#which *was* a masked affair which was nice - and apparently most of them have had at least one dose of the vaccine

[vannahfanfics]

All Part of the Charm

Word Count: 2,600

Fluff, Romance, Established Relationship, Post-Time Skip

Summary: Kei and Tetsurō have only been dating a short time now, and they haven't told anyone yet. Who knew that fact would lead to an opportunity for a good prank?

Continuing to work on posting the huge backlog of works that I’ve accumulated over my time in school, here’s the piece that I wrote for the KuroTsuki Summer Solstice Exchange!

“You know, holding hands under the table like this… It makes me feel like a married man having an illicit affair instead of just a regular guy on a date with his boyfriend.” 

Apparently, Kei did not appreciate the comment, for he shot Tetsurō an icy glare from across the café table. 

“I can stop holding it, if that would make you feel better,” Kei deadpanned, which quickly wiped the smirk off of Tetsurō’s face; it was replaced with a sulky pout. Kei huffed, but before he could double down on his threat and yank his hand out of Tetsurō’s, the ravenet quickly tightened his grip. Kei’s sharp gaze could have cut steel, but Tetsurō just met them with pathetic puppy-dog eyes. 

“Noooooooo, don’t do that. It most certainly would not make me feel better,” Tetsurō pleaded, fluttering his lashes for added effect. Not that it had much of an effect on Kei, who was all but immune to Tetsurō’s charms. Well, not entirely immune; they’d worked well enough for Tetsurō to reel Kei into dating him, after all.

It had only been a few weeks. This was their first time on an in-person date; Kei had traveled to Tokyo to accompany Tetsurō to one of his favorite cafés. They hadn’t even made any sort of public declaration or told their friends yet—hence all the cloak-and-dagger on Kei’s part. He was anxious about the possibility (however slim it might be) that they would run into someone they knew. Tetsurō didn’t righteously care about anyone finding out about it, but Kei did, and he respected that enough to let Kei go at his own pace. 

That didn’t mean that he wasn’t gonna give him shit about it. It was part of that charm that had won Kei over, loathe as the blond would be to admit it. 

“Look, all I’m saying is, what are the odds of somebody we know walking in here? Like, really?” 

The little bell attached to the café door tinkled as it swung open, and it was swiftly followed by a delighted yell of, “Hey, hey, hey, look who it is!” 

“What are the odds?” Kei huffed and jerked his hand away as Tetsurō just gazed somewhere past him in a thousand-yard stare. Tetsurō snapped back to reality when Kōtarō pranced up behind him and slammed his hands down on his shoulders, for the shock of it made Tetsurō nearly spring out of his chair. As he sagged down in it, glaring at Kōtarō, Keiji rounded the table on the other side to stand next to Kei with his hands in his pockets. 

“Fancy seeing you here, Tsukki,” he greeted with a cordial smile. “What brings you to Tokyo?” 

“I got weary of studying, and Tetsurō’s been nagging me to visit for a while now, so I figured that I would finally take him up on his offer,” Kei explained breezily. His air of nonchalance might be able to fool Kōtarō and Keiji, but it couldn’t fool Tetsurō; he felt the blond begin to compulsively jump his leg up and down, the movements even jerkier with the way Kei’s body had stiffened up. When Kei’s eyes flicked to him, nervous and full of doubt, Tetsurō offered him a discreet but comforting smile. 

“We were having a nice little coffee date, and then you two knuckleheads had to come and interrupt us,” he sighed and slumped down in the chair, masking his genuine disappointment by feigning dramatics. “I think you should buy us more coffee to make up for it.” 

He knew that the two of them wouldn’t leave anytime soon as they’d be eager to catch up, so now had to misdirect their attention until Kei stopped internally freaking out. Ah, he should have kept his big mouth shut; bad things always happened when he taunted the universe like that. Irony had always had it out for him. 

He nodded his chin to Kei, whose eyes widened slightly. 

“You mentioned right before they got here that you were going to get another drink, so why don’t you go place an order for all of us while I entertain our guests?” 

To the other two, it looked like a mere suggestion, but Kei recognized it for what it really was—an out. 

“Sure. What does everyone want?” Kei asked as he nodded and rose from his chair. 

“I’ll take a coffee black, thanks,” Keiji said while handing him enough yen bills to cover both himself and Kōtarō, who was having an existential crisis trying to decide what he wanted. 

“Uhh… Um… Man, it’s so hard to pick off the top of my head like that!” he frowned while pinching his chin, face screwed up in deep thought. When Kei pushed in his chair, he panicked and cried, “Just surprise me! Oh, but it’s gotta be super sweet, okay? I don’t like that nasty stuff like Keiji drinks.” 

“And that’s the reason that you’re going to the dentist tomorrow to get four cavities filled,” Keiji snorted as he pulled up a chair and sat down. 

“Hey, hey, hey, I can’t help it… Sugar ain’t good for the teeth, but it’s good for the soul, my gramma says…” Kōtarō grumbled while grabbing his own chair. He was hunched over and frowning grumpily as he dragged it up to the table, and when he sat down, it was by sulkily plopping down into it. He crossed his arms and stared angrily at the table as he continued to mutter, “Big mean Keiji, makin’ fun of my cavities…” 

“I’ll be back,” Kei announced. As he walked away, he shot Tetsurō a discreet look of gratitude over Kōtarō and Keiji’s heads. 

“Take your time. We’re just gonna talk about you behind your back while you’re gone,” Tetsurō joked with an impish smirk, to which Kei responded with a roll of his eyes and a dismissive wave.

Once Kei was out of earshot, Keiji leaned forward and asked with a dreadfully serious expression, “So, when the hell are you gonna get off your ass and ask him out?” 

If there was one thing that Kei and Tetsurō shared, it was the ability to appear completely unruffled despite completely panicking on the inside. So, while most of his brain was directing its focus to internal screaming, he looked completely nonchalant as he smirked at Keiji and replied, “When I said that we were going to talk about him behind his back, I meant it as a joke, you know.” 

“Hey, hey, hey, don’t sweat the details!” Kōtarō chimed in, immediately abandoning his sulking now that the conversation had shifted to something that interested him. He was all smiles as he continued brightly, “Keiji may seem like he’s bein’ mean, but he really wants to see the two of you get together, yanno?”

Little does he know, he already has, Tetsurō thought while hiding a widening grin behind his hand. His gaze flickered to Kei, who was standing idly in line and none the wiser to the drama unfolding at the table. That was probably a good thing. The idea of Kōtarō and Keiji meddling in their love life would probably give him an aneurysm. 

“I do, too!” Kōtarō continued cheerfully. “I think you guys would be great together.” 

“Well, thanks,” Tetsurō smiled crookedly at him. It was hard, trying to seem genuinely grateful for a nice compliment while trying not to burst into laughter. He cleared his throat to force down the giggles rising up inside of it, to which Keiji arched a brow ever-so-slightly. Quickly, Tetsurō added, “I just think I need a little bit more time. To find a good way to go about it and all, you know?” 

In Tetsurō’s defense, he honestly thought that would put the matter to rest. How was he supposed to know that the two of them would see it as a silent plea for help? 

“Hey, hey, hey! I got an idea!” Kōtarō cried enthusiastically, and Tetsurō was too curious as to where the situation could go to have the good sense to grow concerned. Kōtarō snickered deviously, as if he were some mad villain concocting his greatest evil scheme of all time, and then leaned in close to whisper excitedly, “Let me and Keiji think up a way for you to confess! Right here, right now!” 

“Look, you guys—” Tetsurō started, waving his hands in a “calm down” motion while smiling uncomfortably. 

“I think it’s a great idea,” Keiji interrupted with a smile as deviously keen as Kōtarō’s own. “I’m just about sick of watching you pine.” 

Tetsurō ran his hands over his face with an exasperated sigh. Oh, he was in for it now; once these two got going, there was no stopping them. However, his own devilish side couldn’t help but relish in the prospect of going along with the shenanigan. He could already imagine the look on Kei’s face as he professed his feelings to him, right there for the world to see—

I shouldn’t. He’s not comfortable with letting anyone know we’re dating yet. This’ll just force things out into the open, the little angel on his shoulder tried to remind him. 

But, as far as these two have to be concerned, we aren’t together. So what does it matter if I go along with the charade? It’s up to Kei on how he reacts, crooned the devil on his other shoulder. 

The little devil had always been a smooth talker, and Tetsurō had always had a hard time resisting its silver tongue—especially when a good prank was involved. In this case, it was a two-for-one deal! How could he resist? 

It puts too much pressure on him to accept your feelings! You’re supposed to go at his pace, remember? the angel begged. 

Maybe this little prank will be just the push he needs to stop keeping your relationship a secret, the devil enticed, and Tetsurō arched a brow at the notion. You act all unbothered, but you really don’t like the fact that you have to hide it, do you? You want the whole world to know just how much you adore him… and deep inside, you’re afraid that he’s secretly ashamed of you…

Nothing like your deepest insecurities to push you to be reckless and stupid. 

“All right, what the hell?” 

And so, the two of them quickly hashed together a plan for Tetsurō to “confess,” while the man himself sat back and basked in his own cunning. Which would be more amusing, he wondered? Kei’s utter confusion? Or Keiji and Bōkutō’s looks of incredulity when they realized they’d been had? Oh, Tetsurō simply couldn’t wait …

He tried to seem nonchalant when Kei came back, but to no avail; Kei simply knew him too well by now. 

“You’ve done something,” the blond accused as he set down the coffees, giving Tetsurō a suspicious glower. “You look far too pleased with yourself.” 

“I have no idea what you mean,” Tetsurō refuted when he knew that he, in fact, did look far too pleased with himself. 

“And you two are in on it.” Kei looked expectantly at Kōtarō and Keiji, who both tried with varying degrees of success to hide their smiles behind their coffees. One could probably guess who was the less successful of the two. 

Eager to get the show on the road, Tetsurō flicked his gaze meaningfully to Kei’s stack of textbooks, then back up to his face. Kei narrowed his eyes, then hastily flipped the top one open to reveal a napkin pressed between the glossy pages. As he read the words penned in beautiful script across its soft surface, a blush slowly began to make a home in the apples of his cheeks. It slowly crawled across his face until it had flooded down his neck and to the tips of his ears. He stared at it in utter disbelief for several seconds, then snapped his head up to frown at Tetsurō. 

“You’re an absolute menace,” he growled, but it wasn’t very convincing when he was clearly trying not to smile like a giddy teenager. “I can’t believe you. I leave you alone for five minutes, and this is what you get up to?”

“It was their idea,” Tetsurō said while holding his hands up in surrender. That was about as convincing as Kei’s feigned irritation, what with the shit-eating grin splayed across his face. 

“You…” Kei shook his head with a sigh. Then, he chuckled softly and let the smile bloom across his face unimpeded. “What am I going to do with you?” 

To be quite honest, Tetsurō had expected Kei to just laugh it off as a silly prank between friends and gripe about it later. But, again, Tetsurō could read Kei like that open textbook; he wasn’t going to laugh it off. It had been a gamble, but it had paid off; the absurdity of Tetsurō’s prank had all but banished Kei’s insecurities. 

Take that, universe. 

“You should have just told them the truth.” 

“Oh? But I thought you weren’t ready for anyone else to know?” 

“It would have been far less embarrassing than this,” Kei huffed and snatched up the napkin to wave it around in emphasis. “Also, you had it memorized?”

“Of course I did,” Tetsurō drawled as he batted his eyes adoringly at him. “Do you know how many times I practiced that little speech in the mirror? I’ll be able to recite it in my sleep for the rest of my life, probably. Who knew it would come in handy again?” 

“I hate you,” Kei grumbled while pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“You’re smiling, so I’d say it’s quite the opposite,” Tetsurō laughed in response. 

“Shut up.” 

“Wait a second. Keiji, what’s happening?” Kōtarō whispered, his eyes wide as he watched the exchange. 

“I think we’ve been played,” came Keiji’s sulky response.

“As a matter of fact, you have,” Kei sighed and dropped the napkin back between the pages of his textbook—a little detail that Tetsurō didn’t miss. “Tetsurō and I are already dating. We have been for almost a month now.” 

“Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat?” Kōtarō gasped and looked at Tetsurō with an expression of utter betrayal. “And we put in all that effort…?” 

“I should have known,” Keiji sighed with a shake of his head. “He agreed way too easily.” 

“Sorry, fellas, I couldn’t resist,” Tetsurō said with an unapologetic smirk and a little shrug. “It was just too good an opportunity to pass up.” 

“Aw, man. And here I thought we were bein’ helpful…” Kōtarō muttered as he morosely wrapped his lips around his straw and sucked down at least a third of his frappuccino in one go. 

“Hmph. Whatever, as long as I don’t have to put up with your lovesick brooding anymore,” Keiji huffed and sipped grumpily at his coffee, betraying how irritated he was with the fact that Tetsurō had gotten one over on him. “I was about ready to confess for you.” 

“Sorry I had to beat you to the punch,” Tetsurō teased, then winked at his boyfriend. 

“A menace,” Kei repeated wearily while shaking his head and finally sitting down in his chair. 

“Ah, but I’m your menace,” Tetsurō bragged. 

Kei’s expression suddenly softened, taking Tetsurō by surprise. What Kei did next did even more so. 

“Heh. I guess you are,” Kei agreed with a little chuckle and reached out to take Tetsurō’s hand. Not hidden under the table like before—right there on top of it, where everyone could see. 

And that was the part of Kei’s charm that had Tetsurō so head-over-heels. 

#kurotsuki #haikyuu #haikyuu!! #kuroo x tsukishima #tsukishima x kuroo #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo tetsuro #tsukishima kei #kei tsukishima

[whispermask]

gasoline in your heart ch.9/10 | soap/ghost/könig

read on ao3 | first ~ next | ch wc: 4.5k, total 34k | completed

tags: smut, eventual ot3, fwbs to lovers, porn with feelings, jealous!ghost

dead dove time*: this fic as a whole features a brief mention of a past suicide attempt, briefly graphic past child abuse (not CSA), past abuse of alcohol and present alcohol use, and at times dubious consent (consuming alcohol and engaging in sexual activities; dubcon voyeurism; dubcon sexting)

*this chapter features a detailed description of a panic attack and dubcon for drunk sex, proceed with care

summary: soap and ghost start hooking up; soap and könig have apparently been hooking up; ghost doesn't know how to deal with it (eventual polycule)

preview: He’s unsure if König would want to be touched during something like this, but the panic attack shows no signs of abating, König’s breaths coming harsher as he begins to choke and sputter. In a desperate attempt to de-escalate the situation, Simon places a hand flat on König’s chest under the flap of the vest and over his heart, which he can feel racing under his palm through the thin fabric of his shirt.

-

Simon smokes his second cigarette of the night alone on the terrace, off to the side and obscured from view of the flat where the party rages inside and has started to spill out onto the patio. 

He’s not as pissed as he had been with Bam on Christmas, but he’s getting there. He’d downed two bourbons before Soap had even introduced them to Leo, the host of the party, a friend Soap had met in Basic. 

The flat is more of a penthouse really, taking up the entirety of the topmost floor, easily the size of an aircraft hangar. It’s a traditional open concept layout decked out in shimmering gold tinsel and bursting with hanging wisteria. Leo’s even placed a stage and hired a DJ, the vastness of the space making for a perfect venue, especially with all the furniture cleared from the living area. A catering staff work frantically in the large kitchen with smartly dressed servers carrying trays of hors d'oeuvres and crystal flutes of champagne to glitzy and increasingly sloppy partygoers. 

Soap’s generous estimate of at most twenty guests had been laughably wrong. At least seventy people are in attendance, with more still filing in through the ornate french doors that lead into Leo’s penthouse. The flat is full to bursting as guests are forced onto the terrace to accommodate the press of bodies, all of whom are dressed to the nines in floor length gowns and designer suits. It’s more sequins, rhinestones, and feathers than Simon has ever seen in one place in his life. As the evening’s progressed, he’s come to realize the whole affair is less of a party, more like an exclusive event, the scope of which was severely albeit unintentionally downplayed when Soap had presented the plans that morning. 

Soap had apologized profusely when they’d driven past the building of flats in search of parking, where flapper girls and their sheiks lined the pavement waiting to be admitted by the doorman who was checking names from a clipboard. König’s demeanor had shuttered upon the realization that this was far from an intimate gathering, but he’d insisted on toughing it out. They were already dressed and here after all, and said as long as Soap didn’t leave his side he’d be fine. Simon had felt a pang of sympathy for König, a tenuous thread of solidarity. König probably longed for the veil in the same way Simon longed for his mask, for different reasons perhaps but each finding the same solace in facelessness. 

They–Soap and König–are somewhere inside, Simon having ditched them when he’d reached his limit of making nice. Soap had acquainted both König and Simon to Leo and his various other friends, artsy types from Edinburgh Soap knows through some of the local galleries he’d done art shows at. Simon had wanted to run for the terrace at the first introduction of König as Soap’s boyfriend and Simon as Soap’s friend-slash-coworker. Simon knows it’s a foolish thing to be upset over, knows that Soap knows they’re so much more than that, but they haven’t really talked about labels. In that moment, it’s like he backslid from all the progress he’d made earlier in the day, feeling out of place all over again. 

Two hours had dragged painfully, Simon attempting to socialize, answering questions about their line of work as vaguely as possible as he downed drink after drink, hoping to quell the nervous buzz under his skin. It had come to a head when Leo had commented privately to Simon on Soap and König’s relationship, how Leo had been hearing about this boyfriend for some time but had yet to meet him, how delighted he is to see Soap finally settling down with someone. Simon had excused himself from the conversation and made a hasty escape, as stealthy as could be despite his drunken state and figuring no one would notice his absence anyway. In all honesty, he’s rather content to sit this one out. 

The city lights twinkle before him like ships breaking apart in a dark sea. He’s long since ditched his suit jacket and removed his tie to unbutton his collar, doesn’t recall where he left them, and he’s sipping his seventh bourbon between puffs of his cigarette. From inside, he can hear the speedy bass-thump of some electroswing song. They’ve got a little under an hour until midnight, and Simon has no intention of seeking out Soap and König before they do what they’ve come here to accomplish, which is ring in the New Year together. 

As he mopes and drinks away his solitude, he hears the approaching sound of footsteps, dress shoes tapping out a rapid beat as they grow louder on the approach. Suddenly, König rounds the corner where Simon’s been hiding. Simon can hear his ragged breaths, his chest stuttering as he fights to inhale, loud even over the music from inside. König’s lost his suit jacket and his glasses, and he’s got both hands pressed over his face, covering his eyes. He doesn’t notice Simon as he comes into view. 

