was such a helpful young man to have round the house when somethin needed seein to. So helpful. Can’t remember the sound of his voice or the colour of his eyes, but he sure was helpful. Cryin shame we never had a good place to put him when it was our turn.” Sure’n that’s what they’d say.

Oh, shit. Must remember to ring Shazza and wish her a happy birthday.

———/-/———

“Vittorio, buongiorno,” I say as I enter his office.

Rosalina has just been to fetch me from the kitchen, where I’d been losing myself in the mundanity of prep work.

Problem is, I’ve also been gettin lost in too many mental images from the weekend. Just couldn’t clear my head. All good, so good.

It was all so good until Simon’s phone lit up like a christmas tree, and everything hit a wall. Just bam! Face first. A wall. (Shaped like a woman named Kelly, presumably somewhere in New York.)

It’s his career, Delaney. Quit thinkin what yer thinkin. It’s just God punching us in the nads with fate, as Simon would surely say.

Thing is, I do feel as though I’ve been punched in the testicles. I do. And I’m not sure what’s makin me feel worse — the testicles or the fact that we said goodbye immediately after my life was rocked on its foundations.

Am I bi? Never figured I was before. Does that mean I’m not? I love makin love to a woman. So, not gay per se. But not entirely straight, neither. How could I be?

So, bi?

Bein bi would explain Simon’s sudden appearance on the short list of people who’ve ever made me come that hard. Does that make me bi?

“Beelee!” The hearty voice of Vittorio greeting me snaps me out of yet another reverie. With that big-loving smile, kisses to the cheeks, an arm round the shoulder, he makes me feel welcome, and he knows how to make me feel useful. Helpful. Good at what I do. And like I contribute to this little family he’s built in his kitchen.

My smile stretches wide. Not just because I feel like smilin, but more because he deserves all the smiles. “Vittorio, you are a gentleman and a scholar.”

He laughs with a boom. “Si, certo!” Yes, obviously.

“Certo,” I agree, and indeed it is obvious. He’s wise, and kind. I hate getting attached. But I’ll hate saying goodbye to Vittorio. Ah, fuck. I’m attached. It’s too late.

“Come, Beelee. You will sit with me,” he says, opening the doors out to his private garden patio, and motioning me past. He picks up a sweating pitcher of the homemade lemonade they call limonata, made and bottled here in one of the orchard’s outbuildings. If sunlight had a taste it would be Vittorio’s limonata.

“Beelee,” he begins, once we’ve settled in. He looks out at the view and sighs. “The year you are with us is coming near to end,” he says with the most marvelous Northern Italian accent. “You are considering this with much thought, yes?” He leans back comfortably and sips his limonata in a motion he’s likely developed over decades in that chair with this view. Quite a place to talk business and no mistake.

His words finally penetrate my addled brain. “Have I thought of movin on?”

“Si,” he nods.

Movin on.

No, I have not been considering with much thought. But maybe I should. He’s right. It’s only a couple months off, innit. I’ve barely kept an eye on the goings-on in the culinary world since I arrived in Sorrento. And that is curious.

It’s curious, as every other country I’ve been I've always seen as a gig. Workin to live, yes acourse, but livin to expand my ability, my craft, my creativity, along those veins. Finding the joy in learning the tempo of life in each place. I have loved almost all of my gigs, and enjoyed the environs as much as time allowed. And yet I’m always counting down the days, weeks, and months, months, weeks, and days, well before the end for each city. Until now.

I love Vittorio. Adore him. Both as a mentor and as a man. He is a good man. Solid. Steady. Fiercely loyal and protective of the hotel family he’s built. He may have been born in the North well away from the water, but after all this time he has come to be a man of the South. Its cliffs, the sea, the vertical living with stairs to get anywhere. This is his home. Yes, he was born in Siena, but he chose to live his life in Sorrento. He chose this place to plant his roots, and settled in to live his best life.

I long to live that dream somethin awful. Some sort of permanence in this temporary life of mine. A life I could build, myself. A place of choice. A family of choice. Finding my tribe. And holding on to them. Holdin on for as long as I’m allowed to keep ‘em.

Vittorio looks at me with those intuitive eyes of his. “Qua cosa? What thing is so bad to make your face is falling?” He pretends his face has fallen to his lap to illustrate. “You are having sadness?”

“I haven’t thought much about leaving, to be honest,” I admit.

“You fall in love with Italia, I think. In you I see this, each day a little more, a little more. I am thinking the thoughts that you I should send to Firenze. You learn to cook in the North. It is, come se dice, how you say, molto bene very good y diferente with the Campania kitchens of us here.”

“Si, si, I’d like to learn the northern cuisine.” I can barely get my mouth to shape my next words. “Before I leave Italy.”

“Si. O posso Venezia. Pero non sera ristauranti che va bene.”

I laugh at such a sweeping statement of negativity from this man. “There are no good restaurants in Venice?”

“If there was good ristaurante, I send you to there. But Roma.” He rolls his r with gusto and passion for the eternal city. RrrrrrrOmmmmma. “Roma? Si, son ristauranti with the goodness I demand for to send you to there.” He nods thoughtfully. “Stefano, si.”

“Stefano Rossi?” Jaysus, good enough?

“O in Toscana, to Rodolfo.”

“Rodo Molinaro?” For serious?

“Si.”

Before I can bleat about these two utter gods of Italian cuisine, he interrupts me. “Or we take you from Italia and make you in France. Parigi - what you are calling Paris? Provence? You stay on the Mediterraneo you try Nice, la Riviara Franca.”

At least the French Riviera is just down the coast. (And that’s my first thought? How close I’d be to here?)

I try to interject, but he continues. “O in Spagna. I am having the very strong thought of Barcellona. O Siviglia. O to where you are calling Switzerland — Lucerne. You like Lucerne?”

“I’ve never-“

“You think with deeply careful thought of these places. I have thought very strong and with time that is long and full of care. These are the places you consider.”

“Vittorio. You are a dear, dear man and I cannot think of a suitable way to show how very much gratitude I have for you.”

“But your face is not a face of a man is happy,” he observes. “You are disappointing with these choices I give you?”

“No! Never, Vittorio. Not ever. I would joyfully live in every one of these cities! Florence, Rome. Paris, Nice. Barcelona, Seville. Lucerne. All of them.” Or none.

————/Simon/————

“I’d be in the air already, but I have to fit in one last fake fight with Kelly before I go. I promised to take her to brunch so we could fake-fight in person.”

“Let me guess, ‘It’s kind of your thing.’ Seems to me I’ve heard that one before,” Billy snarks into the phone. He sighs in defeat. “I can’t believe I’m gonna say this, but I think I’m jealous.”

“Oh yeah? Why? Literally dying to know the answer.”

“How long do I have to wait?” he asks, sounding greedy.

“For what?”

“Before I can have you again,” Billy growls, in a tone he’d surely describe as naughty. Or at least I would describe it as naughty.

“With your moans in my ear, breath hot against my throat,” he continues. See? Naughty.

“Billy.”

“Simon.”

“Billy. What are you doing?”

“Hearing that sound you made when I licked a stripe up your neck, still salty with sweat from the club.” His voice is all gravel, low and rumbly.

“You don’t fight fair,” I whine. But in an appealing, sexy way.

————/Billy/————

I like that impatient sound. “I wish this was your hand,” I say, trying to keep the grin out my voice.

“What? W-what is my hand doing?” I hear Simon swallow at the other end.

“That twist you did — it’s like you read my mind: How to wank Billy Delaney.”

I don’t have my hand anywhere close to my cock. I just love gettin to hear him all flustered.

“Uh, um, Billy? Are you having solo phone sex right now? Is that what you’re doing? Cuz I gotta tell you-“ he breaks off.

“What do you have to tell me, Simon?”

Silence.

“And make it good,” I rumble.

“Jesus Christ, Billy.”

“No, just Billy.”

“Funny,” he responds dryly. Which acourse makes me smile. It’s the combination of exasperation, frustration, and libido all fighting for their turns to spring out his mouth.

“Is it? I thought we were gettin someplace, Simon.” I pitch my voice as low as it will go. “Someplace good.”

He lets out a whimper, then all I hear is rustling. Something clatters on a hard floor. Simon gasps, “Shit!” followed by, “Oh, thank God,” then somethin else falls with a thud. I hear shuffling in the background and angry muttering.

“Simon?”

“Wait, wait, hang on just a-“ I hear a jingling of bells, and then the sound of street traffic. People in conversation getting closer and fading away. Sirens. Loud sirens. I hear the tell-tale sound of his Converse slapping on pavement, accompanied by rapid breathing and some mumbled curses. “Come on come on come on!” I hear him whisper.

“Ey! I’m walkin here!” he says loudly, away from the phone. Followed swiftly by an angry, “Yeah, fuck you too, buddy,” under his breath. I feel as though I’m listening to every film about New York ever made.

“Hang on, just a sec,” he huffs faintly, as if the phone isn’t at his ear. I hear the jingling of keys. Everything he does is suddenly amplified, all with a strange, hollow ambience. A few loud, echoing footsteps later, and again I hear the sound of keys scraping into a lock.

“Where are you?” I ask.

“Closer to my bed than I was five minutes ago,” Simon answers. “Not there yet.”

“Where were you five minutes ago?” This is pure gold.

“The bodega on the corner.”

“Serious?” I laugh. “Why’d you turn round?”

“Fuck you, Billy.”

“Not yet.”

I hear him trip over something. The phone clearly just went thud on carpet, and I hear a distant voice, swearing, “Where are you, fucking bastard.” His voice gets closer and closer. “Oh thank fucking Christ. I thought I broke my phone. Oh my sweet baby, an angel at one ear, a devil at the other.” He pauses as he shuffles whatever’s in his hands. “Billy? You still there?”

“Oh, I’m here, Simon.”

“Ok, start talking dirty again.”

I blink.