“Oi,” Simon says, abandoning his glass and cig on the ledge to brace his feet and square his shoulders in time to catch König before he barrels into him. 

“Öha,” König gasps, grabbing Simon’s forearms to steady himself. He can barely force the word out, throat constricted. Without his hands covering his face, his eyes are huge and wet, and he can’t quite meet Simon’s gaze. 

“You alright?”

König barks out a deranged laugh, answer clear as he moves out of Simon’s grip to slam his back against the brick façade and sink to the ground, knees pulled up tight to his chest, looking impossibly small as he brings his hands up to cover his face again. Simon crouches in front of him, concern creasing his brow as König hyperventilates. 

“Here,” Simon says, already reaching for König’s tie. “Can I loosen this?” König nods and Simon grips the knot, slips it lower and pulls the ring of it out from under König’s collar, which he undoes the first two buttons on as well. The vest he unbuttons entirely, pushing the flaps of it open to give König more room to breathe. 

He’s unsure if König would want to be touched during something like this, but the panic attack shows no signs of abating, König’s breaths coming harsher as he begins to choke and sputter. In a desperate attempt to de-escalate the situation, Simon places a hand flat on König’s chest under the flap of the vest and over his heart, which he can feel racing under his palm through the thin fabric of his shirt.

König grabs onto his wrist, squeezing hard enough that the bones in his wrist crunch. Simon thinks he’s about to be shoved away, but König instead holds him more firmly in place, clinging onto him like a lifeline. 

They sit like that while König tries to even out his breathing. He eventually pulls his other hand away from his face, eyes scrunched, and reaches for Simon’s free hand where it’s braced on the ground. When he finds it, Simon brings their joined hands up to his own chest, laying König’s palm flat over his heart, a perfect mirror of one another. König catches on as Simon slows his own breathing, inhaling deeply through his nose and out through his mouth, exhales ruffling the loose strands of hair that frame König’s face. König tries to match the rhythm of his breaths, fighting himself at first as his eyes finally meet Simon’s. They pull him back from the edge together one breath at a time. 

“Give me a sit-rep when you’re ready, soldier,” Simon whispers. 

König’s breathing evens out enough for him to say, “Too many people.” 

“That bad, eh?” Simon asks. König drops his hand from Simon’s chest first, Simon following suit so they’re no longer touching. 

“I was managing,” König replies. “Then some of Johnny’s friends pulled him away to dance and some of his other friends made me do Jager shots with them and then I got very intoxicated very quickly and I couldn’t find Johnny and there were just so many people.”

“So you got the hell out of dodge?”

König nods. “That’s when you found me.” 

“You found me, actually,” Simon quips. 

“Oida , always with the semantics,” König says and rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile in his voice. Simon doesn’t need a translation, König’s been calling him Oida for what feels like ages despite it only being a handful of times when their paths happened to cross.

“I’ve been hiding out here,” Simon admits. “Not really my thing.” He gestures in the direction of the party. 

“How long do you think before Johnny notices we’re both missing?” König asks.

“I give him ten minutes at most,” Simon says. He moves from where he’s crouching to retrieve his camels and bourbon, coming to sit beside König with his back against the brick which is frigid even through his clothes. He lights a cigarette and offers the carton to König who takes it without a word. They smoke side by side while he finishes his drink, sharing body heat where their shoulders are pressed together. 

König breaks the silence when he asks, “You and Johnny… when did you know?” 

The bourbon’s loosened his tongue, and he’s answering before he’s even really thought about it. “I wasn’t keen on him at first, but he’s got this way of getting under your skin, doesn’t he? Like, I couldn’t stop thinking about him once I started. Maybe from the first day we met.”  

König flicks his cigarette before saying, “It doesn’t take much, does it?”

“And what we do, all of us. We cheat death, and have to make do with living in between the moments we’re not cheating death,” he continues, surprising even himself with his conviction. “Fuck, even the synergy when we’re out in the field together, like we’re of one mind. The line starts to blur between admiration and desire. After Graves, I wanted to protect him, but it wasn’t long before I just wanted him, pure and simple.”

“Johnny and I, we were friends first, just kids when we met. The wanting came later, once we knew how to name it,” König says. 

“How did you do it, and for ten years no less?” Simon asks.

König shrugs. “It’s not that hard when you love someone.”

“You never stopped wanting him,” Simon states as he finishes his cigarette and drops the butt in his empty glass where it sizzles against the melting ice. 

“Nein .” 

“Johnny says you were seeing other people, but tell me honestly. Have you been with anyone else? This whole time?”

“Not once,” König answers, a decade of longing causing his normally clear voice to shake. “But I know what you mean about blurred lines, because I felt that way about you once.” The admission renders Simon speechless. “I never would have acted on it, you have this sort of intangibility about you, like you really were untouchable. I was surprised when Johnny told me you two had fooled around. But you really care about him, ja ?”

“Yeah,” Simon agrees.

“To be honest with you, I’m not sure where I fit,” König confesses as he stubs out the remainder of his cigarette on the wall behind him. 

“You’re taking the piss,” Simon says, scoffing with incredulity after the day he’s had. 

“Not at all,” König says. “Seeing you two together, it made me realize how much I want you both, and how much I want you to want me. It feels like Johnny was never mine but he could be ours.”

“Earlier tonight, in the loo–” Simon starts, but doesn’t know how to finish that sentence. He tries again, “This is all new to me, but I liked it. A lot.” 

König doesn’t respond, and to Simon it feels like there’s not much left to say. Their mutual confessions hang heavy in the air between them. 

“You know,” König says, breaking the silence yet again, something Simon is learning he tends to do when it becomes too awkward, like a nervous habit. “It’s traditional in Vienna to dance the waltz at the very start of the New Year,” he continues. He rises and offers his hand to Simon. “You enjoy dancing?”

“I’m absolutely mad for it,” Simon deadpans, but he takes König’s offered hand anyway and lets himself be pulled to his feet, the bourbon making his limbs feel loose and heavy. Blissed out and head fuzzy, he’s not overthinking like he normally would, pleased to go with the spirit of the newness of it all as König directs his arms and legs with his own. 

“The music is all wrong, but here,” König says, and takes Simon’s hand and places it on his narrow waist, places his own hand on Simon’s shoulder, takes Simon’s other hand in his, lifting it so that Simon’s holding König’s arm up. König’s palm is warm where it rests on his. 

“You lead, but I’ll instruct you,” König says. “Let’s try a basic forward-backward half box step.”

Simon says, “The way you say basic makes it seem like I should know what any of that means.”

“Hüft’s nix schodt’s nix. I think you’ll be surprised at how well combat training translates.”

“We’re both pissed, so keep your expectations low.”

König taps Simon’s left foot with his to start, indicating for him to step forward as König steps back. Then he repeats the same action but with a side-step, leading in reverse. After the first box, Simon begins to understand, and as König whispers “Eins, drei, zwei. Eins, drei, zwei,” under his breath, Simon counts along in his head, watching where his feet land. He glances up at König, chuffed that he’s managed to retain some level of coordination in this state, but as soon as he looks away from his feet, he steps on König’s toe, who yelps in response.

“Sorry,” Simon says, already pulling away. 

“Na, na, it was bound to happen,” König responds, not letting Simon get far. König initiates the waltz again, but Simon takes the lead from the first step, starts to rotate them in a half circle as they dance in the narrow space, out of view from the main party, to music that makes no sense for a waltz. 

Simon inevitably steps on König’s foot again, and then somehow manages to step on his other toe too, which sends König toppling back into the brick wall, pulling Simon down with him. Their dancing devolves into drunken laughter and a struggle to keep themselves upright. Simon glances up at König’s smiling face, sees his blue, blue eyes which glint in the moonlight. Without meaning to, he looks down at the pout of König’s lips, glances back up to find König looking at his lips too. 

The fire that had been burning low in his gut after their encounter back at Soap’s studio blazes to life, supernova hot and spurred by the alcohol which turns his blood molten in his veins. He uses his body weight to pin König to the wall, who allows it without protest, even slides down a bit to bring them eye to eye. Simon takes both of König’s shoulders in each of his hands, keeping him in place as he brings his lips just an inch away from König’s, so that he can feel the puff of König’s breaths. Weeks of frustrated jealousy bloom into maddening lust, a desire deep in his bones to claim ownership over this man who has challenged him beyond all measure of his own humanity. 

A low groan starts in the back of König’s throat as he tries to shove their mouths together in a kiss, but Simon shakes him once, hard, knocking him back against the brick wall and he goes lax under Simon’s touch, letting Simon support his weight. Simon gets a hand around his jaw first, then moves it to cover his neck and pins him against the wall so that König’s held in place by the threat of it. He feels immensely powerful, having finally tamed this challenger that had previously been undefeated, and the primal surge at the conquest has his prick hard and aching in his slacks in seconds. Something akin to victory unfurls in his chest as he moves to close the remaining space between their lips. 

At the barest press of König’s lips, he hears a sharp gasp to his left. He turns his head towards the sound and sees Soap watching them, mouth agape and eyes wide. He doesn’t look angry, but aroused, curious, Simon realizes. Jealous, even. Without a word Soap turns on his heel and saunters back in the direction of the penthouse, swaying on his feet, seemingly just as intoxicated as Simon feels. When Simon backs away from König, they lock eyes, an understanding passing between them as they move to follow Soap inside. 

Guests have overtaken the terrace, and Simon has to press his way through, trying to clear space for König to pass behind him. Glitzy partygoers grind on the dancefloor inside where the music plays at full volume, and Simon feels the vibrations of the bass through the soles of his shoes. He can barely hear the shouted conversations of the people around him, their chatter no more than an ambient hum. He scans the sea of bodies, searching for Soap’s tweed cap, which he spots as Soap disappears down a dark hallway adjacent to the entryway. 

As he and König pass a server carrying a tray of champagne flutes, he grabs two and downs them consecutively, craving more liquid courage. He abandons the empty glasses on a nearby table and catches König sideeyes him, but he withholds his judgment as they follow Soap down the hall. Drinking like this is an old vice, not one he partakes in to excess as often as he did when he was a younger man, but these last few weeks–this whole day really–have activated that raw, vulnerable part of him that hides in his chest, that he carries with him everywhere he goes, that thing with a voice like his father’s and all the anxieties of a scared little boy. He refuses to let it control him tonight. 

Soap disappears through an open door at the end of the hall into a dark room, Simon and König only a few steps behind. As Simon closes and locks the door behind them, Soap flicks on an antique glass lamp. They’re in what Simon can only assume is Leo’s bedroom, with its huge plush bed and ornate furniture. 

Soap stands across from Simon and König next to the bed. He pulls his cap off and tosses it away, crosses his arms over his chest. “You can kiss him now,” he instructs, a tremble in his voice. 

Simon’s not sure if it’s an order for him or König, but König makes the decision for him when he presses Simon into the bedroom door and lowers his mouth to Simon’s, the first soft press of him growing firmer as spit slicks the way and their lips slide together. Simon braces his palms against König’s chest as König grabs Simon’s waist, a reversal of their earlier positions when König had tried to teach him the waltz. 

He doesn’t hear Soap approaching but is startled when he feels hands fumbling with the clasp and zipper of his slacks. He opens his eyes just enough to look down to see Soap on his knees between his and König’s legs, already grabbing at Simon’s prick through his briefs, mouthing along the shaft of it and turning the fabric dark with saliva. His erection had flagged between the terrace and the bedroom, but it’s back with a vengeance when Soap pulls his cock through the hole in his briefs and suckles at the sensitive head. 

Simon moans into König’s mouth as Soap licks his way down to suck on his balls, licks back up the underside to take him into his mouth fully. He grips the base, clever boy, and sucks him so slowly, bobbing his head as drool drips down the shaft. Simon reaches for Soap’s hair, intending to fuck into his mouth and make Soap take him harder, faster, something, but König stops him with a hand around his wrist. 

In the next moment, König’s got both of his wrists gripped tight, and he’s raising Simon’s arms to pin them against the bedroom door above his head. The dominance in the display König makes of him has his knees buckling, but he’s being held up by König’s sheer strength and Soap’s fingernails digging into the meat of his hips as he sucks Simon deeper, deeper. 

König breaks the kiss to mouth at Simon’s cheek, chin, jaw, gets down to his neck and bites hard, sucking a bruise into the skin there, in the same place Soap loves to leave his mark. Simon’s held in place by König’s teeth, by his large, strong hands, while Soap works his cock at a torturous pace, drawing it out to the point of ecstasy, painful and pleasurable in equal measure. 

“Fucking hell, Johnny,” Simon growls as he tries to thrust his hips up, to force himself deeper down Soap’s throat. Soap grips Simon’s hips and pushes him back into the door with all his strength, and Simon can feel the fine shiver in his biceps as he fights to push against Soap’s hold. König grips both of Simon’s wrists above his head in one hand and uses his other hand to wrap around the base of Simon’s cock, jerking what Soap can’t swallow down, a sensation that never fails to get him off. 

“Fuck, fuck,” he chants, and his orgasm crests without preamble, squeezed out of him by König’s fist onto Soap’s tongue as he swallows around Simon’s prick. Some of it dribbles out the corner of his mouth as he lets Simon’s wet cock slip from between his lips to dribble the last spurt of spunk onto the wood floors. 

König releases him at once and he crumbles to the floor without the support, boneless, blood roaring in his ears. Distantly, he hears a loud knock on the door behind him. Leo shouts through the door, “Midnight’s in five!” Simon couldn’t care less. 

On the floor in front of him, Soap’s got his trousers undone and a hand fisting his cock furiously inside of them. Simon reaches for him, gets on his hands and knees to crawl forward enough to kiss Soap. He can taste the salt of his come on Soap’s tongue, smell himself on Soap’s lips and chin. He brings a hand up to pinch Soap’s nipple through his shirt, feeling the hard barbell and tugging it gently as Soap groans into his mouth. He knocks the suspenders from Soap’s shoulders and works the buttons of his shirt open, exposing his lightly furred chest and his hardening nipples, the glint of the piercings catching in the lamplight. 

Above them, König looks down on the scene the two of them make, lazily palming the massive bulge of his prick through his pants. Simon breaks the kiss and reaches for König’s belt loop and hooks his forefinger in it, using it to tug König closer as he fumbles the button and zipper open. König pulls himself out for Simon to see, jerks himself in earnest. He’s fucking huge because of course he is, but Simon doesn’t feel emasculated, if anything the swollen heft of him makes his mouth water, remembering how Soap had moaned while König fucked him. 

Simon turns back to Soap, gets a hand around the nape of his neck and brings their mouths together again in an open, sloppy kiss that’s all tongue. He bites and licks his way down Soap’s throat and chest, sucking on his pretty nipples, getting them wet and pink and putting on a good show for König. 

Soap’s moans grow louder and Simon can tell he’s close. He kisses his way back up Soap’s body to catch his mouth in another sloppy kiss, cups each of Soap’s pecs in his hands, thumbs his nipples, drives Soap crazy with gentle touches and flicks, making him shout when he gives them both a sharp tug. He’s shooting off in his pants within seconds, catching his come in his other palm so as to not ruin his slacks. He brings his soiled hand up to grip König’s cock which is inches from his face, slicks König’s skin as they jack him together, Simon watching their fists move together, transfixed. 

“On his tits,” Simon says, moving behind Soap to give König better access, all the while pinching Soap’s nipples.  He basks in the dirtiness of it, a voyeuristic delight that has his prick twitching, a desperate attempt to get hard again. 

“That’s it big guy, come on me, fuck yes,” Soap babbles, staring up at König who grunts his pleasure, hips thrusting into his and Soap’s combined grip. König’s back bows when he comes, jizz splattering across Soap’s chest in long, wet stripes. He drops to his knees, cock still dribbling out the last few pulses into his hand. Soap looks down at the mess, brings a hand up to swipe through the spunk on his pecs and brings it to his mouth as he looks back up at König, glancing between him and Simon, an unspoken offering behind his eyes. 

Without a second thought, Simon leans forward to lick up the mess from his right tit, sucking Soap’s pierced nipple into his mouth on each pass. König follows suit, cleaning the other side, and Soap moans, covers his face with one hand and eventually pushes them both away with the other, overstimulated and skin as sensitive as a live wire. They lie on the hard floor together, catching their breath. Simon stares dazedly at the ceiling, piss drunk and high on endorphins, residual waves of pleasure still pulsing in his gut and groin. 

From outside the bedroom, the music has stopped and they hear the chant of the guests as they begin to count down from ten, nine, eight, so on. A thunderous cheer erupts to the tune of “Happy New Year!” as the music starts up again. 

Over the din, König whispers, “Happy birthday.” 

Simon rolls onto his side and props himself up on his elbow to look down at Soap and König, who stare back at him, a feeling of wonderment passing between the three of them. He leans down to kiss Johnny first, and feels König move in closer on Soap’s other side to kiss along Simon’s cheek and eventually capture his lips from Soap. Simon breaks the kiss to catch his breath, and König bends his neck down to kiss Soap as well. 

Simon holds them both while König presses sweet pecks to Soap’s lips with loud, obnoxious smacks, making Soap laugh. The tenderness of the moment coupled with his drunkenness makes his eyes water. König and Soap break apart when they hear him sniffle, to see the wetness on his face. When they lean in together to kiss the tears away, the soft press of their lips against his scarred skin is like something akin to sacrament, holy in the way they drink this exquisite pain wrought by their touch. In that moment he feels protected, invincible. He cries harder, overcome.  

Soap whispers against his cheek, “Let’s go home.”

*******

Öha: sorry Oida: literally old man, but the connotation is more like mate/dude as I've come to understand it Hüft’s nix schodt’s nix: doesn't help, doesn't hurt, used when someone is hesitant to try something new

#soapghost #mw2 #modern warfare 2 #call of duty #soapghostkönig #soapböx #cod #cod könig #cod ghost #cod soap #mw2 soap #mw2 ghost #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #gasoline in your heart #my fic #mw2 fic #soapghost fic #cod fic

[foofygoldfish]

apparently i'm at the "eats a pack of gushers and is surprised by the juice being in the middle" point of being tired

#mariahs rambles #it's been a d a y #first i had emma's problem #and then i rushed straight from the vet to my neighbor's birthday party at the shop #which *was* a masked affair which was nice - and apparently most of them have had at least one dose of the vaccine #but i then got to watch everyone eat food i'm allergic to while i nibbled on breadsticks (((: #my mom saw that the menu was pasta and that's not dairy or eggs so that's fine obviously! #but no i can't have tomatoes half the time anyways since they are so high in histamines #i'm home now but i almost ran to meijer (which i've been avoiding for a solid six??? eight???? months) to get some chocolate cheesecake #because the cake they were cutting infront of me and gushing about how good it was was a lemon cake and i adore lemon flavored stuff #blech

[officerjennie]

Title: As the Clouds Whisp Overhead

Summary: Jaskier gets off on Geralt's soft thighs and tummy. Literally. Geralt relaxes back and lets him, enjoying the show. Weight gain spoken of positively. Pairing: Geraskier. WC: 3.5K+

CW: smut, brief mention of weight loss due to difficult times (past)

It had been a rather easy spring, all things considered.

Geralt lazed in the field, not really watching the clouds that drifted overhead, his eyes closed and breaths deepening into an almost meditative state. The smell of wine and cheese was almost drowned out by the wildflowers about them but it was still there, as was the scent of apples, salt, the road, and the lingering oils that Jaskier had insisted on wearing ever since he’d discovered Geralt’s nose was sensitive to the others that he used to reek of.

Said bard was currently shuffling their lunch about, putting most of it away for later, humming one of his newest tunes as he folded back up the blanket he’d apparently bought for just this occasion. Though they’d eaten plenty of meals without it or the basket he’d purchased at the market as well, Jaskier had insisted that a picnic was a special affair and deserved the right accessories to make it just right.

Geralt had just let him do as he wished, not worried about his friend’s coin purse - and not worried about his own, for once. Usually the end of winter spelled a time of heavy work for him but he’d lucked out on a couple of easy and well paying jobs right off the bat - so he thought a bit of down time wouldn’t be the end of the world for them.

The song on Jaskier’s lips was one he hadn’t quite finished yet. Geralt had already heard several different renditions of the first verse alone, lyrics tweaked here and there, the exact lilt of his voice changing back and forth as he tried to settle on what he believed would sound the best. And despite his occasional grumbling over the repetition it was a rather relaxing tune, one he didn’t mind listening to.

Beyond that, there was a sort of...intimacy that came with being trusted with Jaskier’s unfinished works. The knowledge that Jaskier wasn’t always his best around him, was able to fuck around with a song and riddle the air with curses of “bollocks” and “cock” while he tried and failed and tried again to make it just right. That Geralt could see him like this and not the perfected performance that he was to the rest of the world, the mask that was firmly in place right up until the moment he didn’t want it to be.

And that moment just so happened to frequently involve witchers, whether directly or indirectly. How many times had he gone feral on someone for just saying the wrong thing about one of Geralt’s colleagues? Just early that spring he’d jumped someone for spitting on the ground over Lambert’s name, and Jaskier hadn’t even met him yet.

Something like pride welled up in his chest at the thought, though it was a quiet thing. Jaskier should be more careful, he shouldn’t be fighting their fights - but it meant the world to him all the same that he wanted to. Especially for his brothers.

“You know, I’ve never been one for cheese and crackers as anything more than a snack, but that was simply delightful.” Jaskier’s voice came closer as he talked, and the flowers and grass were disturbed next to him as the bard flopped over at his side, quickly snuggling in when Geralt moved his arm to make room for him. “We’ll have to go back and ask again what the name of that cheese was. Never have I ever given so much thought to pairing and wines and all that stuff - my youngest sister was always more interested in that sort of thing, and really if I heard her say one more time that my palette wasn’t refined enough I might have had to hide frogs in her bed again.”

Jaskier settled in nicely at his side, slotting in like they were made for each other, fit perfectly together. He chattered away and Geralt mostly tuned him out, something Jaskier loved to fake hurt over though they both knew it was just that: fake. Over the years Geralt had perfected hearing what he needed to hear and simply listened to the tune of Jaskier’s voice, the song of his highs and lows, his sighs and breaths and every heartbeat becoming the song that was his bard.

Meditation came easier around Jaskier than it did anyone else. Even around his own family it was a struggle. Lambert was a little shit at the best of times and Eskel simply existed larger than he wanted to, and Geralt was always tuned into his brothers, paying attention to them because he knew just how limited theri time was together. But with Jaskier, he could rest, relax, simply let himself be like he’d never experienced with anyone else.

His arm rested at Jaskier’s back, hand loose on his side, barely hanging on and feeling his bard breath in and out as he spoke. Jaskier’s fingers tapped a rhythm where they were rested on his chest, though eventually they moved, sliding down to rest against his stomach and making Geralt hmm at the pleasant warmth they brought.

They’d stripped earlier to bathe in the nearby river and had mostly dressed, though Jaskier had forwent his doublet as Geralt had his armor. It was nice, being out in the wild, away from the faux sense of safety that inn rooms allowed them and yet still able to be this content without his armor on. Just their loose clothing, not enough to be considered decent in any sort of societal setting, simply existing and being and just…

Geralt was content, and he didn’t consider that a bad thing. Not in the slightest.

A breeze rustled the field about them, loose silver hair tickling his face though Geralt didn’t have the bother in him to brush it out of the way or tuck it behind his ear. The air smelled nice for once, no clogging dust on the wind, no rotting anything nearby nor farms to make his nose want to clog itself. Since the summer was still a ways off the sun wasn’t too harsh on his skin, his chemise enough to keep any possible chill away though it was warm enough in this part of the country, everything pleasant and not too much.

There was also a lovely set of fingers that had wormed their way under his chemise. Jaskier hadn’t bothered to push it up, had just scooted his hand underneath, and with very gentle circles had begun to rub patterns into the soft flesh there. It was enough to make Geralt melt beneath him, a soft hmm on his lips accompanied by a sigh as he felt his every muscle relax at the touch. The winter had been extra good to him, Eskel having returned with more coin than expected from his path which had meant more meat for their stews, and the lot of them had eaten extra well.

Jaskier had never shied away from letting him know exactly how much he appreciated it when he ate well. There had been a few times on their own path that food had been scarce, and despite witchers having an accelerated metabolism Geralt had always done his best to see after his bard first and foremost - so when times were tough his body showed it, and Jaskier had played his fingers raw when he saw the worst of it just to make sure the both of them could eat their fill.

But there had been no such worries or struggles yet this year, what with the good winter and the well paying contracts that had followed. Geralt’s stomach was full and soft, protecting the muscles and other important organs underneath, and the rest of him was showing the spoiling as well. His thighs had grown softer, somewhat straining against the material of his pants but it wasn’t quite uncomfortable yet - he knew well enough to keep his clothes somewhat baggy, to make room for the waxing and waning that came with the path. His chest, too, had grown softer, encouraging Jaskier to nuzzle into it at any given opportunity.

Those calloused fingers found some of the scars that ran across his belly, caressing them gently. Some stretch marks veined their way across his skin as well, hidden at the moment by his chemise but Jaskier felt his way across them all the same, giving off a gentle sigh as he snuggled in closer and traced his love wherever he could reach.

Geralt could not have thought of a more peaceful way to spend the afternoon. The clouds blurred as his eyes slid closed at the tender affection, his breaths deepening. Deep breaths in through his nose, smelling the wildflowers. A rabbit was nearby, chomping as quietly as it could on some grass, its hops barely whispers as it braved further away from its burrow. Geralt could hear the gentle chuffing of its babies hidden away, the call of a hawk overhead that sent the rabbit scurrying. The scent of budding trees, of a little mouse that had found some seeds to munch. The scent of his bard, his oils and shampoo and the hint of river on the both of them, and the growing scent of-

A snort brought them both a bit out of the peace, and Geralt cracked his eyes just enough to smirk down at the startled confusion growing on his bard’s face.

“Really?”

Those pretty pink lips pouted up at him as if Jaskier wasn’t fully aware of what was growing in his pants. Geralt made a show of raising one of his eyebrows, raking his gaze down, down his bard, straight to stare at his crotch just long enough to get his point across before flicking his eyes right back up.

It took a few seconds for his bard to catch up, Geralt watching the thoughts clear as day on Jaskier’s face, until red spread pretty across his cheeks and darkened the speckle of freckles there. Jaskier sputtered a bit and Geralt had to bite back a wider grin, starts to words that had no finish dropping between them before Jaskier cut himself off with a whine, ducking in to nuzzle into his chest and push the rest of his body closer.

“That’s not fair, Geralt - what, can you, I don’t know, smell it or something?”

Geralt didn’t respond to that, just reached up to tug a stray curl back behind Jaskier’s ear. His bard peeked up at him with another adorable pout jutting out his lower lip, his nose scrunched up as he waited for his ‘ridiculous suggestion’ to be shot down.

But it wasn’t shot down. And Jaskier frowned, and then he squeaked, climbing on top of Geralt to straddle him and poke a very firm finger straight into the chest he’d just been nuzzling.

“You and your- your entirely unfair witcher ways! Are you telling me you could tell all this time? Every time?” Geralt didn’t stop his grin this time and the indignation just grew, hand gestures growing wider. “That is- Geralt, how am I suppose to walk through life knowing you can smell my erection? How am I ever supposed to get up of a morning knowing my every waking naughty thought will be given away? Which yes is entirely too often but you’re entirely not fair, have you looked in a mirror in the past decade? Cruelty, unfair, entirely too sexy for your own good, for anyone’s own good-”

Jaskier went on like that, ranting like only he could, while Geralt eventually tuned his words out just to listen to the lilt of his voice. And the bard made a rather pretty picture himself, straddling him like that. His chemise was loose, showing off curls of dark hair that Geralt could run his fingers through for an eternity and never be bored of it. Broad tanned shoulders, a soft stomach barely hidden underneath his clothes, his pants a wonderful shade of green that fit in with the waking world around them.

A very pretty picture, but a noisy one at the moment. Geralt sighed but Jaskier went on, wildly flourishing his hands as if it was the end of the world that Geralt could smell his arousal. An arousal that had notably not died down, still pressing against the fabric of his pants, catching Geralt’s eyes and making him tilt his head in that way that Jaskier insisted was ‘adorable’ - though Geralt didn’t think he was capable of such a thing.

His thigh twitched with a rather mischievous thought, and as Geralt’s gaze traveled back up to Jaskier’s face, cheeks still stained pink from his rather unnecessary embarrassment, he thought there perhaps that voice would do better singing for him than ranting about his dramatics.

He’d been called an asshole before, and Geralt had never disagreed with the label. But he was lucky enough that Jaskier for the most part never minded - and he greatly doubted Jaskier would mind his next movement.

As Jaskier waved one of his delicate looking wrists in the air, dandelion seeds drifting on the wind about them, Geralt shifted beneath him until he had room to lift up one of his thighs. Before Jaskier could catch his movement it pressed up into him, cutting his bard off with a gasp, his eyes fluttering as Geralt’s smile showed teeth.

“That’s-” Jaskier pressed right down onto his thigh, his hands coming down to support him, and he didn’t waste any time in making it more enjoyable for himself. Shifting down, one hand placed on Geralt’s chest to support him, Jaskier straddled his thigh and slowly ground down onto it. A pretty moan escaped his lips and his tongue darted out as if to catch it.

It was a lovely show, watching as Jaskier pressed down onto him, sought out his own pleasure by rubbing against his thick thigh. Geralt pillowed his head on his arms and just watched, not moving his leg, letting Jaskier set his own pace and feeling pride bubble up in his chest at how pretty he sung for him. On a particularly rough grind Jaskier whimpered and rutted against him faster, making Geralt’s own cock twitch - but he wasn’t really in the mood for pleasure, so he ignored it in favor of the show.

Though he made for a beautiful picture, back lit by the sun and clouds, a pretty blue above that couldn’t quite beat the beautiful blue of his eyes, Jaskier wasn’t purposely looking good for a show. He didn’t touch his own skin like he did when he rode Geralt, didn’t skim his hands down his chest and stomach to show it off. Didn’t bite his lip or run and tangle his fingers into his curls. The emotions that crossed his face were not stressed or controlled, his noises slipped out without thought, his body moving without any purpose beyond pleasuring himself - and it made it a moment Geralt wanted to sear into his memory forever. That Jaskier could let go like this for him. That he trusted that Geralt didn’t mind, trusted that Geralt did not judge him for his desires. How human Jaskier allowed himself to be, imperfect and all the more beautiful for it.

“Fuck,” Jaskier cursed on an exhale, his movements already shaking, his cock dripping enough precum that it soaked into the front of his pants. Geralt could almost feel it wetting his own. “Geralt I- fuck you’re gorgeous, so gorgeous, I want to-” his hips stuttered, breath catching on a moan, brown curls caught on the wind and dancing. “Can- can I get off on your stomach? Gods it’d be so soft, feel so good, I- fuck.”

That was something he’d never requested before. Geralt quirked an eyebrow, belying another twitch of his own cock, but he grunted out “If you must.” And he had to bite back a chuckle at how quickly Jaskier’s fingers went for the ties of his pants.

Jaskier’s cock was leaking profusely though that wasn’t anything he didn’t already know. It looked like it was aching from it, hard and red and angry when he fished it out of his pants and smalls, and Jaskier whined as he couldn’t help but stroke himself a few times. His hips bucked with it, a greedy and wanting noise slipping from between his wet lips - but then he was slipping down Geralt’s leg to straddle his hips, and his cock was pushed against the soft skin of his stomach.

It didn’t slide against him very easily. The precum leaking from the tip helped, but Jaskier didn’t seem to care, holding onto his cock and gently rubbing it against him, jaw wide and loose like it was the single most pleasurable act Jaskier had ever experienced. Geralt cocked his head and tore his gaze away from Jaskier to watch his cock rub circles on him, precum dribbling faster and catching in the hair that curled white all over his abdomen.

Honestly, Geralt didn’t quite understand it. Wasn’t entirely sure what had Jaskier’s breath coming so fast, his heart beating so quick at rubbing against his soft stomach. But he didn’t really care. Jaskier’s hips jerked and he fought to keep himself reigned in, to keep his movements steady and slow, and Geralt just watched him and let him. Let him take this pleasure, smelling the arousal coming off of him in waves, listening to the rhythm of his breaths and body and heart. And Geralt memorized every little detail, from the flutter of his long eyelashes to the way his fingers dug into Geralt’s side, nails just at the edge of biting him.

Jaskier whimpered, long and shaking, when he came. It was desperate, his face scrunching up, eyes shut tight as if he was grasping onto the pleasure with all of his might. Geralt reached out to take hold of one of his hands, letting Jaskier clench his fingers as hard as he needed, bringing them up to brush his lips against the knuckles as Jaskier spilled all over his stomach.

His bard almost collapsed onto him, but Geralt moved him before that could happen, bringing him down with a shush at his further whimpers and letting him rest once more in the crook of his arm. And Jaskier came down slow, heartbeat eventually matching the rhythm of his deepening breaths, eyes still scrunched up tight as if he didn’t want to let go of what he’d been feeling.

When Geralt ran his fingers through his curls, they were damp with sweat. He hummed, not minding, just holding him close as he melted against him.

Eventually, Jaskier stretched, letting his arm flop against Geralt’s chest and legs tangle with his once more. He almost made an effort to open his eyes. Almost. Instead he frowned lightly, nuzzling into Geralt and as he moved impossibly closer.

“Want me to return the favor, love?” His words were light things that could have been carried off by the wind if Geralt’s hearing had been even slightly worse.

In truth, Geralt was turned on. How could he not be when Jaskier had ridden his thigh and stomach so beautifully? But he thought it over for a minute, the cool breeze tickling his face with a few stray white hairs, the scent of wildflowers coming back to him as the one of arousal dissipated.

“No,” he said finally, pulling Jaskier closer to kiss the top of his head. Despite the interest his body had shown he found he wasn’t in the mood himself, content enough to let Jaskier have his pleasure and leave it at that.

Jaskier just hummed, not questioning him further, and a small smile tugged at Geralt’s lips knowing there would be no hurt feelings over it. His bard’s fingers eventually went back to lazily tracing patterns into his skin, though he made a bit of a yucky face when they found the sticky mess he’d left of Geralt’s stomach hairs. Still they were both far too content to clean up just yet, not even wasting the energy to tuck Jaskier’s softening cock back away in his pants as they laid there, relaxed, enjoying the non-harsh sun and the clouds that lazed across the sky overhead.

“Coin for your thoughts?” Jaskier whispered into his chest after a time, and Geralt grunted, not even opening his eyes to look down as he responded.

“A bigger food budget.”

A moment later, and Jaskier’s laugh filled the field around them, sharp and uncontained, a laugh that was so far away from the performance he played that it drew a chuckle out of Geralt as well. That they could be themselves around each other, that they could be so carefree and human, was the most joyous thing Geralt had ever found in his long, long life - and that they’d discovered a new way to have fun was exciting, and Geralt was certainly going to take advantage of this new discovery. How could he not, when his reward was a well-pleased bard melting in his arms.

#why did I give this smut piece such a poetic title? #geraskier #geralt #jaskier #the witcher #fanfiction #mywriting #lemony #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #geralt of rivia #geralt/jaskier #jaskier/geralt #gerskier #and now back to writing the stuff I'm supposed to be working on

[shepard-ram]

Ambassadors Work [Hc!Reader & Tommy, Tubbo, Ranboo]

(P!Hurt/comfort, Request: I love your work so much, whenever i get in the feelz i like to read ur work to make me happy 😊. Can write smth about dsmp and hc meet or reader coming from hc and making dsmp meet her home(hc)?)

(I am beyond happy you can find comfort in my work!! This was an interesting one to write. Also this takes place sometime before dream got bonked into jail, and before the Hcbbs showed up. Sidenote: I know you used she/her pronouns in your request, but I try to keep things gender neutral by default- avoiding pronouns altogether when possible. Sorry if this doesn't fit what you wanted but the only thoughts I had were from my anons)

(Yes, this has become my fix-it comfort from someone's death.)

[Part 2 -New Day Brings New faces]

[End Busting -side episode]

----------

You had always tried to stay informed on the world outside of the server you called home. Sometimes it felt like you spent more time off world than in your base, but you took pride in your knowledge of "foreign affairs" as you joked.

Naturally when you heard rumors of the events happening on a server called The Dream Smp it yelled for your attention. With some of the most famous fighters going off to join, only for a few to come back and immediately leave again after Mcc. The last person to leave was a certain ram hybrid, and he was apparently called back to give an endorsement in an election. To say you were curious when he didn't return would be an understatement.