And we’re both laughing. “I like that you make me laugh,” I tell him.

“I like that you talk dirty. Can we go back to that please?”

“You tell me yours, I’ll tell you mine?” I tease.

“What does that even mean?”

“Where are you, Simon?”

“Standing at the base of my bed.”

“Naked yet?”

He chokes, “What?”

“Just wonderin. Set the scene for me, Simon.”

“Theatre school, I’m telling you, theatre school.”

“You’re thinking about theatre school at a time like this.”

“Not even a little, when you sound like this. Jesus, Billy.”

“Where are you now?” I keep my voice fluid.

“Oh! Um, not where I was a minute ago the last time you asked. No, not still there,” he says.

“Naked yet?” It all started out as a gag, but I’ve become increasingly invested in his answers.

“Shoe-less. But I’m working on it.”

“Let me hear you take off your shirt.”

“Okaaay. How?” he asks in confusion. “Shirts aren’t loud. Am I supposed to rip it?”

“You like the shirt? Cos I want to hear all the buttons popping off.”

I didn’t think he’d do it, but I clearly hear the sound of buttons set free, pinging off every surface.

“Button fly again tonight?” I ask, thinking back to how easily his jeans came undone with just a flick of his hand.

“Not tonight.”

“Let me hear the zipper when you pull it down.” I hum as I hear the zzzzzz.

“Did you hear it?” he asks, voice turning gruff.

“I didn’t think I would, but that was hot.” I thought I was teasing, but now I know I’m not. “Let me hear the material slide down your legs. Slowly, Simon. Don’t rush it.”

His phone amplifies the rustle of fabric sliding over skin as though my ear is right there. My eyes slip shut. I can picture the material being pulled slowly over his hips, revealing the V of his muscles there, then catching on the swell of his arse. Sliding over that magnificent arse. Fuck, when he runs, I bet it bounces. And the image makes me groan.

“Mmm, that sounded good,” Simon nearly purrs. He’s gone from 1 to purring in under 3 seconds. “Did it feel good, Billy?”

“Yer man’s got game then, has he?” I challenge him.

“You haven’t answered my question, have you, Billy.”

“Is the secret just to work my name into every sentence? Cos I’ll be honest with yous. It’s doin it for me.” I need more than this. Without preamble I switch us to FaceTime.

“Rude!” he squawks.

“Are you offended, Simon?” I set up the angle for him to watch. He’s gone silent. Turns out I’m clothed enough for some suspenseful stripping of my own. His face is priceless.

————/Simon/————

Merp.

—————/Billy/—————

I watch as his eyes go dark, and his expression turns unselfconscious. Hungry.

I’m more’n likely to show him whatever he wants to see, though it can be hard to actually ask for it. “What and where, Simon?”

“Mmhm that sounds nice,” he says absently.

“Nice.” That’s not what I’ve been goin for. Seems his thoughts are a mite preoccupied. “Do you know what I want to do to you the minute I see you?” I challenge.

“Um. No?”

“I am going to strip you bare after Customs if you stop for any reason except to walk straight to me.”

“You’ll be there at the airport?”

“And I will strip you bare. Right there at Customs. Don’t test me, Simon. After you’ve landed? If I see yeh doing anything?” I prompt him.

“I’ll come straight to you,” he says on a whisper.

“That’s right you will. And the moment we reach the car, I’ll press you against it, undo your jeans, and wrap my hand round you, with just enough firm pressure.”

He whimpers.

“What do you like, Simon? Tell me and I’ll give it to you.”

“What I-“ His eyes go blank. “Merp.”

So I continue. “Then I’ll tell you what I want from you when I get you back to the hotel.”

He whimpers again.

“I want you to strip me slowly, make me impatient. Because I’ll be dying to have you fast. I’ll have been waiting for you, wantin to take you in that tiny car, wanting to feel all of you, and lay you down. But-“

“But she’s too small,” he whispers, getting into it a bit more.

“I’d bend you over the bonnet, but you won’t let me.”

“I won’t?”

“No Simon, you won’t. You’ll tell me the fuckin luggage can wait, and you’ll drag me to your room.”

“I’ll be dragging you?” he asks, sounding confused.

“Just go with it. You’re breaking my flow.”

“Sorry,” he whispers with a grimace.

“Shhh.”

“Ok.”

“Shhh. Hear me. I’ll want to drag you to bed instantly, but you won’t let me. You tell me to slow down. Take my time.”

“Take your time? We’ve gone a whole week without each other. How much more time will we need? Are we even naked yet?”

“Shhh, Simon. See it. See me in agony, desperate for every second I can have with you again. I’ll start at one end of your body and work my way to the other. Those runner’s legs, God. All that skin up, up, following my hands with my lips, lettin the hair slide across my mouth between kisses. Show me where my lips are, Simon.”

His breath catches. “Jesus, Billy.”

“Do you want to see how close my mouth will be? I’ll show you. Watch where I start, Simon, just here. See me.”

He lets out a high puff of air. His breath rate has picked up. So has mine.

“I’ll stop and kiss here.” I circle the spot. “I want my mouth on you, Simon. The soft, warm spot behind your knee you’ve never thought about until I became the first person to tongue you there. Or here,” I whisper, drawing my hand up my inner thigh. I have one thought and one thought only: get this next shot right.

I bring the camera round, laying back to give him the long view up my body.

“Mmmfm, you have a wet spot in your briefs,” he says in a huskier voice. He’s finally getting out of his own way.

“Do you know why, Simon?”

“Why?”

“Because all I can think about is running my lips over all of this skin,” and I draw my fingers slowly up to where my thighs meet. He lets out a high breath. “Show me, Simon. Show me where my lips are.”

The image on the screen swings wildly around, showing bits of lightly furred leg, the color of his sheets, confusing body hair, and the paint on the ceiling. He grunts as he repositions himself. Suddenly, the image is swinging around to show me the path up his knee and I get an eyeful of the long view he’s giving me.

“Mmmmm, do you know what I see, Simon?” All that flesh leadin to the sight of a cock and balls from below, snug in a pair of boxer briefs, lookin monstrous huge from this vantage point.

“Yes,” he breathes. “Yes, I know ex’ex’exactly what that l’looks like.”

“Draw your hand up the inside of your thigh for me. Let me watch it, your phone followin behind the whole way up.” I give him an example to inspire him. “Tell me when to stop, Simon.”

A high moan escapes him. “W’when do you want to stop?”

“Never.”

He groans. “Take off your briefs, Billy,” he instructs me, feeling bolder. “Now.”

I smile to myself. That’s the spirit.

“For you, anything, Simon.” And I realize I actually mean that. I probably would do just about anything he told me to.

“You liked that, didn’t you?” he asks me. “The wet spot just got bigger.” He sounds terribly proud of himself, and continues with more confidence. “Oh shit, your cock just got bigger, too. God, I can see the tip peeking out of your waistband.”

I steadily reveal every millimeter until he can see the full head. “Oh God. Billy.”

“I want you naked and fucking your hand, Simon, now. Let me watch.”

Simon whines.

“Naked, Simon. Then hand.”

Again, his high puffs of breath turn into a whine. But the moment I fist my cock, Simon’s voice drops two registers — as if he knows this is the moment we really get started. He’s saying, “I want to see the tip poke out of your fist, see you drawing the hood back as you stroke.”

“Fuck yes, Simon.”

“Closer,” he demands.

I moan at the thought that he wants to see it up closer. That an eyeful doesn’t send him runnin for covers. But no, he’s enjoying being in control.

“What does your other hand really want to be doing?” Simon rumbles. “When it’s not holding the phone, what’s it holding? Or fondling? Or sliding over. Show me, Billy. Show me what you do when you’re alone.” It’s a command, not a request.

I let out a long stuttering breath. “Simon, I think you might be quite good at this. Given some more practice,” I say, as I try in vain to get my phone under control. I need a place to prop it so I can use both hands. Finally, driven by the agony of frustration, I set the phone against a pillow at the right angle and kneel with knees spread wide.

“Oh fuck shit fuck,” comes straining out of him, and he’s fully stroking himself in earnest. “Nhhhh, Jesus Billy.”

What’s he on about? I look down at myself and visualize the view from that angle. Oh God. “You, too,” I grind out. “Want to see you too.”

He gives me what I want. Lord, that is a filthy fuckin sight from that angle. My hips punch my cock through my fist and I cradle my balls.

“Fuck yes,” he moans. I look down and find just how much precome I’m dripping. I hitch my hips closer to the camera and splay my legs wider. “Oh Jesus Billy fuck,” he gasps at the sight.

“Show me,” I tell him. He takes a screenshot and turns the phone round to show me. “Show me on you, Simon.”

“Oh, right,” he breathes.

“Faster,” I tell him. “Let me hear you.”

“What makes you come, Billy? Mmmmmfffwant to see it up close,” he groans.

I reframe the phone, but the sight from this distance has got to be brutal.

“Oh Jesus, Billy,” he huffs, then “Oh God,” comes out with an urgent tone. I’m flyin in and out my fist, yet somehow he can see it all.

“No, don’t stop,” I complain as his hand stutters to a stand still. He puts the phone down on the bed below him, and squats just over it. It’s an intense view. “Oh God, Simon. That is obscene.”

“Now you,” he instructs. “I want to see both hands better.”

I try to angle more carefully so he can see more cock and less balls.

“Oh fuck,” he says in surprise. “Right there, yes. No, too far, bring it back, bring it back - stop! Perfect. Show me.”

“That’s,” I grate out, “my line.” Oh God, I feel the sensation begin to build. “Simon- Si’ nhhhh, I’m- are you-“ I can’t think.

“Yes,” he grates out, followed by a strained, “Fuuuuuck!” I’m glad he’s as close as I am. I want to see him tip over the edge while he’s watchin me do the same.

I’m fucking panting, every breath I force out comes back in gasps. “Oh God yes,” I whisper. “Simon.”

“Me, too, me, too, oh fuck yes fuck. B’Billy?”

The look on his face is all shock and awe, then all I can see filling the screen is the head of his cock pulsing spurts of come landing somewhere outside the frame.

Ho shit. Fuck fuck fuck, the heat blooms throughout my body in warning. “Oh God, fuck Simon, fuuu, can you see? I want you- watch-“ I call out nonsense. I can only focus on the rush I feel throughout my body. I come in full view of the phone and my knees buckle.

Rolling to my back and still panting, I try to remember my name and country of origin. But “Simon,” is the only word I can find.

————/-/————

Masterlist || ao3 || start || prev || next wip!

————/-/————

#simon x billy #year of the otp #robert sheehan #simon lewis #the mortal instruments #tmi au #loosely based #very very minimally loosely based just a little tiny bit #billy delaney #bbc me and mrs jones #chapter 11 #November chapter #what is my hand doing #robert sheehan character fic #me and mrs jones #tmi #the mortal instruments books #mortal instruments au #mortal instruments #pin #pinned #simon is simon #year of the otp 2023

[vamphrrr]

why has robert sheehan played two immortal characters that can see ghosts

#should i make a nathan oneshot/fic #like im in love with him ngl #robert sheehan #nathan young #klaus hargreeves #the umbrella academy #tua #misfits #misfits tv

[ded-and-gonne]

Image: @firstpersonnarrator

Look at all the love in those eyes.

#the green velvet tux #klaus hargreeves #robert sheehan #the umbrella academy #tua #tua s3 #the hottest rob #ded and gonne #ded & gonne #green velvet tux #location wedding #image bank klaus #image bank green velvet tux #luther’s wedding #location luther’s wedding #robert sheehan character fic #mine #my photos

[violetrainbow412-blog]

MY FAVORITES 🌸

Fics and authors that I highly recommend and I think everyone should read

anything of @lullabaesstuff and @sarahisslytherin @scandalous-chaos @sadtrombonemusic @spidervee @theowritesstuff @hiraeth-maximoff I love them with all my heart<3

people who recommend good fics @withahappyrefrain @myguiltypleasures21 @uwiuwi @a-girl-who-loves-disney @aprilfire18

ROBERT SHEEHAN CHARACTERS

anything of @seanfalco @a-ghoulish-tale @super-unpredictable98 @misskittysmagicportal

SIRIUS BLACK/MARAUDERS ERA

anything of @padfootagain @gryffindors-weasley @spxllcxstxr @yourlocalmaraudersbabe @v1oletvenus

RODRICK HEFFLEY

anything of @rodr1cks

ADRIAN CHASE/PEACEMAKER SHOW

anything of @vigilvntes @vigilanteh @honeycombstrawberry (A BETTER NIGHT)

EDDIE MUNSON/STRANGER THINGS

anything of @penmansparadise @erosso @hawkins-losers

I Know What You Want From Me by @amatchinwater (Eddie Munson)

if you’d taken an arrow (and run it right through me) by @iliaclwrites (Eddie Munson)

drunken confession by @eddiemunsonswhxre (Eddie Munson)

Spare me! and Part 2 by @eddie-sweetheart (Eddie Munson)

How to adopt a genius child and a series of unfortunate events by @thisisntmyrightera (Eddie Munson)

TONGUE TWISTER by @queenofthefaceless (Eddie Munson)

Velvet Kisses by @retrobutterflies (Eddie Munson)

“I just wanted to be cool like you” by @rainylana (Eddie Munson)

𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗼𝗿𝗲 ♬ 𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 (part 2) and 𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗿 (part 3) by @mypoisonedvine (Eddie Munson)

𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩 ✧ ˚ by @munsonquinns (Eddie Munson)

𝐇𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐈'𝐥𝐥 𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐝 [𝐀 𝐆𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐔𝐬] by @inknopewetrust (Eddie Munson) [this deserves a nobel in my humble opinion]

ROGER TAYLOR

Scuff Up The Sidewalk by @spreadyovrwings

Be Gentle With Me, Darlin’ by @spreadyovrwings

Just A Kiss by @twotitsjohndecaon

The Fantastic Drowse by @fairytales-of-yesterday

Out of Time- Roger Taylor Time Travelling Fic by @perriwiinkle (the link takes you to the post I made talking about this wonderful fic and it's a reblog of the masterlist)

CONT. HERE

#fic recommendation #my favs #robert sheehan #klaus hargreeves #Sirius Black #marauders era #rodrick heffley #adrian chase #eddie munson #steve harrington #peter parker #andrew garfield #roger taylor

[firstpersonnarrator]

Oh my god, I have a new header. I’m dying. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted and more.

Thank you @salvador-daley for this gorgeous work of art featuring Rob being perfectly symmetrical while he falls on a bouncy house.

This is my idea of heaven. I’m dead. I can’t. It matches my icon and everything.

Unified aesthetics are my happy place. That is, aside from Rob. He is my even happier place.

#klaus hargreeves #tua #header #header art #headers #my headers #my header #thank you salv! #fave giffers #fave fic writers #fave people in general #salvador daley #firstpersonnarrator #firstpersonnarrator header #robert sheehan #the umbrella academy #tua s3 #umbrella acedmy #friend #robert sheehan character fanart #gif #fave gifs #header gif #my header gif #the umbrella academy season 3 #umbrella academy 3 #tua header #art #made for me #bouncy house

[salvador-daley]

Clone | Part 2

Robert Sheehan x Reader x Female!Robert Sheehan

A/N: Oops - forgot to post this earlier in the week. Forgive me, I am old and senile.

CW: No filth, just some very intense flirting. Bisexual awakenings akimbo. But the next instalment? Pure wall-to-wall smut. 🍑🍆

Words: 5.5k

IRISH STEPS forward and so does she. His mouth falls open and so does hers. He reaches out to touch her and she reaches out to touch him. Their fingertips meet in the middle and he tilts his head in awed fascination. Her head tilts in the opposite direction, but instead of looking back at Irish, her eyes meet yours.

“Aren’t you guys gonna say something?” the woman asks.

“Oh my God, she talks!” cries Irish, leaping backwards with a squeal.

“Of course I talk,” she says in the same Irish accent as his, looking a little offended. She gazes around the room, taking in the long lab benches, the cages filled with small animals, the woman in the long white lab coat, the naked man in front of her. “Who are you? Where the hell am I?”

“It’s okay, you’re safe,” you say, trying to sound authoritative and calm. “We can explain everything.”

“Can we?” Irish squeaks in your ear, staring at you now with a look of blind panic.

“Look, just fucking calm down, okay?” you hiss at him. “You’ll freak her out. And put some fucking pants on.”

“Pants… pants…” he mutters, searching the floor for his discarded clothes. He manages to find his underwear and stumbles into them.

You step towards her with your hands out, as if approaching a wild animal. “Do you feel ok? Are you hurt?” you ask the woman, whose truly striking resemblance to your boyfriend is all the more apparent the closer you get.

“I feel fine,” the woman says with a shrug, fingering the tube she just stepped out of and taking in the rest of her surroundings.

“She seems very chill for someone who was just magicked into existence,” Irish whispers.

You nod. She’s certainly the calmest person in the room at this moment. Her whole demeanour is one of zen stillness and quiet curiosity, despite being thrust into being just a few seconds ago.

“W-what’s your name?” you ask.

She thinks for a second, her brow furrowing in an uncanny way.

“I-I don’t think I have one,” she says, approaching the desk now and proffering her fingers for one of the rabbits to sniff.

“We should give her a name,” says Irish into your ear, still cowering behind you.

“We can’t name her, we’re not… we’re not qualified!” you say in a hushed voice.

“Well, we created her,” he says, insistent. He thinks for a second. “I think she looks like a Robin.”

“Robin?” you repeat.

“Ooh, that’s a nice name,” she says, apparently listening the whole time.

“See, she likes it,” says Irish.

“Robin it is, then,” you say with resignation. “Robin, sweetheart, we’re going to explain everything, okay? But first, we have got to get you out of here.”

Irish grabs you by the shoulder. “Get her out of here? You want to take her with us? Shouldn’t we call someone? Isn’t this kidnapping?” he hisses at you.

You turn to him and level your gaze at him. “Look, she can’t stay here, okay? And we can’t call anyone, I’ll be fired. And they’ll do all sorts of experiments on her and shit. We’ve got to get her out of here, right now. Understand?”

He nods, realising the gravity of the situation. “Okay, okay, w-what do we do?” he asks.

You start to shimmy out of your lab coat, going into problem-solving mode. “There’s some flat shoes in my bag under the desk, go grab them.”

He darts under the desk while you attempt to dress your boyfriend’s naked double.

“Here, Robin, put this on,” you say, holding your lab coat out for her to slip into.

She inserts her arms into the sleeves, then turns so you can do it up, watching you with quiet fascination as your shaking fingers fumble with the buttons. She tips her head slightly as she observes you, a soft smile playing on her lips.

Irish returns with the shoes and you help her to step into them.

“Hey,” she says once dressed, looking down at her body and smoothing the lab coat with her hands: “this is kinda sexy.”

Irish pauses and smiles, then looks at you: “See? Told you so.”

“Get dressed!” you growl at him.

“Right, right,” he says, searching the ground again for his scattered clothes.

“Okay, g’night Joe! See you on Monday!” you call out to the elderly security guard, hoping your voice sounds breezy but so breezy that it sounds like an invite to conversation.

“All finished for the night, are we?” Joe asks. To your disappointment, you see him moving around the reception desk, clearly looking for a chat.

“Yep, all done, gotta head on home,” you say, attempting to usher Irish and Robin through the building’s revolving door.

“Oh, I didn’t realise there were three of you here tonight? I was sure I only counted two,” says Joe, checking the sign-in sheet on his clipboard.

You realise now that despite Joe’s advanced age that it was ambitious to imagine you could smuggle out a 6ft tall adult woman wearing nothing but a lab coat.