Eventually you got the chance to visit on behalf of the Hermits. While they were worried to see you go by yourself, you had proved that you could handle yourself just fine. When the time came to cross the threshold, a few of the hermits including your admin escorted you up to the green portal. You were the only one whitelisted, they couldn't go through even if they tried. With one last goodbye, a promise to return by the next day, and a deep breath you stepped into the unfamiliar world.

The servers namesake admin was there to greet you. His image wasn't new to you, many outside the Smp knew his trademark mask. You agreed to a tour of the smp with him, after all you didn't come here with a notebook to not learn about the server.

-----

Which ring of hell was this?

That and other similar thoughts rose up again and again over the course of your little history lesson. At first you tired to rationalize it with the fact you used to Hermitcraft. It was just culture shock. When you live in a server filled with mega bases, industrial farms, a thriving economy, wings and boxes taken from the end you're going to think this is bad, to say the least.

Yet the more you were shown, the more you were told, the more people you talked to, you knew this wasn't just you being spoiled. It was practically all war, violence and mistrust. As much as the events shook you, it was the people who put pin after pin through your heart.

Then you had your braking point; three boys, not even adults yet having been put through some of the worst the server had to offer. An enderman hybrid clutching a book so tightly, a teenage president with a scar sealing his right eye shut, and a broken revolutionary with a ghost for a brother.

You knew you had to do something, if you could help anyone you were going to help them. When you saw them you instantly started forming a plan. When night fell you found them and offered this plan. They were hesitant to say the least, but you kept talking. Stories and promises of your home, and a deal that they could return anytime they want and eventually they were sneaking back to spawn with you.

They stayed much closer to each other than to you, but that wasn't a concern for you right now. The only thought going through your mind was getting back to the portal. With one last sprint to the gateway you didn't look back as you followed the boys, ready to guide them to a much better place.

-----

It was almost sunrise by the time you returned. Hermitcrafts portal was connected to the nether portal under town hall. As the boys got their first look at your home bathed in orange sunlight, wide eyed awe covered their faces. You smiled as gestured to the island,

"Welcome to Hermitcraft!"

"Were exactly are we?" Tubbo asked while staring at the diamond trees.

"Our shopping district," You informed with pride. "Almost anything you can think of is sold here. No one steals, and no one messes with shops beyond maybe changing a sign."

Tommy was about to ask "Really?" before Ranboo exclaimed apon stepping back to look behind you.

"What is that?!" He was looking at town hall, the diamond throne clearly in view.

"The diamond throne." You watch as the other two looked back, sharing his wonder. "To build a shop you have to spend some diamonds on the plot of land, you add you payment here."

"What do you do with all of them?"

"Well they are technically Scars, he's our mayor. Great guy- he decides how to use them for the district. There's usually not much to spend them on though so they kinda just sit there." You knew you'd have alot more explaining to do.

From there you took them on a tour of the district, as well as pointing out the bases you could see from the shore. You had also gave a briefing on the Turf war as they asked about the warehouse and mushroom castle of an Headquarters. By the end of it the four of you sat back on the steps of town hall.

As the sun started to fully rise you realized just how little sleep you all had gotten, haven woke them up in the night to leave the Smp. As nice as it would be to have them awake when you told the Hermits what you had seen, you didn't do anything as they fell asleep on the less than comfortable stairs.

You tried to fight your own rest. Wanting to be able to explain everything, but as one of the boys leaned against you (You weren't sure who at this point) you couldn't help but close your eyes. They were finally safe, and for now that was more than enough.

#mcyt x y/n #mcyt x you #mcyt x reader #dream smp x reader #dsmp x reader #Shepard ram writes #c: tommy #c: tubbo #c: ranboo

[adiabolikpastel]

Title: Lunar Eclipse Masquerade

Kanato pt. 1

Rating: PG

Word Count: 1,291

Pairing: Kanato x Yuuki (m/f)

ღ After hearing the news about his father's Masquerade, Kanato feels the effects of the moon while trying to get dressed. ღ

Mun Yu: This is going to be presented a little different than my other written works. Since it is so long, I have decided to publish it in parts, rather than the novel that it is. Each boy will receive their own post, some getting more post than others. For each post, it will make a sort of time line of events - to help paint the entire story. All post will begin with the premise, and the continuation under the cut. Enjoy.

Additionally: I would love to thank @akai-anemone for their wonderful analysis on the affects of the Lunar Eclipse in DL

☆+ ﾟ .+ .ﾟ.ﾟ｡ ﾟ ｡. +ﾟ ｡ﾟ.ﾟ｡☆*｡｡ . ｡ o .｡ﾟ｡.o｡* ｡ .｡

Despite what most people think, demonic beings are very social creatures. The elites hold countless balls and parties, celebrating their immortality together, and entertaining one another with stories. Typically, they are done in celebration for something – though this is not always the case. All types of beings from across the Demon Realm will come if the host is of high enough prestige.

There would be no such host if it was not for Karlheinz. Seated as the head of the Bat Clan (vampires), Karl’s reach spans far. Being the widow for the former Demon King’s daughter, and having children of the first blood, an invitation from the Vampire King is not one to refuse. Though why would you? In his immaculate castle within the Demon Realm, Eden Castle, it is always quite the spectacle. While the celebrations held in his Human World mansion are nice, nothing compares to a true night of pleasure within the true home of the King.

On this night, there was to be a Masquerade in honor of the first Lunar Eclipsed Moon in over two years. While this night may serve each species differently, the idea to celebrate its return was simply too tempting. For this reason, Karlheinz took it upon himself – or rather – his house, to host the event. This extended to his offspring as well, regardless of their personal agenda. Members of every social elite race accepted the offer, and gathered for a truly unforgettable evening.

Restless. Irritated. Apprehensive. Panicky. Yuuki could clearly see all of these emotions simply bubbling through Kanato. The night before the household was informed of a ball taking place in the Demon Realm in the Bat Clan’s official home. Apparently, Reiji did not tell anyone the news until this moment on purpose, so they would have no chance to decline. That being the case, Yuuki could understand their distress. Full Moons were always so difficult for all of them, she couldn’t imagine having to deal with that as well as a formal affair.

Regardless of their feelings though, all six of the boys, in their own reluctant way, prepared for the evening. Karl had sent them specific outfits to wear, each one unique yet uniformed. White three piece suits, lined with silver, and complemented by beautiful teal color broaches. Kanato’s was surprisingly intercut, at least six or seven different pieces – Yuuki wasn’t sure. Since the night of the news Kanato had been in a mood.

He was acting more clingy than usual – which was already fairly intense. Although that was normal of him for Full Moons, somehow this felt different. Yuuki knew that Kanato had to be anxious for the night ahead. Sure enough as the smallest vampire dressed himself, his temper flared.

“Ahh! This is unacceptable!” Kanato whines as he steps on the trailing of his outfit. Yuuki was seated on their bed, putting together something special for Kanato. “Why do you simply sit there!? You would have me look like a fool!” Kanato’s emotions begin to swell as the all too familiar tone in his voice notes the tears in his eyes.

Yuuki felt the pain in his voice, as she always did whenever Kanato started a tantrum. “Why don’t I help you?” She offers, placing the small accessory on the bed. “I could help with your hair!” She offers happily.

Sniffling, Kanato walks over to the bed, and sits beside Yuuki. His tears fall softly onto the blankets, but for the moment he does not lash out. Yuuki gets right to work, wanting Kanato to feel confident with himself. She grabs the usual supplies; comb, hair gel, and hair pins. To her amazement, Kanato sat quietly through the process. He even seemed to be enjoying himself, Yuuki could see it on his face.

As she secured his last pin, Yuuki also grabbed the surprise she had been working on. “One last touch… I thought this would look cute on you. It goes right… here.” Yuuki says securing a floral arranged, ribbon hair pin, with a cute bat in it.

Kanato got up to look at himself in the mirror, staring, similarly to how he would stare at Yuuki when she was modeling a new outfit for him. “… have I become your doll now…” He asks softly, a hint of humor in his voice.

Yuuki got up, and walked over to join him, “No! That’s not- I made that because… well… if you don’t like it that’s okay!” She panics a little, worried that Kanato was going to become angry. Instead, the vampire smiled and started laughing.

Yuuki watched in confusion. Not that it was uncommon for Kanato to laugh, but his words and actions were not making sense. As Kanato calmed he turned to Yuuki and cupped her face. Her body immediately responds to the familiar touch, causing her knees to become weak. A soft blush darkening her face.

“Mine… or Yours… I wonder just which is right…” Kanato murmurs moving his lips slowly to hers. The kiss is soft. There is no anger or anxiety behind it. Those emotions seem to have vanished. “How is it that you are still here…? Have I not tormented you enough…? Are you not so scared of me…? I could break you in an instant… yet you choose to stay with me…"

Yuuki could do nothing as she looked up into her keeper’s eyes. He seemed genuinely hurt, as if he was speaking to something that caused him suffering. Before she could stop, tears began to form in her eyes. The feeling in her chest ached for him. Her hands reached up on their own and grasped onto his outstretched arms.

Kanato couldn’t help but smirk, “Now you even cry for me… You truly are My Doll after all…” He moves one of his hands off her face to take Yuuki’s hand in his. Turning her wrist to his lips, Kanato kisses her flesh softly before biting into it. Despite the pain, Yuuki didn’t flinch or try to pull away from him. They stayed like this until Kanato had his fill, pulling away just enough to lick at blood that rushed from the wound.

Yuuki used her other hand to wipe the tears from her eyes, “… are… you okay now… Kanato-san…?” She watched him clean the wound, and in no time it closed.

“There was never anything ‘wrong’ with me.” Kanato says, dropping her wrist and moving back to fix himself in the mirror. “This look will have to do, I suppose.” Moving to secure the final additive of the teal broach, he motions to the closet. “More importantly, why are you not dressed yet? You do not intend for me to go alone? Are you not My Doll, you should be with me at all times, yes?”

Even with the abrupt emotional shift in Kanato’s personality, Yuuki felt better now that he was at least talking like himself again. She walks over to their closet and opens it to find a long strapless gown. Deep purple in color, with silver trimming on the chest and waist, and soft sparkles throughout the skirting. In addition there were a pair of matching heels, and a Masquerade mask. It reassembled the same type of design as Kanato’s hair clip. When his mask was on, the two looked as if they truly planned to coordinate so well.

Yuuki’s eyes widened taking in the ensemble Kanto placed together for her. “Kanato-san… it’s beautiful… but I-"

“You would not question my invitation, right. After all… you will be seen with me publicly by many…” Kanato interrupts her protest. With a smile he extends his hand to her, “You will join me on this night… won’t you~ nfu?”

☆+ ﾟ .+ .ﾟ.ﾟ｡ ﾟ ｡. +ﾟ ｡ﾟ.ﾟ｡ TO BE CONTINUED ☆*｡｡ . ｡ o .｡ﾟ｡.o｡* ｡ .｡

#writing #Lunar Eclipse Masquerade #LEM #Kanato sakamaki #yuuki koishikawa #kanuki

[prairiesongserial]

16.1

The lights on the burlesque stage went out just as Friday’s brassiere fell open - the timing of which she and Abernathy had been practicing for days. The crowd was so reactive that Friday felt the whistles and applause reverberating in the floorboards as she hustled off the stage. It was a louder reception than she was used to. She’d had fans at the Ace, but unlike the burlesque tent of the Madsen and Graves Circus, the Ace was just as much about drinking and catching up with friends over cards as it was about the girls.

Behind the curtain, in the tiny staging area, Beatrix was getting ready for her fan dance - she always did the finale, and it was always the same act. Friday had picked up the importance of crowd control since she first started hanging around the burlesque tent. With just cloth tent-flaps between yourself and a crowd that had been waiting a year for the circus to come through town, it was important they understood when the show was over.

A little girl popped through the curtain behind Friday while Friday was still trying to fix her brassiere back in place.

“Hey, baby,” Friday said, shooting her a smile. Jaelle, All-Fair’s kid, had been working the crowd. It was odd - usually Johannes did the burlesque tent himself, or at least got one of the men to do it. They blended in better. On the other hand, looking at the dozens of rings jammed on Jaelle’s fingers and the watches crawling up her arms, maybe the kid was the right choice.

“Hello, Miss Friday,” Jaelle said. She deposited her goods in the tin lock-box that Abernathy would come collect at the end of the night, turning the key with an air of great importance. “Can’t stay and chat - Johannes has me working every tent in the circus.” She heaved a sigh. “Bury me standing - I’ve been on my knees all my life.”

Friday had no idea what Jaelle was talking about, but the kid took off before she could ask. The circus would be winding down, now that the burlesque tent was putting on its last show. Friday threw slacks and a shirt on over her sequined underwear, still soaked in sweat from performing. She needed an ice cream cone before the stall packed up for the night.

When Friday left the tent, she was abruptly reminded that this was no ordinary show.

Her boots tread on grass, but there was no sky here. Despite the fact that it should have been past ten at night, dozens of lights high up on a domed ceiling gave the impression of daylight. Johannes’s amplified voice reached her from the main tent as he announced the last attraction. All at once, the lights on the ceiling shifted from yellow to orange to red, performing dusk in a matter of seconds. If not for that, the effect would have been eerily realistic.

Friday got a strawberry cone from Di and decided to wander over to the main tent. Might as well.

The last act in the main tent was fire-hooping, which was worth watching. The twin clowns had shed the baggy overalls from their tumbling routine and now wore form-fitting red and blue harlequin outfits as the flaming hula hoops arced through the air in perfect sync. Not only were the fire-hoopers impressive, but when the flames were extinguished at the end of the show, it made for a powerful symbol. Lights out, go home.

Friday felt the lightest touch against her back pocket. Most people would have written it off as the movement of displaced air as someone nearby walked past. Friday jerked her hand back and caught a slim wrist.

“Damn, I’ve been made,” Jaelle whispered.

“It’s just me,” Friday said, letting go. She beckoned Jaelle forward. “See that cluster of people three rows ahead of us, a little to the left? Heavy purses.”

Jaelle squinted in the direction Friday had indicated.

“Thanks, Miss Friday,” she said, then disappeared into the crowd again.

On stage, one of the clowns tossed her hoop up in the air, tumbled through the center of her twin’s hoop, and caught the one she’d thrown on the other side. The crowd clapped. That was the perfect moment to pick pockets. People’s hands were occupied, it was noisy, and the whole tent was filled with vibration, making little touches harder to notice. Friday felt the urge to check her own pockets again.

She did wonder at Johannes’s directive to go hard on pickpocketing this show. They were underground - had actually had to pay a toll to get into this giant bunker - and only after the steel door had been sealed behind the circus caravan had Friday learned that this was Washington, DC; home of Hemisphere Central. If Jaelle was caught picking the wrong pocket, that pocket had a pretty good chance of belonging to a powerful mobster. And the circus was trapped in here.

It was interesting how the Madsen and Graves circuit just happened to hit so many Hemisphere towns - from Everglades City to the accidental run in with the Good Guys - and now Central itself. No, interesting wasn’t the right word. At this point, it was almost boring, how obvious it was that Johannes was planning on handing her, Val, John, and Cody over to Hemisphere. Friday had finally tested her L-shaped pin against those used in the trailer hitches, and it was a perfect match. Johannes was trying to kill them, and Friday didn’t have a next move.

The fire-hooping ended with the lights shutting off just as the fires were extinguished. When they came back on, Johannes stood center stage to announce that the night of spectacle had come to a close. He’d changed backstage, and now wore a sequined suit - the left gold and the right black - and a cream cravat with a gold pin. Also cream colored was the porcelain mask that covered the top half of his face. Strange.

“Thank you all for coming to our show - that’s all the entertainment we have for you tonight. We hope you enjoyed the feats of athletics and wonder of the Madsen and Graves Circus.”

Friday spied Enis climbing down the ladder of the crow’s nest from which he controlled the lights. The crowd began to move toward the exit.

Friday wondered what Val thought about all this. She hadn’t tried to talk to him since he came back from Monocacy, but she’d pieced together from the gossip that Johannes had kissed him, it hadn’t been appreciated, and Val was pissed about it. Di, who was approaching sixty and had likely been with the circus since before Johannes was born, had called Johannes a dog and spat on the ground.

The crowd cleared the main tent surprisingly quickly - there were whispers of stopping at home to get changed. Interesting. Apparently the Madsen and Graves was the unwitting first half of a double feature.

As the last of the crowd left, circus members began to file into the main tent. Not unusual - after a show, there were sometimes special instructions for striking the sets. Friday saw Val hanging around the edges, and John and Cody front and center. She made her way over to Val.

“Catch my show?” she asked him.

Val looked at her, made an embarrassed face, then looked back to the stage.

“Would you rather I said yes?” he asked.

Friday smiled to herself, stuffing her hands in her pockets.

“A girl can dream,” she said, and winked at him. Val rolled his eyes. For a second, the summer had rolled back to the start, before John, Cody, and the fire. The reminder of how things used to be made Friday forget what she wanted to say next.

“Alright people, gather round,” Johannes called out, tipping the mask up to show his face. “You all know your strike teams, but there’s a little change. Enis and Abernathy are standing in for me and Ezra. We’re gonna shmooze at the gala and see if we can’t get us some extra gigs next year.”

Ezra had joined Johannes onstage by this point. He too was dressed up, wearing a bright navy suit and polished red leather shoes. He held a red mask in one hand. 

Friday was surprised when Ezra projected his voice exactly as competently as his brother had.

“Once you’re done, feel free to go into town, buy things that aren’t good for you, and give Enis a hard time.”

The crowd of circus members laughed, and a few ribbed Enis.

“Alright, get outta here,” Johannes added.

Friday stole another glance at Val. His brow was furrowed, his eyes intense on the brothers as they descended the stage.

“Gala, huh,” Friday said. “Sounds like a high class affair.”

Val gave her the look that meant I know what you’re getting at.

“I’m just saying, beer and campfires are nice, but I’ve never been to a champagne-on-little-trays kinda party.”

Friday wanted to keep an eye on Johannes - to judge if this was going to be a planned handoff, or if he’d spend the gala advertising the bounties to interested parties. Either way, Friday needed as much advance warning as she could get. And if Val came to the gala with her, maybe he’d finally see Johannes for who he was.

“It’s a Hemisphere party,” Val said.

So don’t you think it’s interesting that Johannes is looking for work there? Friday thought. Come on, Val.

“No one’s gonna be looking for us there,” she said. “It’s a fancy ball. We’ll wear big sparkly dresses and masks and introduce ourselves as the stars of a not yet released Bellamy picture that no one’s even heard of yet. No further questions.”

“I’ll come, but I’m not doing that,” Val said. “Someone has to keep you out of trouble.”

“Me? Trouble? Never,” Friday said, a wide grin growing on her face. “Come on, let’s find costumes.”

epilogue 15 || 16.2

#story

[prurientpuddlejumper]

A New Arrangement [Part 6/9][NSFW]

K!nktober 2020 Kink Bingo!: Voyeurism

<- Part 5 | Part 7 ->

Summary: Dr. Chilton does not want your weekly in-home visits to come to an end, so he proposes hiring you for a different service.

(For @thatesqcrush​‘s kink bingo. If you’re just here for Kinktober smut, feel free to start with this chapter! It should have all the exposition necessary.)

Frederick Chilton x Female Reader

3,389 words

The sturdy rectangular gray headboard supported your weight, along with a mountain of soft eider-down pillows, as you sat back against it. One hand typed financial figures into a laptop. The other gently ran its fingers through the thick hair of the head resting in your lap.

This had all started as a fairly standard work arrangement.

Frederick Chilton had been through several near-death experiences, and had reached out to your agency to ensure his affairs were in order. You handled end-of-life arrangements: advanced directives, living wills, estate planning, funerals—your business was the one-stop-shop for a worry-free death.

He was only recently out of the hospital since being severely burned over ninety percent of his body, and was shy about it. He was also wealthy enough to cloister himself away from the world. And so you had been visiting him at his home for the past few weeks to conduct business.

Your fingers stopped their lazy crawl through his hair, and he let out a soft whine. Clearing your throat, you pointed out something on the screen that required his attention, and he pushed himself off your lap with a disappointed groan. Once he managed to get into a sufficiently upright sitting position against the headboard, he settled back into you, leaning against your shoulder. He idly laid his hand on your leg, and you covered it with your own, stroking the scarred skin with your thumb.

Because he was so frequently exhausted, you had gotten into the habit of… well, cuddling. Platonically. Professionally. Eventually you grew so comfortable together that you started working from his bed, where he could fall asleep if he needed and not have to drag himself from the study (a short but insurmountable distance when one is in great pain and too tired to even sit up).

It felt nice to be so close with someone, even if you were never allowed to see his face.

As relaxed as you had grown together, he was always covered completely from head to toe. The only indication to the extent of his burns was the scarring that peeked underneath the white chin of his mask, covered his throat, dipped below the collar of his dress shirt, and covered his hands like a gnarled glove.

You closed down your computer after he had finished reviewing and signing all of the necessary digital forms you needed for that day.

Not just for that day, in fact. Those were the last ones. That was it. His end-of-life planning was complete. You could only hope he wouldn’t need it for a long time. The thought of him in a hospital on life support sent an uncontrollable pang through your heart.

Extricating yourself from his clinging limbs, you swung your legs over the side of the bed and packed the laptop in a messenger bag. His hand chased after you, gingerly grasping your hand. A soft, familiar gesture, silently pleading you to stay.

“It’s been a pleasure working with you, Mr. Chilton.” You gave a coy smile. “Sorry. Doctor.”

His pretty eyes narrowed inside the mask, and his shoulders heaved with a short breath of laughter. He had corrected you so harshly the first day that you were sure he was going to cancel your services then and there. He had only been kind to you since. Particular, but kind. “It’s a shame this is our last meeting,” you sighed, and you meant it.

You were going to miss him. He was an unusual client, and you enjoyed getting to know him.

“It does not have to be the last,” he blurted, desperation tinging his muffled voice. “I could continue paying for your time.”

You cocked your head. “Everything is set up. The only thing we’re waiting on is confirmation from the—”

“I could pay you for… other services.” His thumb brushed sensuously over your wrist.

Oh. Oh.

Your eyes widened and you felt a shameful twitch between your thighs. You tried to hold your composure but your cheeks were burning and your face revealed every sinful thought whirling through your mind.

“I do not mean anything untoward,” he said quickly. “Nothing you do not wish to do. I enjoy your company and would like to keep it, that is all.”

Nothing untoward? You deflated. Something untoward happening had been a thought you’d been pushing down into a box with a tight lid for weeks now, and the moment he said that—the millisecond you thought he might want you that way—the lid sprang off like a pressurized cannon, and it would take ages to gather up all the licentious images scattered in your mind and contain them again. But he just wanted company. Any company. Even some random accountant.

A new wave of sympathy welled up in your chest. “You really don’t have anybody, do you?”

He let go your wrist quite suddenly to cross his arms over his chest, and his placid mask turned away sharply. Underneath the expressionless porcelain, you had a feeling the prickly psychiatrist was anything but calm.

“You believe I am lonely?” he scoffed. “My last book topped the New York Times Best Seller list. If I wish for company I can have it. I was merely being sentimental, as I have grown accustomed to you and find you tolerable. It seemed simpler than finding somebody new if we continued with… another arrangement.”

The shyness with which he said arrangement, pronouncing it with stretched syllables to give it weight, made you certain he did intend something untoward until he misread your look of surprise as rejection.

What you should have said was there was no need to pay you to spend time with him—that you were happy enough to do that on your own. That you found it surprising how a man so charming and cuddly could believe he needed to pay for anyone’s company. But the idea of being paid for “services” titillated you, sending an electric jolt straight to your core.

So instead you said, “All right.”

The mask swung back to face you. “All right?”

“What kind of arrangement do you have in mind?” you purred, crawling back onto the bed toward him.

He swallowed sharply. The strip of exposed neck beneath the mask’s chin was red and had the texture of kneaded bread dough, but the bob of his Adam’s apple was pronounced enough for you to see his undisguised arousal.

Since you had been sitting close to each other near the edge of the bed, you were almost immediately on top of him, smoothing the silky fabric of his shirt down his chest. He smelled of spices and a hint of something clean and floral. “Well?” you pouted expectantly. His muscles were stiff as rocks. All you could see through the mask were two pale eyes the color of autumn moss staring in panic from a white sea of sclera.

“I didn’t necessarily mean… i-if you don’t want to…” he stammered, words losing their controlled diction. Apparently he had not anticipated you agreeing so readily, but a stirring in the front of his slacks suggested this was precisely the outcome he had hoped for. You took a chance and ran your palm over the growing bulge, and were rewarded with a gasp, his fingers clenching the sheets. “Yes, that—that is wonderful. Keep going,” he croaked.

He shifted, opening his legs to give you better access, and you turned so your thigh rested over his, skirt riding up, as you rubbed him through his pants. His hands wandered over your hips and back, muscular arms pulling you in closer. Seeking more contact, you buried your face against the kneaded skin his neck where you could feel warm puffs of breath escaping from the sides of the mask. You wondered if he would take it off, now that you were being intimate. Part of you hoped he wouldn’t. The anonymity added to the thrill, to the wrongness of what you were doing. You agreed to let a man you’d never even seen have his way with you for money.

His breath grew ragged as his cock hardened, lengthening under your palm. His hands withdrew from their exploration of your body to clumsily unbutton his slacks, which were tenting under the strain of his growing erection. It sprang free and he stroked himself a few times, but your hand was right there to take over the job. His muscles tensed, prepared to flinch away when you released him in disgust, but you bit your lip, lids fluttering closed as you tried and failed to hold in a lewd noise of pleasure.

He stared at you like you were the most incredible thing he had ever seen. Then he let out a breathy moan, head falling back against the headboard. “You are… quite eager,” he teased.

“I’ve been waiting a long time.”

He wondered if that was true, or if it was just something you said, but he let himself be excited by it anyway, pretending you wanted him.

His cock felt incredible in your hand—heavy, throbbingly hot, like holding a heartbeat, and textured with a mesh of grafts and thin, stiff ridges of surgical scars zigzagging down the shaft to allow it to expand to its full, exquisite length. You wondered if you were the first person he’d been with since his burn, and a weight of importance settled onto your shoulders.

“Am I doing all right?” you whispered, trying to gauge his reaction from an unforthcoming mask. “Tell me what you want.”

“Take off all of your clothing,” he said thickly. “All of it.”

You tugged at your shirt, in a hurry to obey, but he stopped you, and had you get up and stand beside the bed where he could see all of you.

He wanted to watch.

The cold white mask was unreadable, even Chilton’s green eyes disappearing into the shadows, as you began unbuttoning your blouse.

“The skirt first,” he instructed. Your heart skipped a beat. Self-consciously, fingers trembling at the clasp, you zipped down the skirt, letting it fall to the floor in a puddle around your ankles. You looked to him for approval.

His cock was in his hand and he was stroking himself slowly as he called out the next article of clothing for you to remove. It made the hair on the back of your neck stand up, and your cunt drip with anticipation. A wealthy eccentric who had essentially bought you was sitting there in control while you were exposed and vulnerable, not showing any emotion but clearly getting off to you.

Trembling breath shuddered in his throat, strained. As he allowed you to undo your blouse, button by button, his pace built urgency, hand beating up and down in his lap. You could imagine how his face looked beneath that calm mask—how clouded with lust, helpless and falling apart.

God, you wanted to see him. But not knowing was such a turn-on.

At last he guided you to slip off your panties, and you stood naked before him. He stopped stroking himself.

“Come here,” he beckoned with his finger.

You climbed onto the bed, skin prickling with goosebumps, and settled yourself next to him in a familiar cuddling position. His arm easily snaked around your back, supporting and drawing you closer.

“How are you doing?” he asked, ducking his mask close to whisper like it was a secret.

“Nervous,” you admitted, whispering back.

His fingers circled your wrist, calloused with scars but the fingernails polished and manicured, and press into the soft underside. “Your pulse is racing,” he said as if you were a patient. “We can stop.”

The needy whine in your throat cleared up any uncertainty before you could form words. “I don’t want to stop. If you need to stop, we can. But I…” your eyes drifted unconsciously to his cock, thick and covered in distinctive surgical details, and you sucked your lower lip between your teeth. You wondered how he would feel sliding into your entrance.

Pressing your shoulders, he began by having you lie on your back on top of the blankets, exposed for him. Then he asked you to spread your legs so he could kneel between them. You thought he was going to fuck you, but he just hovered above you, watching.

He had taken off his suit jacket before getting into bed, but the end of his blue-patterned tie dangled dangerously above his stiff cock, which emerged from the opening in his dark slacks. He was very well dressed, only revealing what little flesh was necessary. He loosened the knot around his neck, and pulled it off, tossing it haphazardly aside.

Soft green eyes bored into you from their protected porcelain fortress, heating your skin like a fire as they took in the curves and dips and perfect imperfections of your body.

Finally he moved.

Bracing himself on one arm, he leaned above you, hand roving intimately over the same curves of your body his eyes had just navigated. You were so worked up already, your back arched and you moaned the moment he made contact with your skin. You were ready, writhing and straining for him to fuck you, but he only touched you.

He didn’t rush for the obvious areas you expected, but took his time. Instead of going directly for your tits, he caressed the length of your collarbone delicately with just his thumb and two fingers. Then he dipped lower, and you sucked an expectant breath, but he drew a line down your sternum, between your breasts, and splayed his scarred fingers out over the soft of your belly.

You were so ready to explode from anticipation, even the slightest graze of his fingertips sent sparks tickling across your skin wherever they went. You thought about him touching himself while he watched you strip.

It was so hard to know what he was thinking. The mask removed facial expression from the equation, and when he went silent for so long like this, you trembled with how blindfolded you felt, just focusing on his touch..

He traced one finger delicately down your arm, ghosting just over the skin in a wandering, unhurried path that raised a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

The pink head of his cock glistened with precum, waiting just as anxiously as you to bury itself inside you. You wanted to take control, grasp it, and plunge him between your thighs, but you didn’t want to spook him. If this was the first time he was intimate with someone since being scarred, it was a big step. You didn’t mind him taking his time. You were hypnotized by his delicate touches, every inch of your skin vibrating like the air during a lightning storm.

Leaning down closer, he curled his fingers around your neck. You gasped as the throbbing weight of his erection pressed into your stomach—but he was only studying your face. Still, he was much closer now, the heat of his body inches from yours, and being able to feel his cock was almost too much. You reached up to wrap your arm around his back, pulling him even harder against you.

God you were beautiful. And sweet, and intelligent. He wanted to keep you. Maybe it was just how tender he was from his latest life-altering trauma, but he had never wanted anything quite as much as he wanted you.

Your skin was warm and smooth, so unlike his, but you did not mind—or you were skilled at concealing your distaste. He observed with pleasure how you shuddered and sighed and leaned into his touch. How you gasped and moaned and wanted him. It was just for the money, of course. He knew that. Wealth could buy all kinds of love from the sort of person with the proper priorities—though he had not expected you to be one of them. It was a desperate final effort to make you stay. But some surprises were good ones. 

He trailed his fingertips along your jaw, over your cheek. You whined as his fingers brushed across your lips, and you parted them, tasting a salty pad with the tip of your tongue. You felt his cock jerk against your stomach. So you licked him again, satisfied to achieve the same reaction, as well as pull a low whimper from deep in the back of his throat. His fingers curled around your chin, thumb still teasing the tender inner flesh of your lower lip, letting your tongue draw him in deeper, pinching the manicured digit between your teeth, and finally sucking on it, pretending it was his exquisite cock in your mouth.

It drove him crazy. With every swirl of your tongue, his cock twitched and grew harder, and a strangled sob would force its way shaking out of him. The contrast between the impassive mask and the lustful noises muffled within its porcelain shell sent a jolt of pleasure straight to your core, and you rocked your hips against his pant leg. He lowered himself to your ear and nuzzled your neck. His noises were even louder, intensifying your greed for him. Your hand snaked its way up to the back of his head, fingers gripping his hair, and tugged his head down.

He stiffened, every muscle going rigid. Grunting disapprovingly, he knocked your hand away, but to your gasping delight, continued to drag the mask down your body.

He felt sick deceiving you. No matter how much money he had to offer, you would never agree to be with him if you knew what was under the mask. He couldn’t risk you tugging at it. It was terrifying and confusing enough that you were touching him at all—the incredible, gorgeous way your body moved beneath him—and if you knew, you would be gone. It would all go away. This dream would end as a nightmare. He felt awful, but unbridled lust overwhelmed every bit of logic and tenuous scrap of decency he had. He deserved something good, just this once. He was going to make you scream for him in pleasure, not horror.

Hard, expressionless porcelain traveled down your soft skin, its cold lips following the swell of your breast. It brushed your nipple, and you arched your back, moaning around the thumb in your mouth. Your body started shaking with so many sensations—the cold smooth porcelain rolling your hardening peak under its sculpted ridges, his cock pressing into you, and his warm, rough, salty thumb, dripping with saliva as you took out your frustrations on it, swirling your tongue over the pad, bobbing your head, hoping to drive him mad enough to fuck you already.

His movements were jerkier and less patient, you noticed—he was falling apart, too.

He continued moving lower, his thumb escaping your mouth with a wet pop and trailing down your chin as the mask’s pointed nose traced a ticklish path over your stomach, and down, between your thighs. The mask’s nose just barely grazed your clit, but you were so ready for release it made you whimper loudly and grab at his hair, almost coming just from one touch. You wanted to push his head between your legs and let you grind your swollen clit against that nose until you broke, but he brushed your hand off again and you relented. You had an unspoken language built on weeks of cuddling—He was sensitive about certain things. He set a boundary and you knew not to push it.

Though he didn’t let you ride his mask, he stayed between your legs. He pressed the broad flat of his palms against your outer thighs as he deeply breathed in your scent, and you shuddered at the lewd act. He let out the breath with a long, intoxicated sigh.

“P-please,” you whimpered, knowing just how pathetic you sounded. “Please fuck me.” Every muscle in your body was on fire from this agonizingly slow foreplay, straining for some kind of release. A satisfied chuckle rumbled deep in his chest.

“So impatient,” he teased, voice low and soft. “I want to savor every second. Every inch of you.”

You swallowed hungrily.

#frederick chilton #Frederick Chilton x reader #Hannibal #raul esparza #Kinktober #female reader #thatesqcrush kink bingo #my writing

[oh-theres-a-woman]

I Only Wanted You; Part Four

A/N: I don’t think you were expecting this bad boy so soon. Sorry it was a little shotty. Not entirely confident with this part. Sooooo much going on. But, I’m happy to say that this story will be wrapping up in the next two parts. 

Requested By: @captivatedbycillianmurphy

Taglist: @hesagod-notyet​ @zodiyack​ @itsfrancisneptun​ @fandom-fucking-shit​ @amys-small-world​ @amirahiddleston​ @a-dorky-book-keeper​ @captivatedbycillianmurphy​ @rosiemaisworld​ @queencoraline3 @smallheathgangsters​ @theshelbyclan​ @haphazardhufflepuff​ @nemesis729​ @kiaoizz​ @sweatydragoncloudknight​ @nobodyscarebutandyou​ @peakascum​

Part: [ Prologue ], [ 1 ], [ 2 ], [ 3 ] 

Word Count: 1744

Y/N PoV:

Sitting there in the comfortable sitting room, nursing a cup of tea in her lap. Eyes drifted here and there and there taking in the intimate details of the room. Holding a great awkwardness about the situation the moment Esme excused herself to call the doctor. Y/N’s mind was drifting on and on. Lost in the cloud of her tired and overworked head. Weak and wary. She did not completely mind the heat felt from the freshly lit hearth since that day though sunny was especially chilly to.

That was mostly why she was thankful for the tea. The blend smoother than anything you’d ever tasted. A hint of peppermint that eased the creeping nausea and settled her forever restless stomach. Time ticked by before Esme arrived once more. Settling down in the couch just by her. “Sorry—one of the children is being extra fussy this afternoon, the doctor will be here in a hurry.” Esme said smoothly. Tommy had commented that he would grab the doctor on his way through—one he’d trust.

In the meantime, Esme spoke with Y/N trying to understand where the woman had been. What had been making her sick? Was she not eating enough? Or poorly. Could she have taken to the drink or Tokyo for the relief it gave? The equal Shelby outcast did not think that was the case though, after observing the behaviours for the shyer woman.

She had seen plenty of pregnant women before—Y/N was no exception.

“You didn’t have to get a Doctor Esme, I’ve no means to pay them. Nor you for that matter after the bill is bought forward,” Y/N finally spoke up. Leaning out placing the cup and saucer on the coffee table of polished mahogany. Another sign that the Shelbys were stepping up in the world; everything felt so rich. Compared to the modest living she preferred with Thomas. He did have other expensive housing choices, but she was simply content with the little home in Birmingham.