“Nope, three of us,” says Irish, stepping in with his characteristic charm. “You’re going senile in your old age there, Joe.”

“Oh, I feel I would’ve remembered you,” says Joe, looking at Robin. He proffers a hand to introduce himself.

“How nice to meet you,” says Robin with a wide smile, shaking his hand.

“This is my friend,” you say, improvising now. “Professor, um, Doppelgänger.”

Irish shoots you a look that says: Doppelgänger, seriously?

“She’s been helping me with some research,” you add.

“A professor?” says Joe, impressed. “And what’s a smart, beautiful woman like you doing in a place like this?” he chuckles.

Robin’s mouth falls open as if to reply.

“Oh Joe, you old flirt!” says Irish, slapping him on the back before Robin has a chance to answer. “Anyway, we better be off. The, er, professor has a train to catch,” he adds.

Irish bundles you both through the door before Joe can say another word.

“You guys are terrible liars,” says Robin once you get outside. “Even I could see through that, and I was literally born five minutes ago.”

You wake up late, the excitement of the previous day having expended all your energy. The soft sounds of a high-pitched tune spread through the flat on a gentle wave, rousing you from your slumber. There is no sign of Irish - he must have gone out. You rise from the bed and head into the living room. Robin is sat cross-legged on the pull-out bed. The wide neckline of the oversized T-shirt you gave her the previous night has slipped down over one of her shoulders, her curly hair haloed by the morning light as she plays happily on a penny whistle. She stops when she sees you, flashing you that familiar smile.

“You can play that?” you ask.

She shrugs: “I guess so.”

Even Irish can’t play it that well. You wonder for a second what else she can do, then you remember you’re being a bad host to your new houseguest.

“You must be starving,” you say, heading to the kitchen. She follows you and perches on one of the stools at the breakfast bar. “What do you like?”

She shakes her head and waves her hand through the air.

“Of course,” you say, “you have no idea what you like because you’ve never eaten before.”

Following last night’s escape from the facility, Robin had taken the news that she was a clone created in a lab accident surprisingly well, you felt. She didn’t panic or freak out or try to call the cops.

“So I’m… you?” she had said, pointing to Irish. “And you’re me?

“Yes, well, technically you’re female me,” he had said, foundering in his attempts to explain.

“And how did you end up inside the machine?”

“Err…” Irish’s mouth had fallen open and his eyes had darted to you in a panic.

“You know what, we can go over all the details in the morning,” you had said, stepping in to spare him the embarrassment. “I’m sure you’re tired and it’s been a crazy night. A lot to take in.”

“That’s a great idea,” Irish had announced. “Let’s all get a good night’s sleep and we can talk some more in the morning.”

You open the fridge and peer inside. Amid all the chaos, you had forgotten to buy food. All you have is gin, milk and orange juice.

“Let’s start with some coffee,” shall we?

You head over to the coffee machine and begin to fiddle with it, becoming aware of her 6ft form looming over you as you work.

“You put the water in here,” you say, demonstrating, “and then you put this in here, and press this button, and then the coffee comes out here.”

She’s watching you, but you have no idea if she’s listening. Silently, she reaches out to brush a stray strand of your hair behind your ear and you catch yourself blushing.

You clear your throat. “Cereal? I have cereal.”

You grab a couple of bowls from the cupboard and begin to pour corn flakes into them.

Watching you, she rests one elbow against the counter, stretching her long body out in front of her. She seems just as comfortable in her own skin as Irish is, a quiet confidence exuding from every pore.

You fill the bowls with milk and press one of them into her hands. She looks at it, then at you.

“Spoon!” you remember. “You need a spoon.”

Her ass is blocking the cutlery drawer and you have to nudge her out of way with an awkward “‘scuse me” in order to reach inside, your hand brushing against the silky smooth skin of her hip.

“Here you go,” you say, plopping the spoon inside her bowl.

She gives you another blank look.

“See?” you say, raising your own bowl and lifting the spoon to your mouth, “like this.”

Although seemingly a little hesitant, she follows your lead and you both stand there for a moment staring at each other and eating corn flakes in silence until you hear the door opening and Irish clattering through it with handfuls of grocery bags.

“How are my two best girls this morning?” he sings, plonking his bags on the breakfast bar.

“Your girlfriend is teaching me how to eat cereal,” says Robin.

Suddenly feeling quite stupid. You turn to look at her now. “You already know how to eat cereal, don’t you?”

Robin shrugs an apology. “You were on a roll, I didn’t want to hurt your feelings,” she replies. “I know how to do a lot of things.”

Before you can question her further, Irish grabs you and pulls you to one side, leaving Robin to eat her corn flakes in the kitchen.

“So, how’s it going?” he asks in a low whisper.

“Really bad, Irish!” you say. You try to keep your voice down but it comes out as a high-pitched squeal instead. “You left me all on my own and I have no idea what I’m doing!”

“Calm down, okay? I went to get food, there’s only gin and orange juice in the fridge.”

You put your hands to your temples and squeeze. “I’m freaking out, man. I mean, how does this even work? Does she have your memories? She can play your penny whistle!”

“Really?” he says. “That’s interesting.”

Irish cranes his neck back into the kitchen area. “Hey Robin, how many siblings have you got?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” she says, munching a mouthful of cereal. “I don’t think I have any.”

“How’d you get that accent?” he asks.

“What accent?” she replies, giving him a quizzical look.

He turns back to you: “She doesn’t have my memories.”

“This is so crazy. Your genetic double is eating corn flakes in my kitchen and I think I’m losing my mind,” you say, hyperventilating now.

“Look,” he says, holding you by the wrists. “Everything is going to be fine, okay? Let’s just get to know her a little bit.”

He leads you back towards the breakfast bar and you sit at the twin stools as Robin finishes off her breakfast.

“You still hungry, Robin?” asks Irish, reaching into one of the grocery bags. “Why don’t you try some of this, I just got it from the Japanese place down the road.”

He removes the lid from a small sushi platter and places it on the breakfast bar.

She selects a piece of nigiri and holds it up to her face.

“Go on,” he urges.

She pops the fishy morsel in her mouth and chews, her eyes widening as the novel mix of flavours ignite her tastebuds.

“Wow, that is amazing,” she says. “What is that?”

“Yellowtail,” he says. “My favourite. Here, have another. What’s mine is yours.” He pushes the platter closer to her and her fingers dance over it as she decides which piece to eat next.

“No offence,” she says to you, “but this is much better than cereal.”

“None taken,” you say, holding your hands up in defeat. “Okay, so we’ve established that you both like sushi. What next?”

“Ooh, I know!” says Irish, jumping down from the breakfast bar and running over to the bookcase in the living area. He returns with a book of collected poems and flicks through it until he finds what he’s looking for, passing the open book to Robin. “Have a read of this, tell me what you think.”

Robin scans the page for a few minutes, absentmindedly scratching her neck as she reads. You watch as Irish raises his hand to his own neck, floating his fingers over the same spot.

Eventually, she rests her hand on her chest with an awed expression. “That is beautiful,” she says.

“I know, it’s one of my favourites,” he says.

“So you’re both poetry fans,” you say. “Look, don’t take this the wrong way, but how do you know how to read?”

“I don’t know, I just do,” says Robin. “It’s like muscle memory. I can do everything he can do.”

“Can you drive a car?” he asks.

“Yes, but not very well.”

“Bit hurtful. Can you ride a bike? Can you ride a horse?”

“Yes. And yes.”

“Do you pee standing up?”

“Do you?” she returns, one eyebrow cocked.

“Fair play,” he says quietly.

You give him a look.

“What?” he says, “I like to read.”

You shake your head. “I think we’re getting way off track here,” you say. “Robin, do you have any questions for us?”

“Not really,” she says. “Although you never did tell me how you ended up in the cloning machine.”

Irish releases a nervous chuckle. “Oh, I don’t think we need to get into all that,” he says, bringing his hand down hard on his forearm to swat a mosquito. “Ah, you fucker!” he exclaims, inspecting the site for bites.

“Ow,” says Robin under her breath, rubbing her own arm in the same place.

“Guys, let me just try something,” you say, moving around the breakfast bar. You grab a cocktail stick from the kitchen drawer and return to your seat. “Stick your hand out,” you say to Irish. He puts his hand on the counter and you jab him on the tip of his thumb.

“Ow! What did you do that for?” he says, pulling his hand back and shooting you an accusing look.

At the same time, Robin shakes her hand in the air with a soft “Ah!” and sticks her thumb in her mouth.

“Ok, that’s interesting,” you say. “Let me try something else now.”

You move around to Robin and stand behind her.

“Can you lift your arms for me for a second, honey. It’s for science,” you ask.

“Sure thing,” she says, giving you a sideways smirk.

You tickle her under the arms, knowing that it’s one of his most sensitive spots.

Robin laughs and squeals, meanwhile he writhes in his seat, as if ghostly fingers were invading his armpits.

“Ah-ah! Stop! What are you doing to me?” he screeches.

“Well, that proves it. You two have some kind of weird connection,” you say, releasing Robin and returning to your seat. “It’s like a sensory telepathy or something. She feels what you feel, and vice versa.”

His brow knits in confusion, his mouth gaping. Then his expression changes and his eyebrow curls towards the ceiling as a realisation dawns on him.

“Well, that could be fun,” he says, a wicked glint in his eyes now.

“I’m depending on you not to abuse that,” says Robin, extending a finger at him and wagging it in his face.

“Well, I could say the same thing to you,” he says, turning defensive.

“I’m going to use the bathroom,” Robin says. “Try not to stub your toe or anything while I’m gone.”

She pats you on the shoulder as she leaves, allowing her fingers to linger on your skin for a split-second too long. The gesture doesn’t escape Irish’s attention and he crosses his brow, watching her with a hint of suspicion as she leaves. His mouth opens as if he’s about to say something, but you interrupt his thoughts before he can articulate them.

“Irish!” you hiss at him, grabbing his attention. “Now what do we do?”

“I dunno,” he shrugs. “Maybe we should take her out, you know, let her see some of the city.”

You look at him with a baffled expression. How is he approaching this whole thing so casually? Did that bump on his head shake some of his screws loose?

“Have you lost your mind?” you say, your voice pitching higher. “We can’t wander around town with your female clone like she’s some kind of visiting relative. We’re not taking her anywhere, we are staying right here until we figure this out.”

“Why not?” he says, leaning in closer to you. “Look, she’s 34 years old and she hasn’t experienced anything of the world. We can’t keep her cooped up in here forever.”

“But she’s not 34, she’s only a day old,” you insist. “What if something happens to her, what if she gets hurt?”

“She’s 6ft tall and she can do everything I can do, right? That means she can throw a punch if necessary,” he replies.

You know deep down that he is right. Keeping her locked up in your flat indefinitely wouldn’t be feasible or fair. And Robin seems perfectly capable of looking after herself, if a little naive.

“It’s interesting actually,” he continues, “I wonder if she can act. I’ve always wanted to play Lady Macbeth on the stage...” His mind is wandering now, indulging in some egotistical fantasy in which both his faces are on the poster.

“Irish!” you snap, nudging him back to the present.

“Right, yeah, sorry. Come on, let’s just go out somewhere, show her a good time. Everything will be fine.” He rubs your thigh as he speaks. You can already feel yourself giving in to him, once again.

“Ooh, are we going out?” says Robin, returning to the kitchen.

“Come on,” says Irish, pleading with you. “I think we could all use a little fun. What harm will it do?”

You look at Robin, those green eyes begging you to say yes, mirroring Irish’s expression. His persuasive powers are hard enough to resist at the best of times, let alone when there’s two of him.

You sigh. “Oh, fine,” you say, waving your hand in a gesture of surrender.

“Robin, my love,” says Irish, turning to her now, “how would you like to get drunk for the first time?”

Robin emerges from the en-suite bathroom in a towel, a couple of wet tendrils escaping from the nest of curls piled into a loose bun on top of her head, her wet skin glistening in the soft light of your bedroom. A light curl of steam follows her from the bathroom, wrapping around her slim ankles, caressing the tanned skin of her long legs. In her hands, a bottle of lotion, which she applies with care to her arms, allowing her fingers to drape over her skin with gentle, massaging strokes, skimming over her collarbone, the curves of her chest.

She tilts her head to meet your eyes. “Is everything all right?” she says.

In that moment, you realise you’ve been staring at her and you force yourself to snap out of it.

“Yes, er, yes. Let’s, erm, let’s find you something to wear,” you say, heading over to the closet. You throw open the doors and gesture at everything you own. “Just help yourself to whatever you want,” you say. “You are ever so tall, but I’m sure you’ll find something. We will get you some clothes of your own later, this is just for now.”

“Thank you,” she says, allowing the towel to drop to her feet and reaching up for the jeans on the top shelf. Her breast meets your eyeline and you avert your gaze, feeling the blood rush to your face. She certainly seems comfortable being naked, but then that shouldn’t surprise you - Irish seems to resist being fully clothed at every possible opportunity. You head over to your dressing table and finish applying your makeup, trying your best not to spy on her through the mirror.

“So, what kind of place do you want to go to? Somewhere lively with lots of people, or somewhere a little more chilled out and relaxed?” you say, attempting to make casual chit-chat despite the circumstances.

“Well, I don’t really have any frame of reference, so I trust you to make the call,” she says.

“There’s a great little place in town that does cocktails and finger foods. All of the drinks are named after famous… writers…” you trail off as your eyes fall on her approaching form.

She is dressed now and you take in her selection: a pair of extremely tight skinny jeans, in a shade of distressed dark grey with strategically placed rips up the legs, a tiny black bralette you can’t remember buying, over which she has chosen a sheer knitted top several sizes too big, the neckline draping loosely off one shoulder, the front tucked into her belt buckle.

“What’s the matter?” she says, observing your slack-jawed expression as she rolls up the sleeves. “Is this not ok?”

You blink hard and shake your head. “No, no, you look great. It’s just…” You bring your eyes up to meet hers and she shakes her curls loose from her bun. “You dress just like he does.”

“Ooh! These are pretty,” she says, fingering the box of bracelets and trinkets on your dressing table.

“Oh, those belong to Irish,” you say. “But I’m sure he won’t mind.”

She sits down on the bench next to you, rolling his beads and leather bangles up each arm.

“Well, he did say what’s his is mine, right?” She says, glancing at you with a smile. For a split second her eyes rest on your lips and you feel your heart pick up speed.

“Yes, yes. He did say that,” you laugh, trying and failing to hide your nerves. You go back to applying your lipstick under her watchful gaze. After a minute, you withdraw the product from your lips and offer it to her. “You want to borrow it?” you say.

She shakes her head. “That is something I definitely don’t know how to do,” she says with an apologetic smile. “You could do it for me?”

Of course, she can only do what Irish can do and he definitely can’t do makeup. The one time he tried for a Halloween party he looked like a melted Liza Minnelli waxwork.

“Okay, sure,” you reply.

You turn to face her and apply a thin coat to her lips. As you work, her sea-green eyes scan your face, the intensity of her gaze causing your hand to falter.

“Oops, hold on,” you say, correcting your mistake. For a brief second your eyes meet as your hand cups her face, your finger sliding under her bottom lip, your faces merely inches apart. Your pulse beats so loud and so hard that you worry she might hear it.

You pull your eyes away and clear your throat. “There we go, all done,” you say.

But she doesn’t move and neither do you. She holds you captivated in her gaze like a tractor beam.

“How are you girls getting on in here?” says Irish, sticking his head through the door. “You nearly ready? The cab is waiting downstairs.”

You jump as if caught red-handed. “Yes, all done here,” you say, a little too loud.

Robin rises and walks over to Irish, beginning to circle him. The two of them look each other up and down in the doorway like two wild cats sizing each other up.

She leans into his ear as she exits: “I’ll meet you two downstairs,” she says in a low voice. She pats him on the ass and gives you a wink as she leaves.

You hear the front door close behind her and throw Irish a shocked look.

“She is flirting with you!” you say, stating the obvious.

Irish scoffs: “From where I’m standing, it looks like she’s flirting with you!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you say, bending down to put on your shoes, hiding your blushing face from his eyes.

“Well, think about it,” he says. “I’m attracted to you, therefore it makes sense that she’d be attracted to you, too.”

“Yeah?” you say, standing now and facing him in the doorway. “Well, why is she apparently attracted to you too?”

Irish gives you a shrug, a guilty smirk passing over his lips. You nudge him in the ribs.

“Because you’re so fucking in love with yourself!” you say, only half-teasing.

Irish laughs, ruffling a hand through his curly hair. You roll your eyes at him and fold your arms with an exaggerated sigh.

“Look, everything’s going to be fine,” he says, holding you by the shoulders. “Let’s just go get a drink.”

“You were getting a blow job?” asks Robin, incredulous.

“The door just sort of swung open and I smacked my head on the wall. I was knocked out cold for a good few minutes. And when I woke up, well, there you were,” he says.

Robin turns to you with an open-mouthed expression.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” you say, cringing. “I wish we had a better story to tell you.”

Her face creases and she releases a high-pitched laugh. “You guys are hilarious,” she says. “Do you do that a lot, sex acts in public places?”

Irish shrugs, opening his mouth to speak.

You cut him off before he can embarrass you further. “No!” you insist. “No, we don’t.”

The more drinks that are consumed, the more the conversation veers towards sex. Irish is being his usual giddy self, telling stories and making crude jokes. Robin, meanwhile, is becoming increasingly tactile, clasping your shoulder as she laughs, pressing her long fingers into your arm as she fires questions at you.

Her displays of affection seem to be making him territorial. Every time her hand brushes against your leg, his follows. Or perhaps they are just mirroring each other; echoing each other’s movements and mannerisms. Either way, you are sitting between them and it’s starting to make you feel like a baby goat in the tiger enclosure.

The worst part, you decide, is how alike they are. Robin seems to agree with everything he says, especially his drunken ideas. Stay out longer? Great idea. More shots? Great idea. Go to another bar? Great idea. You are outnumbered. And now everything is starting to get hazy and wobbly, furry around the edges.

“So, do you both have jobs? I know you’re a scientist, but what do you do?” asks Robin, gesturing to your boyfriend.

“I’m an actor,” Irish replies, puffing out his chest. “Been doing it since I was a kid.”

“Wow, that sounds like so much fun,” says Robin, her eyes widening. “I’d love to do something like that.”

“Of course you would,” you mutter under your breath.

“Did I say something wrong,” asks Robin.

Her brow furrows in the middle. You can see Irish glaring at you out of the corner of your eye. He thinks you’re being rude. You instantly feel bad for being crabby.

“No, honey, I’m sorry,” you say, reaching forward to clasp her knee. “It’s just… well, you two are so damn similar! It’s actually kind of infuriating.”

They both laugh at the same time, then look at you: “What’s the matter, are you feeling left out?” they say in perfect unison.

Realising their thoughts have synched, they immediately turn and point at each other: “Oh, we both said the same thing!” they say at the same time.

“Ok, stop that, it’s freaking me the fuck out,” you interrupt, not wanting to find out how long they can do that for.

They share a look, synapses firing at the same time, cogs turning in synchronicity. The chemistry between them, between the three of you, is palpable and it terrifies you as much as it excites you.

Robin looks at you, then at him.

“You know what I think, Irish?” says Robin, leaning her head towards you. “I think your girlfriend…”

“Our girlfriend,” he corrects.

“Our girlfriend,” she says, walking her fingers up your thigh, “needs to lighten up.”