Not the estate where everything began for them. It felt wrong to step above her former colleagues. Since—in the beginning she had always come from a lower and smaller scene than them.

Like Esme she knew of an entirely different life away from the city of Small Heath. She knew the life in caravans and settlements with the Romani community. Y/N was a born farm girl that lost everything when her family died. Carrying on her life as a mother to her younger siblings—it was something that caused a great respect among the older Shelbys in the passing months. Esme, however, only needed to meet her once to know this woman often went without her own happiness for them. Something—she didn’t want to force anymore.

Y/N deserved happiness—just as much as anyone else.

Time passed gradually—she was tired and anxious. It looked as if sleep might very well hit her in this warmth. The Romani woman made no comment on it. “You should rest, don’t worry about payin’ the doctor. You need to see if yourself and the baby are alright,” Esme said was a nerve-wracking calm that suddenly made the nervous woman so much more awake than before. Looking at the Shelby wife noticing her swiftly cocked brow. “I’m not stupid as people might think I am, I’ve had two already with John. Don’t you think I would know the signs? Delivered plenty too.” She sounded disappointed for a moment there as Y/N looked down into her hands.

“You should sleep, there’s a room made upstairs for the new housekeeper. Might as well use it while waiting for the doctor,” she ushered Y/N out of the comfortable parlour into an equally comfortable bedroom with a single made bed. Offering something warmer to wear, and better suited for a sleep. It did not feel right taking someone else’s clothes and wearing them. So, she left them on the bedside table and just climbed under the covers as the Gyspy woman closed the door behind her. Disappearing downstairs to wait on Tommy’s arrival with the doctor.

Standing on the porch watching the car tear down the drive wildly. It was almost like they had John driving for once. A dangerous affair.

Tommy’s PoV:

“Where is she?” Tommy spoke with an undying urgency in his voice to see and hear that Y/N was alright and safe. But Esme looked to him for a moment, extending her arm outward blocking him. “What the fock—” he cursed but was cut off.

“No, don’t go rushin’ in there. Won’t do you any good—Tommy, she’ll panic, and it’ll do more harm than good at this stage.” Esme warned which caused the man to hold in his step. Pulse pounding in his temples. Nervous tension rising within himself. His mind automatically going to the worst. Had something bad happened to her? That is why it would make things worse seeing her.

A million thoughts ran through his head before noticing the doctor slipping away upstairs. Taking the led behind Esme, Tommy was sure to stay behind. Standing outside the bedroom where Y/N slept. Longing for a moment just to look in there and steal a glance of that beautiful peaceful facial expression. That expression that he would wake up some minutes before her only to watch her in peace. Where no worries or stresses tracked across her mind at all. When her soul seemed to be the apex of harmony.

Inside the doctor spoke in a low tone of voice, asking the questions Thomas needed just as much the answers. Before—his heart skipped, overhearing the conversation drift to something else.

Y/N was pregnant? He thought, tracing the palm of his hand over his face. Taking a shaking breath. Listening urgently trying to gage as much as he could from the conversation before something seemed to startle the woman inside. Out of the need to comfort her, Thomas stepped through the threshold spying her there standing tired and worn. In a state that broke his heart.

She looked like a lost lamb in the big bad world—the world he bought her into by knowing him and tarnished.

“Y/N, it’s alright your safe now. Just let the doctor take care of you. You’re look exhausted love.” Thomas spoke in the tone that was only reserved to her and her siblings—the people he loved so dearly. Stepping forward into the room his sky-blue eyes were not cold towards her, though they hardened towards the doctor. “Give us a moment please,” he ordered. Watching the man wander out of the room, hopefully to chew through a few cigarettes. Leaving him the chance to talk and speak with her. Find out what the hell happened that day.

“Tommy—what, did Esme call you?” Her voice was darty and anxious. It often got like that when she stressed, falling back into a seated position on the bed. Hands tightly balling into fists in her lap. Tears were falling as she began to sob, hands hurrying to her face. But Tommy was faster than her by a moment. Cupping her cheeks within his hands. Eyes filled with utter concern for her. She had lost so much weight in the last few months—not a good thing for a pregnant woman. Surely…

“Shhhhh… Shhhh…” He cooed to her tenderly, setting down on his kneels before her. Wiping the collection of tears away from her cheeks and ducts. “She did, but don’t be angry at her. We’ve all been looking for you for so long,” Thomas admitted his own eyes looking as if they were about to spring tears at the sight of her. Quickly pushing himself to his feet and engulfing her in the strongest and most tender hugs. Pressing his lips into her dry and messy hair.

“Please, let me fix this Y/N. We can go back to being a family. With this baby on the way.” He told her eyes happiest they had been in a long while since she had been missing.

“But—they think I’m no more than a gold-digger…” Her heartache apparent in those beautiful eyes he found himself lost in; even now.

“They were mistaken… I thought you had heard what they said. Love, I did defend you. But you know my family—speaking over them in the middle of something will not get a point across. I needed to wait.” He told her soothingly. Taking in the messy wisps of wave in her boyish crop of hair now. How it bought out something more insanely beautiful out of her features and face. Showed more the innocence still living beneath her anxious mask. “The baby—it’s ours isn’t it?” Thomas asked her in a light tone, afraid that there would be a moment where she would admit doing something in order to survive.

A lot of women sadly had to go there when in desperate times. However, one thing settled his heart was when she leant in and pressed her forehead against his own. “Yes. It’s ours, Tommy.” Y/N smiled weakly touching the small bump. A sight that would look even more beautiful when she had been dressed in some comfortable clothes, he had bought with him on the journey.

Thomas always kept a small bag packed for her of comfortable clothing and shoes. If he heard anything of her again. He would take it out there to meet her. Make sure that she was week and taken care of. If she never wanted to come home with him—it would be something he would part her with, yet, know that she is perfectly dressed and will not freeze with the chill drawing in.

He was so grateful this was not a goodbye, however. More a sound welcome home to the sweetheart maid that once walked into his dark estate and stole his heart like a theft in the night.

Noting the absence of her siblings, he looked around. Then looked back at Y/N. “How about after the doctor has been and done? We get you dressed in something nice and warm. I have clothes for the children, then we can go home.” Thomas proposed softly, offering that smitten smile that could make anyone weak in the knees. “Deal?” He asked.

Y/N only needed to smile a little. “Deal,” she whispered pressing the softest kiss to the back of his knuckles. Feeling once more secure with him.

#I Only Wanted You #I Only Wanted You Part 4 #thomas shelby fanfiction #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby request #angst #gangsters #tommy shelby imagines #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby fanfiction #peaky blinders imagines #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky fookin blinders #peaky blinder #peaked cap #the garrison #by order of the peaky blinders #BY ORDER OF THE PEAKY FOOKIN BLINDERS #oh-theres-a-woman

[ts1989fanatic]

Every Taylor Swift Album Ranked

We revisited each of the singer’s original studio albums and ranked them from best to worst.

FEATURESEvery Taylor Swift Album Ranked

We revisited each of the singer’s original studio albums and ranked them from best to worst.

By Slant Staff on July 6, 2021

Taylor Swift started off as a country artist at a time when the genre was both less respectful and accommodating of the voices of women than at any other point in its storied history. The singer’s first four albums barely scan as country music in a meaningful way, instead embracing her preternatural gifts for pop conventions, and her output has gotten stronger the more openly she’s embraced those skills. In the 15 years since the single “Tim McGraw” launched Swift to country stardom, she’s jettisoned the genre’s ill-fitting signifiers and overcome the limitations of her early recordings—improvements captured in her “Taylor’s Version” re-recordings of those albums as a powerful statement of artistic agency.

As Swift takes an apparent break from new music to re-record those early releases, including Fearless (Taylor’s Version) and this fall’s highly anticipated Red redux, we revisited each of her original studio albums and ranked them from best to worst.

9. Taylor Swift (2006)

Though she was praised for her songwriting right out of the gate, what Swift’s self-titled debut truly shows in hindsight is how diligently she’s worked to hone her craft over the years. Some of her trademarks—her gift for melody, her third-act POV reversals—were already present here, but there’s a sloppiness to the writing that she’s long since cleaned up. Whether that’s emphasizing the wrong syllables of words because she hadn’t quite mastered the meter of language (most notable on “Teardrops on My Guitar”) or mixing metaphors (on “Picture to Burn” and the otherwise catchy “Our Song”), there’s a lack of polish and editing on Taylor Swift

8. Fearless (2008)

Nearly every track on Swift’s sophomore effort, Fearless, builds to a massive pop hook. But while her grasp of song structure at this point in her career suggested an innate talent for how to develop a melody, Fearless also highlights Swift’s then-limited repertoire and lack of creativity in constructing her narratives of doe-eyed infatuations and first loves gone wrong. It’s admirable that she tries to incorporate more sophisticated elements into a few of the songs here, but dancing with or kissing someone in the rain is a default image that crops up with nearly the same distracting frequency as references to princesses, angels, and fairy tales. Fearless, however, just as strongly made the case that Swift had the goods for a long, rich career. The bridge to “Fifteen” includes a great, revealing line about a friend’s lost innocence (“And Abigail gave everything/She had to a boy/Who changed his mind/And we both cried”), while the playful melody of “Hey Stephen” captures the essence of what makes for indelible teen-pop.

7. Speak Now (2010)

Swift’s third album, Speak Now, is problematic in precisely the same ways that its predecessors are, but there isn’t a song here that isn’t an absolute wonder of technical construction. Perhaps even more impressive is Swift’s mastery of song structure. Consider how the instrumentation drops out during the last two words of the hook in “Last Kiss,” allowing the singer’s breathy vocal delivery to bear the entirety of the song’s emotional weight, or how a simple acoustic guitar figure on “Enchanted” slowly crescendos behind each repetition of the line “I was enchanted to meet you.” Unfortunately, the greater complexity and range found in Swift’s sound and in her song constructions doesn’t necessarily translate to her songwriting. Her narrators often seem to lack insight because Swift writes with the point of view that hers is the only story to be told, which makes songs like “Dear John” and “Better Than Revenge” come across as shallow and shortsighted. And though she does vary her phrasing in ways that attempt to mask her limited voice, Swift is still noticeably off-pitch at least once on every song on the album.

6. Red (2012)

Considering that Swift’s previous material was almost always better when she tossed the ill-fitting country signifiers and focused on her uncanny gift for writing pop hooks, Red was a smart, if overdue, move for the singer. The album plays as a survey course in contemporary pop, and Swift is game to try just about anything, from the uninhibited dance-pop of standout “Starlight” to the thundering heartland rock of “Holy Ground.” The tracks that work best are those on which the production is creative and modern in ways that are in service to Swift’s songwriting. The distorted vocal effects and shifts in dynamics on “I Knew You Were Trouble” heighten the sense of frustration that drives the song, and the driving rhythm section on “Holy Ground” reflects Swift’s reminiscence of a lover who “took off faster than a green light, go.” Not all of the songs here are so keenly observed—“State of Grace” and “I Almost Do” lack the specificity that’s one of Swift’s songwriting trademarks, while the title track underwhelms with its train of pedestrian similes and metaphors—but if Red is ultimately too uneven to be a truly great pop album, its highlights were career-best work for Swift at the time.

5. Lover (2019)

Swift’s seventh album, Lover, lacks a unified sonic aesthetic, ostensibly from trying to be something to everyone. The title track, whose lilting rhythm and reverb-soaked drums and vocals are reminiscent of Mazzy Star’s ‘90s gem “Fade Into You,” and the acoustic “Soon You’ll Get Better,” a tribute to Swift’s mother, hark back to the singer’s pre-pop days, while “I Think He Knows” and “False God” evoke Carly Rae Jepsen’s brand of ‘80s R&B-inflected electro-pop. When it comes to things other than boys, though, Swift has always preferred to dip her toes in rather than get soaking wet; her transformation from country teen to pop queen was, after all, a decade in the making. Less gradual was Swift’s shift from political agnostic to liberal advocate. Her once apolitical music is, on Lover, peppered with references to America’s current state of affairs, both thinly veiled (“Death by a Thousand Cuts”) and more overt (“You Need to Calm Down”). “Miss Americana & the Heartbreak Prince,” however, is her stock in trade, a richly painted narrative punctuated by cool synth washes and pep-rally chants, while “The Archer” is quintessential Swift: wistful, minimalist dream pop that displays her willingness to acknowledge and dismantle her own flaws, triggers, and neuroses.

4. Reputation (2017)

In the run-up to the release of her sixth album, Reputation, Swift was excoriated by fans and foes alike for too often playing the victim. The album’s lyrics only serve to bolster that perception: Swift comes off like a frazzled stay-at-home mom scolding her disobedient children on “Look What You Made Me Do” and “This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things.” But it’s her willingness to portray herself not as a victim, but the villain of her own story that makes Reputation such a fascinatingly thorny glimpse inside the mind of pop’s reigning princess. Swift has proven herself capable of laughing at herself, thereby defusing the criticisms often levied at her, but with Reputation she created a larger-than-life caricature of the petty, vindictive snake she’s been made out to be. By album’s end, Swift assesses her crumbling empire and tattered reputation, discovering redemption in love—only Reputation isn’t so much a rebirth as it is a retreat inward. It marks a shift from the retro-minded pop-rock of 2014’s 1989 toward a harder, more urban aesthetic, and Swift wears the stiff, clattering beats of songs like “…Ready for It?” like body armor.

3. Evermore (2020)

Evermore is at once as confident and complete a statement as Folklore. Certainly, it matters that the two albums were born of the protracted isolation of the Covid-19 pandemic and that collaborators like Bon Iver and the National’s Aaron Dessner figure prominently on both. But Evermore finds Swift digging further into her explorations of narrative voice and shifting points of view, taking bigger risks in trying to discover how the newfound breadth of her songwriting could possibly reconcile with the arc of her career. What makes Evermore an essential addition to her catalog is her willingness to tell others’ stories with the same insight and compassion with which she’s always told her own. And on this album, in particular, the stories she tells are about how her narrators’ choices impact others, often in ways that cause irreparable harm.

2. 1989 (2014)

Swift’s 1989 severed whatever vestiges of her country roots remained on 2012’s Red, replacing acoustic guitars and pedal steel with multi-layered synthscapes, drum machines, and densely packed vocal tracking. Swift, of course, got her start writing astutely observed country ballads, and these songs bolster her trademark knack for lyric-crafting with maximalist, blown-out pop production courtesy of collaborators Max Martin and Jack Antonoff. The album’s standout tracks retain the narrative detail and clever metaphor-building that distinguished Swift’s early songs, even amid the diversions wrought by the aggressive studio production on display throughout. Songs like “I Know Places” ride a reggae swagger and trap-influenced snare beats before launching into a soaring, Pat Benatar-esque chorus. It’s an effortless fusion that, like much of 1989, displays Swift’s willingness to venture outside her comfort zone without much of a safety net, and test out an array of sonic experiments that feel both retro and of the moment.

1. Folklore (2020)

Folklore is neither a culmination of Swift’s career to date nor a pivot in a new direction. She’s doing exactly what she’s always done: offering a collection of incisive, often provocative songs that incorporate authentic, first-person details and leaving others to argue over specific genre signifiers. Song for song, the album finds Swift at a new peak in her command of language. While tracks like “Cardigan” and “Invisible Strings” hinge on protracted metaphors, “Mad Woman” and “Peace” are blunt and plainspoken. In every instance, what’s noteworthy is Swift’s precision in communicating her exact intent. That she employs her long-established songwriting tropes in novel ways is truly the most significant development here. She’s mined this type of melancholy tone before, but never for the full length of an album and certainly never with such a range of perspectives. It isn’t the weight of the subject matter alone that makes Folklore feel so vital—it’s the exemplary caliber of her writing. The album finds Swift living up to all of the praise she earned for her songwriting earlier in career.

ts1989fanatic not sure I 100% agree with their ranking order and some of the snark on reputation is a little OTT but overall it’s not bad

[starbuckie]

Some Quarantine Lovin’ Chapter Six: When Can I See You Again?

Marvel Highschool!AU

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Obscene amounts of fluff, kissing, swearing, kinda a lot of angst

Description: Bucky Barnes is absolutely, no doubt about it, in love with Y/N L/N. He’s loved her since the day he laid eyes on her in the third grade. He loved her when he had his own girlfriend, and when he was barely friends with her for a whole summer. And of course, in his freshman year, they are now stuck together. In a house. During a worldwide quarantine. This should be fun.

Words: 3,555 words

A/N: We are almost at the end! Jeez, I can’t believe it. Anyways, I don’t have a lot to say, but the little story about Sam missing his final is definitely based off the time in freshman year of highschool when @transparentfestivaltiger​ came to class late and had to retake her final, which I still bully her about to this day. As always, thank you to my dearest Geena for being my sassy beta, and y’all need to check out her writing(@transparentfestivaltiger). MAKE SURE Y’ALL ARE STAYING SAFE AND SOCIALLY DISTANCING AND WEAR YOUR GODDAMN MASKS PLEASE! enjoy this chapter, loves <3 

George Barnes’ funeral took place nine days after his death. It was a small affair consisting of just Y/N’s family, a few of Mr. Barnes’ work friends, the Rogers’ family, and, of course, Bucky and Becca. Bucky gave a small speech, one written about his father’s life and what he had accomplished, but he didn’t speak one word about what events had taken place inside of his family’s house. There was nothing else he had to say about his dad, no words of endearment or love. George was buried at Evergreen Cemetery, and as his father was lowered into the ground, Bucky was finally able to let go of the burden he had felt all his life. 

After they finished the ceremony, none of his father’s friends hung around, due to the ongoing quarantine. Steve’s family stayed, saying they had to talk to Y/N’s parents about something. “Hey, guys.” Steve said. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

Bucky sniffled, most of the tears dry on his face and nodded. “Yeah, it has been, pal.”

Y/N stood by his side, baby pink mask covering her face, holding baby Becca. The fifteen-year-old girl couldn’t even imagine how this all felt to the baby. Would she even remember this? She could barely even talk, still letting out little baby gurgles at one year old. As the two boys talked, six feet apart, of course, Y/N wondered what would happen to the Barnes’ siblings. Bucky was only fifteen, he only had a job during the summer, and he needed a legal guardian. He and Becca couldn’t live by themselves yet. Would they go to an orphanage? Or be taken to a family far away? She couldn’t stand that thought. Y/N knew it wasn’t her choice, but she couldn’t help but be a little bit selfish. They needed to be with a family who loved them, who cherished them, and most importantly, that they loved back. “Y/N?”