Robin’s face is centimetres away now. Her eyes, at first locked on yours, float down to your lips, then back up to meet your gaze again. She tilts her head slightly and you feel your breath deepening, your heart beginning to race in your chest.

“What are you doing?” you ask.

She shushes you gently as she cups your face, allowing her thumb to trail over your cheekbone.

“Just relax,” she whispers, bringing her mouth down on yours.

As her plump lips part yours, you are struck by how similar the experience of kissing her is to kissing him - only softer, gentler. And as her tongue inches across the inside of your lips, you feel him join in, trailing a string of delicate kisses down the side of your face, down your neck.

They each wind an arm around your body and you suddenly remember that you are in a public place, giving the patrons of this bar something to stare at. And they are staring - you feel their eyes boring into you as two hands belonging to two separate owners begin to pass over your legs.

Robin lifts her head, moving to your neck, and her mouth is replaced with his.

“Guys,” you say in between deepening kisses, your voice trembling, “we have to get out of here.”

They lift their heads and look at each other, then at you. “Great idea,” they say together.

REBLOGS FEED THE WRITER - PLEASE FEED ME! 🥺🤲

If you’ve been tagged it’s probably because you asked to be a long time ago. If you don’t wanna be tagged in future updates, just send me a DM: @iamsexytrash @pickledbeefwastaken @m0onlitmadness @blog-kyku-us @super-unpredictable98 @love-is-dirty-baby @maerenee930 @simplymesam99 @sheehaniphilia @rob-private @rina-cydonia @icarusklaus @nostalgiawings @orangepear18 @p0tat0nug @21stcenturywitchcraft @ssanjuniperoo @the-freckled-luba @motherofanimals @archivemysins @faceache111 @lezzy-4 @firstpersonnarrator @inspiremeandsetmefree @sands7 @granddeaneaglesports @hanatashii @one-dizzydreamer @itscarolsainz @septicrebel @zombiedixon89 @amanda-hotchner @spaceclone-mom @readersinflammation @jender123 @juicyj28 @badsext @bunybordelaux @vomkimmeren @shaneen828 @klausmikaelsonswolf @kittenqueen04 @itsophiebby @itsjustmylifeconfessions @mypsychoticlove @jizzmans-world @thislovelylife

#robert sheehan #robert sheehan x reader #robert sheehan character fic #klaus hargreeves #robert sheehan smut #Robert Sheehan rpf #robert sheehan fic #the umbrella academy #robert sheehan fanfic #tua #umbrella academy #rob sheehan #Robert Sheehan au #klaus umbrella academy #Rob Sheehan fic #robert sheehan fan #tua cast #tua Netflix #bisexual

[imyourbratzdoll]

Warnings and Reminders - Please do not plagiarise, copy, repost/republish, adapt, or translate any of my work on any social media platforms, apps, or third-party sites. The only platforms I post my work on are: Tumblr and Wattpad. I do not own any character of any franchise (Marvel etc.) All my works are fiction and may be dark or triggering content: READ ALL WARNINGS BEFORE PROCEEDING.

𝐑𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐓 𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓:

 ♡ 𝒇𝒍𝒖𝒇𝒇 ➳ 𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒔𝒕 ❥ 𝒔𝒎𝒖𝒕 ❦ 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒌

೫˚🖤❀ *ૢ🥀೫˚🌑

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐬𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐬𝐤 ♡

summary - you have an annoyingly attractive co-star and things get slightly heated in your trailer.

೫˚🖤❀ *ૢ🥀೫˚🌑

#imyourbratzdollwork #imyourbratzdollmasterlist #robert sheehan imagine #robert sheehan #robert sheehan fanfiction #robert sheehan fanfic #robert sheehan fic #robert sheehan fluff #robert sheehan angst #robert sheehan imagines #robert sheehan oneshot #robert sheehan one shot #robert sheehan x reader #robert sheehan x fem!reader #robert sheehan x female reader

[sheehalloween]

This is Sheehalloween…

Everybody make a scene/fic/gifset

Psst, Sheepeeps, remember last year when we brought you Sheehanksgiving, well this year we're back with something new...

✨ Introducing: Sheehalloween! ✨

What is it?

Nine whole days of spooky fun from October 23rd - 31st, featuring our favourite gorgeous Irish actor, Robert Sheehan. Once more hosted by your favourite neighborhood Sheefanatics, Salv (@salvador-daley) & joz (@seanfalco)!

The Prompts:

This time we're doing things a little differently and have chosen general prompts for each day that you can interpret and use in any way you like, or throw them out and do your own thing entirely, if you'd rather.

🔮 Day One: Seance

🔮 Day Two: Trick or Treat

🔮 Day Three: Scary Movie

🔮 Day Four: Reanimation

🔮 Day Five: Free Space

🔮 Day Six: Ghosts

🔮 Day Seven: Ouija

🔮 Day Eight: Possession

🔮 Day Nine: Magic

The Rules:

☛ This event is open to all creators: whether you’re an artist, a writer, a gif-maker or someone who carves sculptures out of mash potato. If you make fanworks relating to Rob and/or his characters, we want to see them. If you’ve never made a fanwork before, now is your chance! We welcome collabs, first-time artists, established writers, people from peripheral fandoms… this event is open to everyone.

☛ Please tag your work appropriately and hide any NSFW content behind a read more. If you are creating NSFW art, make sure adhere to tumblr's rules so your art won't get flagged.

☛ There is no word limit on fics, however, if your fic is longer than 500 words, please use a readmore so as not to clutter the dash.

☛ The only thing we ask is that you don’t submit noncon or underage content. If you are a minor, please do not submit NSFW content as it will not be shared.

☛ When posting your fan works, make sure to tag your work with #sheehalloween 2022 & also tag us here at @sheehalloween so we can share your works!

#robert sheehan #sheehalloween 2022 #the umbrella academy #klaus hargreeves #tua #robert sheehan character fic #robert sheehan fanart #robert sheehan fanfic #tua gifs #tua fanart #klaus hargreeves x reader #umbrella academy klaus #klaus umbrella academy #klaus hargreeves fic #brellygifs #nathan young misfits #misfits nathan young #nathan young #misfits nathan #the mortal instruments #simon lewis #mortal engines #tom natsworthy #sean falco #bad samaritan #klave #rob sheehan #robert sheehan fic #robert sheehan drabble #robert sheehan imagine

[miss-kittys-magical-library]

Season of The Heart

A Kostas Family Holiday Story

There's not a single warning for this story. It's simply, somehow, become an annual tradition; Leon's vest. This gift comes as a peace offering between a Mama and her son-in-law. Chag Sameach and Merry Christmas!

Honey put her sewing down and balled her hand into a fist and then flexed it. She repeated the process. It was time she acknowledged age was creeping up on her.

It was bad enough that she and Leon gave in and began wearing glasses. That Selina was pregnant with their second grandchild in less than two years. They were old and young and new parents and soon to be seasoned grandparents. Selina and Sunny were innocent littles an these amazing adults. She and Leon had been together thirty minutes and thirty years.

Time, it seemed to Honey, was an asshole.

“Who’s getting that, love?” Leon asked from beside her. He put his book down and patted the space closest to him. He gestured for his wife to settle in.

“Nikolai.” Honey carefully folded the material and packaged it away. She placed it on the floor and laid back on the bed.

"What made you change your mind?"

"It's simple," Honey let Leon cradle her head in the crook of his arm, "he's Klaus in a way. Except Klaus does everything he can to turn people off or away. Nikolai practically suffocates them so they stay put."

"That sounds more like Of Mice and Men then A Tale of Two Hargreeves" Leon sniggered at his own joke. His nose scrunching in the process.

"You're such a weirdo," but Honey kissed her husband anyways. "I just hope it's enough."

"Gracie, it will be his whole world. I promise"

----

Selina watched her mama creep out of the bedroom from over a plate of cannolis that balanced precariously on top of her pregnant stomach. She took another bite and spoke with her mouth full-

“Mama, why are you sneaking around like a teenager smoking weed?”

Honey huffed, “When have I ever snuck around to do drugs?” She waved her hand in her daughter’s direction, “Just eat another cookie. Maybe this one will come out looking somewhat Italian.”

Selina rolled her eyes and accepted a kiss on the forehead. She went back to watching Irina bury herself in wrapping like a cocoon. The little girl dug her chubby fists into her eyes and rubbed.

“Вы сами устали, Irinushka?” Have you tired yourself? “All this playing in the paper instead of with these toys?” Nikolai hoisted his daughter up over his shoulder where she nuzzled into his neck. “Как маленький котенок,” he kissed her curls. You are like a little kitten. “Do you want Daddy or Papa to put you down, hm?”

“Oh Nik, why don't you do it?” Honey suggested. “It'll take Leon fifteen minutes to get off the floor,” she teased.

“HEY! Piss off!” Leon threw a ball of tinsel poorly at his wife. When that failed he reached out and smacked her in the butt as she turned to get away from him.

“No!! Stop! It's just that there's a little something for Kolya in the bedroom!” Honey gave in and allowed Leon to envelop her legs in a hug from his kneeling position on the floor. “From me.”

She and Nikolai caught each other's eye before he and Irina made their way into the bedroom. He tended to the toddler first, rocking her and humming just as absently as Selina often did. In mere moments Irina was out, and he laid her down on the pillows.

There was a gift beside Irina on his side of the bed. Nik put it in his lap and carefully undid the bow and paper setting it aside as if to save it. Inside the tissue was a lovely scarf made from the mythical pattern that his daughter wore onher dress.

He lifted the scarf which had been fashioned from the material and wool. A Star of David was embroidered on one side which he traced with his fingertips before bundling and tying it around his neck. Then Nikolai noticed the letter.

It read:

Dear Nikolai-

Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukkah. Yes, Selina’s told us. I'm not sure why you haven't said anything because if any family is Jewish friendly it's ours. You could have told Leon and I. Though I can understand your hesitation talking to me, I've not exactly been very welcoming to you these last two years.

I didn't set out to be “that mother-in-law.” Mine has been nothing short of a second mom to me since we met. And as far as I know it's been the same for Leon. The truth is, I'm not sure what my problem is.

Selina means more to me than anything in this world. Leon and Sunny of course, but when you carry something inside of you for that long it just becomes more. Selina changed my entire world. To say her birth was a bit.. traumatic is an understatement, but holy shit was she easy to love. 25 years later, and that love hasn't budged an inch. I've always told Leon that no living person on this Earth could love her more than we do.

Until she met you that is.

That first night you introduced yourself in my club, I think you scared me. I spoke you into being the night Selina came into the world. I know that sounds ridiculous, but you know our family by now.

You're so brash and boisterous and volatile. The exact opposite of Leon. The way you spoke about my daughter was a bit jarring. Like she was just another precious momento for you to steal and hide away in a drawer somewhere. Selina was yours now; you were just informing Leon and I.

It's taken me longer than it should have. You aren't possessive out of malice. You simply hold on to what you can tighter than the rest of us because everything good in your life has been taken away. You lived your entire life without affection or kindness until Oliver and Selina. No one to take care of you or teach you how to navigate the world. Being thrust into the most unconventional family ever probably made you feel out of place. I certainly didn't help.

You have treated Selina the way every parent prays for. The two of you forged your own path, and I truly couldn't be prouder of the people you helped each other become. Or what a wonderful Daddy you are to Irina despite your own lack of role models.

So this gift is for you from me alone. With a promise. A mama is there to love her child and make him feel safe and protected. Yours was taken from you the moment you were born, but I’ll step in for her. For you. I promise to protect you and love you as long as you're my son-in-law. The scarf I made is simply a physical reminder. And I do love you, Nikolai.

Always,

Mama Honey

---

Nikolai came out of the bedroom and stood beside Selina sitting on the couch. His eyes were puffy and red as he searched for his wife's touch. He patted her massive stomach absently then squeezed her fingers.

"Kolya are you alright?" she asked gently. He lifted her hand and stooped awkwardly to kiss it as if that was an answer.

"It is a good Christmas, ripka."

Nikolai walked away over to Honey sitting by the fireplace. He gestured for her to stand and helped her up. She seemed hesitant. Uncertain which direction this would go. But to her surprise he bent to kiss her on the cheek.

"Thank you, Mama."

Honey smiled and reached up to cradle his cheek in her hand. "Merry Christmas, Nikolai."

@magic-multicolored-miracle @bisexualnathanyoung @elliethesuperfruitlover @forenschik @firstpersonnarrator @heratheanon @neuroticpuppy @rob-private @love-is-dirty-baby @vonkimmeren @sylvertyger @kronoswheel @holidayspirits

#robert sheehan #honey x nikolai #moonbrella lake universe #robert sheehan character fic

[seanfalco]

Hi! You asked for requests and I’m going to request a nanthan x reader with prompt 53 “I just want to be swept off my feet…is that so bad? I’m fed up of being alone.” If that’s ok please?

Nathan Young x Reader

Word Count: 1.1k Tags/Warnings: none Prompt: I decided to participate in @/yearoftheotpevent‘s Year of the OTP (except using reader inserts).  For February’s prompt I chose ‘Valentine's Day’, even though it's a little late;;; a/n: I had this prompt in my askbox for a while;; I hope you still enjoy it!

“So, how’s thing’s goin’ wif you and Nathan?” Kelly asked, nudging you with her elbow as you held up the Valentine’s Day event poster for her to pin to the bulletin board in the Community Centre lobby.

Her question caught you off guard and you nearly dropped the curling paper before you shrugged.  “It’s good,” you answered, trying to think of something better to say.  You could practically read your friend’s thoughts from the skeptical look on her face.

“I mean, he’s fun, and I like snogging him,” you elaborated quickly, trying to keep your own thoughts to yourself, though Kelly heard them anyway.

“But–?” she interjected and you winced, finally letting out a sigh.

“But… he’s not exactly th’romantic type,” you admitted reluctantly.

“I coulda told yeh that,” Kelly pointed out, and you couldn’t help but sigh.

“I mean, yeah… though sometimes he’s really sweet… in between bein’ an arse.”

Kelly snorted, ambling toward the next bulletin board down the hall.  “I don’t even wanna ask what you’re doin’ for Valentine’s day.” You groaned, kicking the toe of your sneaker against the scuffed tile beneath your feet.  “I just wanna be swept off my feet for once, is that so bad?” you huffed, hanging the next poster.  “He doesn’t even hafta buy me anythin’.  I just wish he’d put a little effort in, that’s all…”

Unbeknownst to you or Kelly, Nathan had overheard your conversation from the mezzanine, your voices carrying in the empty halls.  Chewing his lip, he took your words to heart and began planning the most sickeningly sweet romantic evening he could think of, not wanting to let you down.

By the time Valentine’s day had arrived, you made your way to the Community Centre to meet Nathan for your date, not expecting much.  Opening the door he’d left unlocked for you, you were in the midst of mentally preparing yourself for disappointment when the lights suddenly flickered on and you were met with the sigh of hundreds of paper hearts hanging from the ceiling.

“What th–?” you breathed, gaping at the unexpected decor when Nathan’s voice echoed down from the balcony above you.

“Happy Valentine’s, y/n!”

“Nathan?” you called, pulling back some of the streamers and suspended hearts to look up at him, leaning against the balcony railing in an outfit you’d never seen him wear before.

“Yes?” he replied, raising a thick eyebrow at you and grinning bemusedly.

“Did you do all this?”

“Course!” he exclaimed, shrugging like it was nothing.

“All by yourself?” you asked skeptically.

It was certainly exceptional, but it had to have been a lot of work, especially for one person, and you knew how lazy Nathan could be.

“What, y’don’t think I could’ve done this?” Nathan exclaimed, clapping his hand over his heart in faux offense as he descended the stairs to join you.

“Well…” you trailed off, still doubtful, but not wanting to hurt his feelings.

“Well, I might’ve taken ‘em from th’daycare room and made Barry help me hang ‘em,” he admitted, quickly dodging your lighthearted smack at his shoulder.

“You stole kids’ crafts?” you exclaimed, trying to fight back an amused chuckle.  Also, if you had to guess, Simon did the brunt of the work, but still, you were touched.

“They weren’t usin’ ‘em!” Nathan cried.  “Plus, I thought it’d be romantic and shit,” he added, taking your hand.  “C’mon, there’s more!” he exclaimed, pulling you toward the stairs to the roof.

Nathan burst out onto the rooftop and spread his arms wide.  Candles flickered in a haphazard circle around what looked to be a small eclectic picnic laid out on the weathered coffee table across from the threadbare sofa where you and the others often snuck off to after and sometimes even during your community service hours.

“So, what d’yeh think?” Nathan asked hesitantly, his gaze darting between you and his little surprise.

“This is…” your words melted on your tongue as your boyfriend pulled you toward the moth eaten couch and the bottle of cheap champagne sitting between two mismatched glasses from the Community Centre’s kitchen.

“Shit, hold on,” he mumbled, hastily reaching into his pocket to grab his ipod and plug it into the little speaker on the table.  The next thing you knew Endless Love was playing softly.

“There!  Pretty impressive, huh?  Romantic as fuck, yeah?”  Nathan supplied, grinning nervously, still waiting for your approval.

“It’s lovely,” you finally murmured, lowering yourself to the seat.

Nathan’s grin grew and he scrambled to sit down next to you, grabbing the bottle of champagne and wrenching at the cork.  “Help yourself to some cheese and fruit,” he said, gritting his teeth as he struggled to open the booze.  “Watch out for bits of mold though,” he warned and you grimaced, dropping the strawberry you’d picked up.

“Uh, Nathan, this is very sweet and all, but where’d you get this stuff?” you asked.

As soon as Nathan opened his mouth to answer, the cork shot out of the bottle followed by an eruption of bubbles splattering all over the crotch of his jeans.

“Shit!” he yelped, jumping to his feet, but it was already too late, his pants were soaked, making it look like he’d just pissed himself.  “Jay-sus,” he huffed in annoyance, letting out a defeated sigh as he collapsed back into his seat.  

“Guess that’s what I get for tryin’ so hard,” he muttered in frustration, setting the half empty bottle back down and shaking the alcohol from his hand.

“Did you really do all this for me?” you asked, turning toward him.

“Well… yeah,” he replied, as if it was obvious.  “I might’ve overheard what y’said t’Kelly th’other day and I wanted t’make today special for yeh, sweep yeh off your feet like y’wanted,” he explained.  “I’m no good with th’feelin’s and th’romance and shit, y’know, all that mushy stuff,” he muttered, looking down at his hands.

Letting out a soft huff of affection, you leaned in to press a kiss to his cheek, taking him off guard.  “I dunno about all that,” you murmured as he turned to gape at you.  “I think it was sweet of you to put the effort in,” you said with a shrug, your gaze lingering on his lips.  “I think you’re pretty romantic in your own way.”

Nathan’s mouth stretched into a lopsided grin, straddling the line between cheeky and sincere.  “I can still sweep yeh off your feet if y’want,” he said, grabbing the bottle of champagne round the neck and bringing it to his lips before offering you a swig which you gratefully took.

“Oh yeah?  And how y’gunna do that?” you asked, biting your lip coyly.

“Like this,” he replied, pulling you into his lap and wrapping his arms around you, his lips descending on yours before you could reply, and you kissed him back, matching his exuberance with your own.

Your heart pounding in your chest, the alcohol on his tongue went straight to your head, making the world spin, or maybe it was just Nathan’s fervent kisses.  Either way, everything else fell away and all you could think about was how much you loved him.