Bucky’s voice made the girl snap out of her thoughts, and Becca giggled happily and made grabby hands towards her older brother. Y/N envied her innocence. “Hey, Buck,” she said. “Stevie! I haven’t seen you in so long.”

Steve smiled, from what she could tell, under his mask and waved to her. “Yeah, I can’t believe it’s been almost two months. We all need to hang out soon.”

Y/N and Bucky shared looks with each other. Especially because they lived in New York, Y/N’s parents were more conscious than ever of having them going out and hanging around other people. “I can ask my mom and dad, but if we all stay apart I’m sure they’ll agree.” Steve and Bucky nodded together in agreement. “How have you been doing, Steve?”

Sighing, the blonde-haired boy ran a hand through his cropped hair, which had miraculously managed to look the same as the last time she saw him in person. “You know, just been reading and painting a whole lot. Oh, I drew this portrait of Nat! I’ll send it to you.” A few moments after he looked through his phone, Y/N heard her own alert with a message. She readjusted the baby onto her hip, and opening the message, she gasped. Steve had managed to capture Natasha perfectly from a photo she had posted on her Instagram. It was absolutely beautiful, with her red hair looking like a fiery haze and green eyes sparkling. “Jesus, Steve, this is absolutely amazing, it’s so realistic.”

“Let me see, doll.” She handed him the phone and saw his blue eyes widen in awe. “Steve, you really outdid yourself on this one.” His face heated up at the couple’s words. “Aw, you got a little crush, Stevie?” After receiving no response, Bucky pointed at his friend accusingly. “Holy crap, you do!” Steve only managed to nod his head before ducking down in embarrassment.

At this point, Y/N didn’t know what to do. It wasn’t her place to say, but she also didn’t want Steve to get hurt. Natasha had told her and Wanda earlier in the seventh grade that she liked girls, and the two couldn’t be any more proud of their friend. While Wanda did ask Tasha occasionally when she was going to tell the rest of the group, she had a good reason not to. Her parents, while they were kind to her, were closed off to many modern values. Natasha’s mom stayed at home and has taught the red-haired girl that one day she would do the same and take care of her husband and their babies. She felt trapped, and her two best friends completely understood that she wasn’t ready to come out yet. 

“How long have you liked her, Steve?” Y/N asked, genuinely curious. 

“I think it was when I met you two in third grade, around when Bucky first started crushing on you.” Now that was new information to Y/N. Whipping around her head to look at her boyfriend, she squinted her eyes at Bucky, who seemed to be so very interested in the dirt. Deciding that she would tease him about it later, she turned back to Steve. 

“That’s… nice.” Y/N didn’t mean to sound so rude, but it was extremely awkward for her and she didn’t know what else to say. Both of the boys stared at her weirdly for her strange response, and she could feel their eyes burning through her. She felt guilty for not telling Steve before he got hurt, but Natasha needed her, and she was loyal to her. Luckily Steve’s parents had finished talking to the L/N’s so it was time for all three kids to go. “Bye, Stevie, we’ll see you soon, I hope.”

“We can ask the rest of the gang when we work with them. Maybe when we’re out of school and classes are done.” Steve suggested. Bucky took Becca from Y/N’s hold and wrapped an arm around his girlfriend’s waist. 

“I’ll talk to you soon, Steve.” The three said their goodbyes, and with a last wave, Steve walked back to his family. 

“Are you okay, baby?” Y/N asked. Bucky let out a breath and shut his eyes. The last few tears fell and raced down his face, and with that, Bucky knew he would be okay. He had no clue what was to become of him and his sister, but for now, he was safe and had his girlfriend who loved him very, very much. And that was all he needed for now. 

“Yeah,” Bucky let out a small smile, “I really am.” Y/N leaned her head on his shoulder and the two stood in silence, watching over the grassy field.

The lawyer called two days after that. Bucky’s dad had left him in the will, seeming as if there was no one else in their family alive to have the belongings except for those in Romania, who probably had no clue the Barnes siblings even existed. Bucky had to sit in a conference Zoom call with Mr. and Mrs. L/N, his father’s lawyer, and for some odd reason, the Rogers’ parents and their lawyer as well. Y/N sat outside the room, ear to the door, trying to hear what they were all saying, but was sent to her room after her mom opened the door and she fell down.

“Fine then, be that way, mom.” She mumbled on her way to the room. Y/N was trying to be productive while waiting for her boyfriend to return, using this free time to finish her homework for the week, though it was only a Monday. They didn’t have finals, but that just added more to the piles upon piles of homework they were already receiving. Apparently the teachers believed the students had so much more free time, they would be able to finish three packets of Physics in one night. Bullshit. 

At some point in the two hours on the call, Becca started to whine so Y/N played with her and watched cartoons on her iPad, while also discovering her interest in “Little Einsteins” on Disney+. “Becca, do you know what song this is?” Of course Becca wouldn't recognize it, but the sweet melody of Mozart reminded the teenager of sitting on the wooden floor of the Barnes’ home as a fourth-grader, and watching in amazement as Bucky’s mother’s fingers drifted across the keys. “Your mama used to play this all the time for me and your big brother when we were younger.” The baby simply just stared at her, bright blue eyes filled with curiosity. Becca didn’t remember her mother, as she had died while giving birth. “She was an amazing person, your mama.” Y/N scooped up the little girl in her arms and cradled her to her chest, regaling stories of Mrs. Barnes. She didn’t even notice until later, but tears had started to trace down her cheeks as she brought back memories. 

Suddenly, the door creaked open and Bucky popped his head inside the room, a quiet, but happy smile on his face. “Was that the time in sixth grade when we made that slip and slide in my backyard and got my ma all soaked?” Y/N nodded and chuckled wetly. Bucky, still grinning, walked over to the bed and caressed his girlfriend’s face with his thumbs. “Why are you crying, baby?”

Placing Becca down gently next to her, she slipped into Bucky’s embrace. His hands massaged her shoulders gently, and she could hear his heart beating softly in his chest. “I’m sorry, James, I’m just thinking about your ma too much. She was an absolutely beautiful person.”

“She really was, doll. I miss her a whole damn lot.” Bucky sighed happily and let his chin rest on her head. “But, I’ve got you here with me now, and I’ve got adults who decided to adopt me and Becca who love us, so I’ve got to say that I’m done dwelling on the past and ready for a very happy future.” At the mention of new parents, Y/N’s heart dropped and she snapped her head up to look at him. He was smiling brightly now, and she could not figure out why. 

“You’re being adopted?” Y/N asked. She honestly couldn’t tell if her voice was shaking or not, but by the way he rubbed her back more soothingly, she assumed she was. “Are they nice?”

Bucky chuckled at the question, and nodded his head. “They’re very nice, Y/N. I know them personally.” Had her parents adopted him? Well, she was happy that he was in a family that loved him to pieces, but that would mean that she was currently dating her step-brother, which was a slightly disturbing thought to her. 

“My parents?” She asked softly.

He shook his head and grinned. “You may now call me James Buchanan Barnes-Rogers.” Y/N’s jaw dropped.

“Are you joking? You and Becca were adopted by Steve’s mom and dad?” Y/N could barely believe it. 

“I kid you not, doll, I am now a Rogers.” With a squeal, she pushed forward and kissed him, forcing him to fall on his back on the bed. After a few moments, they both sat up, tears in their eyes. “Okay, I was kidding about the Rogers thing though, me and Bec are keeping our last names, but Steve and I are now legally brothers.”

“That’s why they were talking to my parents for so long the other day?” Y/N inquired. “How is this going to work in quarantine though? Oh, does Steve know? He’s going to be so excited, the two of you are best friends!”

Chuckling at her excitement and endless questions, he cut her off with a chaste, yet nonetheless sweet kiss. “Sarah and Joseph already had a talk with him before we spoke to the lawyers, so I’m going to call him soon. We’ve decided that I’ll stay here for the rest of the quarantine just to stay safe because you know his dad goes out at night to the firm. But we’re selling the house, and all of the money is going to me and Bec’s college funds. That’s pretty much all I know, I was zoning out for most of it.” 

Rolling her eyes playfully, Y/N teased, ”Of course you were.” They leaned back together, her head resting on his chest as he ran a hand through her hair. “You’re going to be so happy, James.” Bucky closed his eyes and smiled in peaceful bliss, for what seemed like the first time in forever. 

Classes continued that week like normal, as no one else knew about Bucky’s father. That was fine with him, he didn’t need everybody else’s sympathy and there was no need to make it a big deal. It was nearing the end of the year and the exhaustion was continuously catching up to all the students, causing them to fall asleep during their classes and procrastinate on homework. Coffee was inhaled in unhealthy amounts, endless gum wrappers surrounding the wastebasket where Y/N had missed when she and Bucky studied in her room. It was nice to have a regular, scheduled week in contrast to the past one. Well, at least it was normal until Saturday night when two bright headlights shone in through the living room window. Y/N and Bucky weren’t really watching the movie; they had their legs tangled on the couch as they made out, so they didn’t notice Ria’s car pulling into the driveway outside. 

“So this is what I get to come home to?” Ria boomed from the doorway. “Two horny-ass teenagers making out on the couch? That’s just fantastic.” Both Bucky and Y/N shot up from their laying down position and stared at the older L/N sibling with wide eyes and kiss-swollen lips. “Jeez, calm down, you both look like you’ve seen a ghost.” 

Y/N leaped off the couch with absolutely zero grace, and grabbed her sister in a hug. “Oh shit,” she instantly said, “I probably shouldn’t be doing that.”

Ria laughed at her younger sister and ruffled her hair. “Nah, it’s okay, I tested negative, remember?” Y/N had a faint memory of it and nodded, leaning back into her sister for another hug. “Hey, Buck, how are you doing, kid? I’m sorry about your old man.”

“I’m doing okay, Ria, just trying to make it through the rest of this year.” She pulled him into a tight hug and the last part of his sentence was muffled in her hoodie. “I thought you were staying with your boyfriend, what happened?”

“Well, I found out the bastard had cheated on me a few months ago so I dumped his ass, packed up my things, and drove back here.” Bucky and Y/N hummed at her story, knowing that she bounced back from breakups quickly. Ria had had many, many relationships in her twenty years of being alive, and driving four hours back home in a furious haze was one of the least crazy things she had done in the aftermath of a breakup. 

“Do you wanna watch ‘Legally Blonde’ with us, Ria?” Y/N asked her sister. 

Ria let out a snort and squeezed the two teenagers’ shoulders. “Not if you’re making out like that I don’t. Plus, I gotta check in with mom and dad, I didn’t tell them I was coming. I’ll catch you guys later though.” With that, she picked up her suitcase and left the room. Bucky and Y/N looked at each other and then busted out laughing.

“I don’t care what your sister says, I will make out with you as much as I damn well please.” Bucky said, smirking.

Y/N grinned before bringing Bucky’s face right before hers and licking her lips. “You won’t be hearing any objections from me.” He laughed as she connected their lips again, moving back towards the couch until he was seated, the movie long, long forgotten. 

Quarantine was horrible, but with Bucky and her older sister there with her, it made it much more bearable. Now there were three students staying in the house, all doing classes, which made it slightly frustrating and stressful, but she tried to not let it affect her. In the last few remaining weeks of school, Y/N and Bucky worked hard, making sure they had all their assignments turned in and studying for their “quizzes” (aka finals) that would determine the grade they got for the year. It was nearly impossible to fail this semester, the only good thing that came out of the pandemic, but both of them were good students who still actually did the work. Finally, school finished and summer began. 

It really changed nothing besides the fact that they were now bored even more often. Y/N wanted to do the Chloe Ting challenge as she had seen on YouTube, but after three days she gave up in exhaustion and forced Bucky to do yoga with her instead, which he ended up enjoying a lot. He and Y/N were bummed out that they wouldn’t be able to continue their extracurriculars, baseball and the play, for that year, but hopefully, the pandemic would end in time for their sophomore year. FaceTime calls between the group became longer just like the days, sometimes stretching to seven or eight hours. They spent a month trying to convince their parents to let them hang out, with promises of social distancing and masks. After much pestering, they were all finally allowed to meet up for Steve’s fifteenth birthday. 

Bucky and Y/N walked hand in hand to the Brooklyn Bridge Park. Y/N had gotten Steve a new set of acrylic paints and a set of charcoal pencils, and Bucky had gotten him a baseball signed by the Yankees that he had kept since he met them in a bar with his dad the year before. “Where do you think they are? Sam said he was coming late.” Bucky said.

Y/N snorted. “The dumbass probably slept in like he did the day of his oral Spanish test.” Both of them quietly chuckled at that until they saw the familiar shock of red curly hair gesturing wildly at them. “And there’s Ms. Natasha Romanoff. HEY GUYS!”

Steve, Wanda, and Natasha all turned around to the couple and though they were all wearing masks, Bucky knew they were smiling underneath. Y/N let go of his hand and ran towards her friends at an alarming speed. “I’ve missed you guys so fucking much- oh shit.” Her foot got caught in the grass, sending her tumbling to the ground. “Oomph.” Natasha rolled her eyes, knowing her friend’s clumsy self, and Bucky once again came to her rescue as her knight in shining armor. 

���You okay, baby?” He asked. 

“Never been better.” She quickly pecked his cheek, and connecting their hands again, they walked over to their friends. “Happy birthday, Stevie! You’re officially a grandpa now.” She and Bucky placed their presents on the picnic table and sat in the circle their friends had made, six feet apart obviously. 

“Thanks, Y/N, it’s great to see you and Buck again.” Bucky sat next to Steve, and the two of them made conversation as Y/N turned to Wanda and Natasha. 

“Ugh, you and Bucky are so cute it makes me want to puke.” Natasha jabbed playfully. “You make all us single people feel bad.”

“I can’t tell if that was a compliment or an insult, but I’ll take it either way.” Y/N grinned. “But Nat, I need to tell you something; Steve has a crush on you.” Natasha just sighed. 

“I know he does, so I’m actually planning on telling the whole group tomorrow. Steve’ll be able to get over it, he’s also been texting Peggy Carter in our class.” Wanda nodded her head in agreement.

“I’m really proud of you, Tasha,” Wanda whispered, “We all are.” 

“Thank you, Wands.” The redhead took a deep breath and let it go. “Thank you, both, for being so supportive of me these past two years, but I think I’m ready to come out. I’m not going to let anything stop me from being who I am, or loving who I want to love.”

“We are so, so proud of you, Tasha.” Y/N said. “Damn your parents if they don’t accept you.” Natasha chuckled, a tear falling out of her eye. “I really want to give you a hug right now but I can’t, goddamn it.”

“HEY LOSERS, DID YOU MISS ME?” Sam yelled. A loud groan escaped Bucky, causing chuckles to rise from the rest of the group. “Happy birthday, o wise one, you’re the last one of us to turn fifteen.” He placed his bag on the table and came to sit on the ground.

“How’ve you been, Sam?” Wanda asked. And just like that, they were back. Maybe it was just for a few hours, but at least in that time they could forget what was going on in the real world. Sitting in the grass, eating their lunches, laughs filling the warm summer air, Y/N and Bucky were content with just being there.

TAGLIST 

@transparentfestivaltiger​ @barnesjamcs​ @kitkatd7​ @adorkably​

#james buchanan barnes #james barnes #James Buchanan Bucky Barnes #some quarantine lovin’ #bucky fanfic #buckybarnes #bucky barnes x reader #reader insert #readerinsert #Self Insert #sebastianstan #Sebastian Stan #sebstan #sebastian x reader #sebastian stan x reader #marvel #marvel fanfiction #bucky barns imagine #quarantine #coronavirus #covid 19 #covidー19 #Avengers #Avenger #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky fic #highschool au #highschool!bucky #highschoolau

[kaitycole]

Kryptonite

Summary: Jackson thinks back to their last few months in Cordonia.

Word Count: 3620

Pairings: Constantine x Eleanor, Eleanor x Jackson, Jackson x Bianca

Warnings: Mentions of s*x, Mentions of adultery, Mentions of cheating, Betrayal, Mentions of divorce, Mentions of unplanned pregnancy, Mentions of panic attacks

A/N: Thanks to @sirbeepsalot every time I reference a flower I now check the symbolism. This is the site I’ve used if you want research the flowers mentioned :https://www.almanac.com/content/flower-meanings-language-flowers

Song Choice: They Don’t Have to Know by Tri Starr

Part 16 of WP. To catch up, read here.

Tag List: @fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore​ @kingliam2019​ @texaskitten30​ @glaimtruelovealways​​ @bobasheebaby​​  @bascmve01​​  @burnsoslow​​  @the-everlasting-dream​​  @ao719​​  @sirbeepsalot​​  @janezillow​​  @i-bloody-love-drake-walker​​  @kimmiedoo5​​  @choices97​​ @marshmallowsaremyfavorite​​ @lodberg​​  @edgiestwinter​​  @marshmallowsandfire​​ @hopefulmoonobject​​ @iaminlovewithtrr​​  @cordonianroyalty​​  @rafasgirl23415​​  

Panted breaths come from within the study, both Eleanor and Jackson stilling clinging to each other. They had originally planned to wait longer before sneaking around in the palace, limiting their interactions for at least a month, but both caved within two weeks of returning. Most of those two weeks were spent apart while Jackson was away from the palace, but it proved hard for the two to stay apart. The pull is practically magnetic between them;  it’s clearly obvious by the clothing littered from the closed door to the desk.

There’s a faint salty taste as Jackson kisses her neck, the scent of arousal surrounds them as they both slowly come down from their highs. A cold chill runs down her spine and he pulls her closer into his bare chest.

“I missed you.” She whispers into his ear, running her fingers through his hair. It’s gotten a little longer and she’s loves it.

“I missed you too, El.” His hot breath lingered on her skin as he mumbles the words in the curve of her neck. With a final kiss, the two pull apart and begin gathering their clothes from the floor.

“I could stay here all night,” she says as she finds herself in his arms again. Pulling on his shirt, she drags him back into her for a kiss.

“I agree, but I think we’d both be missed.” He chuckles as he kisses her back.

She lets out a sigh before giving him a small smile. They both look at each other, silently agreeing it was time to part ways. She squeezes his hand one last time before he slips out of the study.

As she stands there waiting, the reality of it all comes crashing down on her. That no matter how long you played pretend, eventually you have to go back to reality.

*                      * Before the king had gone to Portavira, he contacted several contractors to possibly work on Eleanor’s garden idea. It was originally an act of love, but now it was just another palace project to him. Just another way to leave a mark of his reign on the palace.