@super-unpredictable98 @salvador-daley @elliethesuperfruitlover @firstpersonnarrator

#misfits #nathan young #nathan young x reader #joz.fic #robert sheehan character fic

[super-unpredictable98]

Can you do Vincent being jealous of Lydia's past crush, now friend and blabbering some things in front of him that genuinely embarasses her , probably something that she told him about her past feelings or past incident and then the extra exaggeration?

Tysm ❤️

The Skeleton in Ramona's Closet | The Road Within AU

Pairing: Ramona x Vincent (OC - Exposure Therapy’ Verse)

Word Count: 1,8 k

Warning: Strong language, mental illness stuff

a/n: Thank you so much for your request, that was the first I got to work on, I'll be working on the other ones over the weeks. It says Lydia, but I imagine it was meant to be Mona, the pair I created for Vincent. I hope you like it anyway <3

(Masterlist)

"Do you think he'll like me?" Ramona asked for the millionth time. 

The week before Vincent had told her his father was coming to visit. He knew she wasn't a big fan of surprises and bringing it up on the day of would only stress her out, especially after all the things he had told her about his dad. It was safe to say she was sure the man wouldn't like her and was scared of him from the get-go.

"Of course, he's been a lot nicer lately, ever since he- fuck fuck divorced Monica. And what's there not to like about you? FAT WHORE."

"See?"

"You're not a fat whore! You know that was a tic, I'm sorry."

"I know, what I mean is that you're tics are off the charts! Means you're nervous, means you're scared, means he'll hate me!"

"You know I have a few CUNT days when I'm worse. It's just fucking Tuorette's."

Okay, that part was true, but this time Vincent was actually nervous. It would be the first time introducing a girlfriend to his dad like that. When he met Marie back in the day, they were all running away from him and it was completely different. Now if anything went wrong he would blame himself til the end of his life.

"I can hear your tics all the way from my room, can you tone it down?" Alex stood at the top of the stairs, watching as Vince contorted with spasms. 

"Sorry, I'll just dial my- cunt! My Tourette's down pressing the button up my asshole!" Vince growled.

While it wasn't so apparent, Ramona was just as perturbed. She wasn't able to eat that morning, she felt queasy and she felt her heart beating on the tips of her fingers. She was fighting with all of her willpower not to give into a panic attack or shut down completely, she couldn't just hide in her room while Mr. Rhodes came all this way to visit.

"Hey, let's breathe together, okay?" Mona took her boyfriend's hands and calmly guided him while trying to calm herself down as well. 

"Think about it, it can't be any worse than when I met your mom..." Vincent joked.

That was true, Mona's mom was still traumatized after walking in on them doing it in the shower. Every time she came to visit, Vanessa would knock very loud on the door before walking into any room and even before coming out of them. Initially, she despised Vincent, but after seeing how he managed to bring out the best in her daughter, she ended up coming to terms with their relationship.

Before any of them could say anything else, the doorbell rang. The sound made Vincent tic again and Mona shiver. Alex disappeared back into the guest room to finish cleaning it for Mr. Rhodes. 

"Just breathe and try to relax the most you can," Vincent nodded before opening the door, saying it both to Mona and to himself. "FUCK! CUNT!"

"Always so sweet," Robert taunted. "Hi, Vince."

"Hi, Dad," he looked down, trying to hide his twitching. After all this time and after making amends, he was still embarrassed to tic in front of his father. "Come in, this is Ramona, my-slut whore! My girlfriend."

"Hey, Mr. Rhodes," she waved timidly, trying very hard to look him in the eye and failing miserably. "Vince told me you work with politics, I played Evita Peron in a musical once."

"Oh... That's- interesting, like that movie with Madonna?" Robert asked.

"Yes actually, but Patti LuPone did a much better job with it on Broadway... It's nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too, Ramona. Can I shake your hand?"

"Yeah, of course!" She excitedly held out her hand. "I'm not very good at eye contact, but my handshakes are a transcendent experience I've been told."

Robert chuckled, he already liked this one way better than Marie, but he definitely wasn't going to say that. He remembered how crushed his son was when she left and the last thing he wanted was to bring back those memories and trigger another string of violent tics.

"Happy to be back at the madhouse," he joked.

"Madhouse?" Mona repeated, slightly confused about what he meant.

"Yeah, you know... Cause you all have mental illness and disorders and stuff."

"Dad, I don't think that's very politically correct," Vince smacked himself across the face. His girlfriend was very sensitive, he knew that comment would hurt her, even if she didn't say anything. She was a horrible liar, but that never stopped her from trying to hide her feelings when something got under her skin.

"It's fine," Ramona nodded.

"Hello, Mr. Rhodes!" Alex waved from the second floor. "Your room is ready, I just cleaned it up."

"Oh, I'll get settled. How about some ice cream then? You do eat ice cream, right Ramona?" Robert asked.

"Yeah, my autism doesn't stop me from eating ice cream," she laughed. 

Next to Mr. Rhodes, Vincent's tics were so much more violent, almost like he was always on edge, which in turn made Ramona feel on edge and anxious as well. 

When they eventually arrived at the ice cream shop, Robert asked what they would both want to spare them the embarrassment of ordering. The couple was in charge of getting them a table. 

"Does he always do this? He tries to stop you from doing things?" Ramona asked. 

"Yeah... fuck cunt! He's a little embarrassed I think," Vincent murmured in between tics. 

As if the day couldn't get any more awkward, Ramona saw the last face she ever wanted to see leaving the shop. She prayed he wouldn't recognize her, but that would've been too good to be true. 

"Ramona? Ramona Wilson!" A tall guy with a dirty blonde wolf cut approached their table and Vincent started twitching even more. "You look so different!" 

"I- I know... it's been a while, Matt," she mumbled, avoiding his eyes at all costs. 

"Matt? The Matt you told me about?" Vincent whispered. 

"Yeah... this is my boyfriend, Vincent. Vince, this is my friend Matt." It was true, they were friends back in high school, they were drama club colleagues and played romantic interests several times. Of course, along the way, Ramona ended up catching feelings, but never had the nerve to make a move. 

She crushed on this boy for years until she eventually graduated and moved on, but he was an important part of understanding herself and what she liked. That's why she told Vincent the whole story. 

"Nice to meet you!" Matt shook his hand, Vince flipping him off with the other hand. 

"Sorry, I have- fuck! I have tourettes," he explained. 

"Oh, that's alright. Don't worry about it." The most irritating thing to him was how nice this guy was, he was so sweet and probably would've been a way better boyfriend for Ramona if she ever took a chance on him. He hated feeling so inferior, he hated feeling like he wasn't enough...

"Ramona kept the underwear you left at her house under her pillow!" Vincent blurted out. He didn't mean to, but he couldn't help it and that only made him more sure that he was a horrible partner. 

"What?" Matt laughed, thinking he was joking. 

"It wasn't under my pillow! It was behind my headboard!" Ramona groaned, not realizing she was just confirming the information. 

Matt's eyes grew and he blushed furiously. Everyone in that conversation wanted to disappear or die or both. "You did? Did you have a crush on me or something?" 

"Y-yeah... I used to, but I never said anything because you were too unattainable and eventually I just forgot and-" Ramona hid her face behind her hands. "I'm so sorry." 

"Hey, no, it's okay. I guess it's better than if you did some sort of cloning ritual with it, right?" Matt joked. "I'm glad you are happy, you really deserve it." 

"Thanks, it means a lot." 

"Sorry, you sick fuck!" Vincent shouted and punched the table. 

"It's cool, it was a nice ego boost, I guess. Ramona used to be the hottest girl in class," Matt admitted. 

"Used to..." those words felt like a pile of bricks to her. 

"Cause she's fat now!" Vincent said and covered his mouth, shaking his head with the most horrified look. "I didn't mean it..." 

"I think she still looks gorgeous. You're a very lucky guy," Matt said sincerely. Ramona felt like he didn't mean it, even if he did, but she nodded anyway. 

"Thank you," she mumbled.

"I'll see you two around, I'm late for work. Have a good day!" Matt waved before he left. 

Vincent was nearly crying when his father brought back their orders. Ramona was just in shock, she couldn't even speak. 

"What the hell happened? Somebody died?" Rober asked. 

"Yes, my dignity," Ramona grumbled. 

"I'm so so sorry, Mona. I love you so much, I hope you know that. I swear on my life!" Vincent cried, the tears finally escaping his eyes. 

"What did you do?" His father asked.

"I had a tic and accidentally told Mona's old crush a secret she trusted me with... then I said something about her weight." 

"Jesus, why don't you kill her dog for a trifecta?" 

"No, it's okay. I know he didn't mean it," Ramona said despite being very sad.

Unable to face any of them, Vincent ran away, Robert was deeply embarrassed and felt for this poor girl having to deal with it. 

"I'll get him, just wait here and-"

"No, it's okay, I know where he is," Ramona took their paper cups and left the store. 

Just as she imagined, Vincent was at the beach, sitting on top of his hands to stop himself from moving and crying as he watched the sea come and go. 

"Hey, you forgot your ice cream," Ramona called, sitting down next to him. "Do you need me to feed you?"

"Stop, don't be nice to me, I don't deserve it," he sniffled. 

"Vince, don't say that. Of course you deserve it, you deserve the world and I'm not angry, I know you couldn't help it."

"Doesn't matter... I- fuck I hurt you anyway."

"What hurts me is seeing you like this. I love you, you're the only one that matters. Who cares what Matt thinks? You're a way better kisser anyway," she joked. 

"Really?" Vincent laughed while he tried to stop crying. 

"Really, no comparison!"

And watching that girl console his kid better than he ever could, Robert took a step back to go into the house again. They would be fine on their own... he trusted Ramona and for the first time in a while, he felt relaxed knowing Vincent was being cared for.

Tag List: @seanfalco @salvador-daley @elliethesuperfruitlover @firstpersonnarrator @badsext

#the road within vincent #the road within fanfic #the road within #vincent rhodes #vincent rhodes x oc #fanfic #robert sheehan character fic #robert sheehan fanfic #exposure therapy