A few weeks after her return from Valtoria, Eleanor is finally working with the contractors to get the plans started. She welcomes the work load, anything to keep her mind off of her current situation.

“I think the hedge maze would look nice,” she spins around and then points, “over there.”

“There you are, dear.” Constantine comes up behind her, kissing her on the temple before wrapping his arm around her waist. “How are things going?”

“They are going fine.” A few of the workers notice her change in attitude and how she tries to slip out of his grip. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Constantine but he doesn’t speak on it.

“Which types of flowers are you thinking of adding?” He asks, walking over to see which design she picked.

“Yellow roses to the east, facing our suite and gardenias to the west. I haven’t figured out the rest.”

“Any particular reason for the type or location?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Blame it on my mood, I guess.” She shrugs before directing her attention back to one of the workers. No one in the palace has been safe from Eleanor’s sharp tongue; at first everyone chalked it up to being normal monarch stress, but lately she is entirely out of character. Usually if and when she ever snapped at anyone, she’d quickly apologize, but now she would publicly snap and then just walk away without so much as a second thought.

Constantine stands closest to Timothy and Bastien, the latter has been assigned to watch over the contractors in case of any accidents as Eleanor continues to rattle away demands.

”I prefer the Cherry Laurel for the hedging detail. Is that an option that we have?” She asks the man in charge of writing down the plants needed to be ordered.

“Yes, your majesty.” He quickly nods his head towards her.

She catches a quick glimpse of a shaggy brunette-haired guard walking into the courtyard. A quick blush covers her cheeks as she clears her throat to prevent a smile from spreading across her lips. The obviousness is caught by only the senior staff, who also try to discretely look at the king. His face is stoic and the only motion he makes is when Timothy leans down and whispers something; causing the king to just nod.

Jackson quickly scans around the courtyard, biting the inside of his cheek when he sees the king; the one person that he didn’t expect to see. He knows that he’s treading on thin ice, especially considering that he’s nowhere near his stationed spot for the day, but he wants to see her. She’s the only thing that has been on his mind as of late and he struggles to show restraint when it comes to staying away from her.

While rumors and gossip spun around between the servants and guards, it wasn’t reported to higher up as somewhat of an unspoken rule. So typically, Jackson didn’t have to  have a reason for wandering around the palace until he found Eleanor since no one too important was around. However, right now he needs to find a reason, but he can’t.

“Walker, fancy seeing you here.” Timothy hits the back of Jackson’s shoulder. He hadn’t seen much of his friend lately, but that was mostly due to assignments. Timothy has recently been in charge of training a few new guards to take over positions within the king’s guards. But he isn’t convinced that’s why he and his friend have been running in different circles.

“Ah, yeah,” Jackson nervously rubs the back of his neck. “Just looking to get some fresh air.”

Timothy scrunches his brows, “But this is in the opposite direction from where you’re stationed today?”

“A bit of exercise never hurt anyone.” He’s getting annoyed with Timothy real fast.

“You sure it wasn’t just to see the queen?” He nudges Jackson’s arm with his elbow.

“You really need to get a girlfriend.”

Timothy rolls his eyes as he walks back towards the palace. A quick look around shows that during his talk, the king had walked back over to Eleanor, who is looking in his direction.

“Officer Walker, afternoon.” She says, waving him over.

“Your highnesses,” he bows in front of Eleanor before turning to Constantine and bowing to him as well.

“Officer Walker.” Constantine says with a straight face, masking his irritation. He’s not oblivious at how one of his guardsmen is looking at his wife and what really pisses him off is at how he doesn’t seem to try and hide it. Constantine isn’t so out of touch that he didn’t know men’s eyes wander and he knows his wife is beautiful, but the lack of decorum is what eats at Constantine.

“Say, do you have any flower recommendations?” Eleanor looks over at Jackson, not seeming to care about whose eyes are watching.

“Me?” He looks around, making awkward eye contact with Constantine.

“The queen does seem to value your opinion. Surely you have some ideas for her flower garden.” For the first time Constantine shows his hand by giving Jackson a once over with a slightly disgusted look.

“What about Honeysuckle? The kids would enjoy it,” Jackson just shrugs. He really wasn’t sure if that was an appropriate choice, but he loved eating Honeysuckle growing up and felt the children would enjoy it as well.

“That’s a wonderful idea!” Eleanor smiles, turning to make sure the man wrote the suggestion down. Jackson couldn’t help but feel a small blush creep across his cheeks as she looks at him with her bright smile.

One of the newer guards walks up and whispers something to Constantine who then address his wife, “If you’ll excuse me.”

“Of course.” She smiles at him, but it doesn’t reach her eyes like the one towards Jackson does.

Constantine walks back towards the palace before stopping right next to Timothy, who has been standing near the entrance, “I take it everything is in place,  Timothy?”

“Yes, your highness.”

“Then I trust you know what to do.” Constantine takes one last look at the courtyard before heading to his office.

*                      * At first, the Walker-Rys affair is contained to their usual meet-ups on Fridays in the west-winged study of the palace; allowing their guilt to stay at bay. But as the weeks slip pass them, their courage grows and soon they both find themselves wanting variety. Eleanor begins to monitor Constantine’s schedules, aligning his meetings with times she can slip Jackson into her suite. There’s been several days where Jackson volunteers to pick up overnight guard shifts, allowing him the opportunity to sleep in the guards’ suite. That arrangement allows Eleanor to sneak over in the middle of the night without worry of being caught.

With Constantine away on business, Eleanor finds herself alone in the courtyard. The project is taking a bit longer than she originally thought it would, apparently being a reigning monarch can’t get you everything you want when you want it. She’s sitting on the same bench Constantine had sat on when he confessed he wanted to start fresh. Part of her felt guilty for what she was doing, she knew it was wrong. Not only morally, but also ethically. Yet and still, here she is, waiting for Jackson.

The sound of a small twig snapping brought her from her thoughts and she smiles. Jackson steps closer to her, holding something behind his back.

“What do you have?” She quickly gives him a kiss, trying to peak behind him, but he swiftly turns.

“You are awful when it comes to surprises.” He smiles, kissing her again.

It’s late, so she’s already taken her hair down, make-up off and is wearing a pair of jeans with a sweatshirt. This was the Eleanor that Jackson prefers, her just being her; not dolled up and on show.

“I am not.”

Rolling his eyes, he hands her the red tulips from behind his back. Instantly her face lights up and she throws her arms around him. He stumbles backwards a few steps before he’s able to regain his balance.

“I take it that you like them.”

“I love them.” She holds the flowers close to her face, “And I love you.”

“I love you too.”

It’s not the first time they’ve exchanged those three words, in fact it was after the first time that Jackson realized Eleanor is his soulmate. After that revelation, it became clearer to him why the affair was so easy for him. He knows that it’s wrong and that Bianca deserves better, but if he divorced her it could cause suspicious. Suspicious was the last thing that the palace needed and as selfish as it was, he didn’t want to risk losing what he and Eleanor had.

They find themselves in each other’s arms; a rush of adrenaline and arousal overtakes them both, caution thrown to the wind. They’re desperately tearing the others’ clothes away and pawing at bare skin. He gently lowers her to the ground; the cool evening grass sends goosebumps across her skin.

It’s not long before they are completely lost in the moment, lost in each other; forgetting all about their surroundings. It’s not until a flash appears that they both freeze, Jackson quickly pulling the queen into his chest to shield her.

“What was that?”

“Shh.” He places a finger on her lip before rolling her off of him. He sits up slightly, trying to look around when he sees another guard. He throws his shirt back on and sits up just enough, his lower half hidden behind some foliage.

“Everything okay?”

The man with the light turns, it’s Michael, “Walker? What the hell are you doing?”

“I just needed some air.” He discreetly pulls Eleanor’s sweatshirt to her.

“Did you hear anything? A few maids reported some kind of noise disturbance around here.”

Eleanor covers her mouth so she doesn’t laugh and Jackson just shakes his head.

“No, must’ve been some animal.”

“Alright, well I’ll head out.” Michael nods before turning and leaving. When he’s a safe distance away, Eleanor bursts out into a fit of laughter.

Quickly they finish dressing, speed walking hand in hand back to the palace.

“I can’t believe we almost got caught!” Eleanor says between laughs.

Jackson shakes his head once again, “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

*                      * Bianca lets out a deep sigh as she tightly grips her coffee mug; the heat radiating from the mug reddens hers palms as the morning sun warms her skin. Her mind is full of doubts and second thoughts regarding her husband. While the ball seems like just a distant memory, what she was told by a Duke is fresh in her head. Jackson had told her that he wasn’t sleeping with her, that it was just his job, but his words have lost their comfort.

At first, it was easy for her to believe him because in all their years together he had never given her reason to distrust him. His fluctuating attitude wasn’t helping put her to ease. For a while after the ball, he walked around al doom and gloom causing her to walk on eggshells around him. He acted as if something terrible happened, but nothing had changed on their end. Then when he decided to take a vacation he acted like a totally different man; he was an attentive husband and father.

But ever since her Texas trip, she can’t help but feel something was up. Maybe it was the gossip she heard about how the queen and king were sleeping in separate chambers or how Jackson was the only guard that went with the queen to Valtoria. What really didn’t help was Tonya’s projection of her situation on Bianca’s. Yes, the Walker marriage wasn’t ideal or originally an union of love, but it worked and that was mattered. But Tonya didn’t agree, saying that since Cash was Jackson’s friend there was a chance Jackson would do the same as Cash.

Bianca knows that she should just confront Jackson about her thoughts and fears, but she has seen him maybe a handful of times since he came back from Valtoria. First, he was sent to Applewood for a few weeks which she couldn’t fault him for but since then, he seems to never come home. Saying that it’s easier to just stay in the guard’s suite due to late night patrols which would’ve made sense, but Constantine had given Bastien and Michael the overnight shifts after Savannah was born to allow him to be home more. And the longer she tries to think about it, the more she tries to make sense of it, the more jumbled her thoughts become and the worse her headache gets.

She clicks the pen in her hand repeatedly; a divorce is an option, but the fine details make it more complicated. She wouldn’t want to stay at the cabin or even in Cordonia, but it isn’t just her feelings and wants that are to be considered. She has Drake and Savannah to think about, but remembering how happy they were running through Texan fields made her think moving just might be a good idea.

Over in the palace, a certain king is also clicking the top of a pen as he debates how to handle a very similar situation. He too has picked up on not only Eleanor’s but also Jackson’s attitude and behavior. At first, Constantine wanted to believe that maybe he was just being paranoid. That maybe he wanted to believe something was up so he had a reason to keep his heart closed off. Then another guardsman came to him with suspicion and everything became clear to him.

Unlike Bianca, Constantine couldn’t just file for divorce; there’s certain things that the royal family couldn’t just indulge in, divorce being one of them. They have been together too long for an annulment. Plus, if word of the queen’s less than discrete behaviors got out, Liam’s legitimacy could be called into question and he refuses to allow his wife’s choices to tarnish his son’s reputation. With all that said, he also wasn’t so sure she’d act as Liana did and leave her son, which would leave the throne unstable and Constantine in the same predicament as before.

Opening the third drawer on the right side of his desk he pulls out a thick manila envelope. He has a pretty good idea of what’s inside there or more so what’s on those photographs. He isn’t sure if the thickness and weight is from diligence or there was that much to report. He’s had it for weeks now, part of him hoping that he’d never have to open it; hoping that things could go back to before when they were both happy.

*                      * “Oh, do we have any of those sour lemon candies? The ones shaped like lemons?” Eleanor asks one of the servants placed the royal family’s dinner in front of them.

“If not, I will get some immediately.”

“Thank you.” She smiles sweetly as the servant bows.

Constantine snickers at the other end of the table, taking a sip of his wine. The boys and Olivia seem unfazed, going about their dinner as if the room is silent.

“What?” Eleanor cuts her eyes at her husband.

“It’s just the only time you ever wanted sour food or candy was when you were pregnant.” He stops, the weight on the word sitting on both of them, “Wait, are you?”

It feels like she sits there for hours, trying to do the math but failing. Time has nearly stopped completely, trying to see if there’s any way she could be. If there was a chance that it was either an heir or…or the product of adultery.

Constantine picks up on her hesitation, but remains stoic. With Liam, there wasn’t this kind of hesitation, she instantly knew the answer, but here she just sat; almost horrified. Had their intimate affairs been within the window needed? He had asked her once before to explain how she kept track, but when she said to counted certain days and excluded other, he became lost.

Eleanor sits there, “I...” Could I be?

“Are you okay, Momma?” Liam asks, picking up on her unease.

“Of course, sweet boy.” She scrunches up her nose, making a funny face at her son, “I’ll be back in just a moment. If you’ll excuse me.”

The king watches as his wife all but runs out of the dining room. Before when the prospect of an heir was mentioned, he was all but full of joy. The idea of more children was never what he planned, but he warmed up to the idea. Eleanor warmed him up to the idea, but now, he has a sinking feeling there won’t be much joy this time around.

There’s a wave of sickness that washes over her as she rushes down the halls. Her head starts to spin and ache as she feels sick. She wasn’t sure if it was sudden morning sickness or if the queasiness came from her fear.

Quickly, she ducks into her suite; rushing into her bathroom. When her and Constantine became intimate, long before her trip to Valtoria, she had her servants to buy a couple pregnancy tests. Her hands tremble as she rips open the pink foil, the plastic test in her hand feels heavier than she remembers.

*                      * Jackson steps out of the guards’ suite and quickly sees the queen pacing just a few feet away from the door. He’s unsure why, the watch on his wrist tells him that she should be at dinner.

“El?” His voice is barely above a whisper, but she hears him.

“Jacks—” She can’t finish before she’s in tears; her eyes raw and red. She rushes over to him, throwing her arms around him as he rubs his hand across her back.

“What’s wrong?” He tries pulling her back so he can look at her, but she clings to him. Her tears soaking the fabric that covers his shoulder. All of her actions are out of character for the queen, but he knows something is seriously wrong. She has never clung on to him like this, in such an intimate way in a very public setting.

Eleanor tries to speak but all that comes out are half choked out sounds. She’s practically shaking like a leaf, he’s never seen her this shaken up or scared before and he is panicking. Jackson knows that they aren’t safe there, there’s nothing stopping anyone from walking in on their embrace. Carefully he walks backwards and pulls her around the corner, secluding them from prying eyes and concealing them from potential scandal.

“El, I need you to talk to me. You’re scaring me.” He walks closest to one of the couches, pulling her off of him and helping her sit down. She’s finally leveling out her breathing when she looks up at him, tears pooling heavily in her eyes.

“Two…two lines…” Her breathing picks back up and she’s a mess all over again. Wringing her hands together as she tries to catch her breath.

“Two lines? Eleanor, you aren’t making sense.”

With shaking hands, she pulls the tests out of her pocket and hands them to him; she had taken four of them. He looks at them, unsure of how to act and he feels himself unable to breathe. The unsureness of what this meant left him with a mixture of fear and unease.

**A while ago I wrote some character profiles, you can read them here.

#choices #pixelberry #choices fanfiction #choices au fanfiction #choices au fanfic #the royal romance #choices trr #trr #trr constantine #trr constantine rys #trr Eleanor #trr Eleanor rys #trr jackson #trr Jackson walker #trr bianca #trr bianca walker #witness protection au fic #witness protection #trr witness protection au #trr au fanfic #constantine x eleanor #jackson x bianca #jackson x eleanor #tw: changes to canon #tw: mention of sex #tw: adultery #tw: cheating #tw: anger #tw: stress #tw: unwanted pregnancy

[slashhinginghasher]

Social Engagement for Misanthropes: Jesse Cromeans x Marena Polunochnaya

Jesse Cromeans cleaned up nice, and he damn well knew it. It was one of the first skills he’d cultivated after leaving his shithole hometown. One of the best ways to get money, he’d found, was to look like you already had it. The looks he got from women (and some men) were a welcome (some would say unnecessary) boost to his ego, and a sharp suit could always be counted on to draw the piggies out of their pens. The first few times he’d worn designer had felt strange, like a kid playing make-believe, though after a while it became as natural as breathing.

Now, as he stood in front of the mirror in his walk-in closet and fiddled with a tie he hadn’t touched in over three years, he felt a bit like that broke, backwater kid again.

He didn’t particularly want to attend this event, but it was, unfortunately, somewhat necessary. Spann had called it “proof of life” when she handed him the invitation, an actual, physical piece of paper that had been calligraphed and embossed within an inch of its life. It contained phrases like “humble gathering” and “the pleasure of your company” and had, apparently, been mailed with an honest-to-god wax seal.

Pretentious prick.

Jesse had been to his fair share of “humble gatherings”; you couldn’t conduct real business without them. They were mind-crushingly boring affairs, a slow-moving social dance of caviar, expensive booze, and pathetic attempts at wit. If nothing else, the people-watching was usually interesting. For all their “good breeding”, wealthy families could be far more dysfunctional than the most slovenly of small town homes. Upper class socialites didn’t blink at multi-million dollar checks, but flash a bit of ink and they’d fall over themselves to choke on his cock while their husbands talked golf in the next room. He’d even picked up a piggy or two at a few events, though you had to be extra careful with that (chain of association and all).

But he hadn’t shown his face in public since it had been ripped off and reattached, and some of his business contacts were getting suspicious. Spann’s iron-clad assurances were no longer enough to quell the rumors that Jesse Cromeans had died, or been deposed, and that someone else was running the company under his name. And that just would not do. He’d RSVP’d immediately, memories of Preston’s failed takeover flushing his system with old rage.

At least he’d be guaranteed some interesting company tonight, he thought, smirking at the garment bag draped over the stool next to him as he tapped out a quick text.

💀🖕: COME UPSTAIRS, I HAVE A SURPRISE FOR YOU

Macarena: IF IT’S YOUR DICK I DON’T WANT IT

Jesse chuckled and went back to his tie, certain that either Marena’s curiosity or the urge to insult him to his face would bring her up shortly. He knew bow ties were traditional for black tie events, but wearing a fucking bow around his neck was a concession he’d never been able to force himself to make. Besides, he had a reputation for being… unconventional, and reputation was everything. Satisfied with the crisp Windsor knot, he shrugged on his black waistcoat, secretly pleased with the way it showed off the breadth of his chest.

“You look like a goth pirate,” came Marena’s voice from the doorway. “What the fuck.” As usual, he hadn’t heard her approach. She was the only person he knew who could sneak up on him, which was fun. Made things exciting.

“Haven’t you ever heard of ‘black tie’ before?” Jesse signed with a grin.

“Call me surprised then. Are we done?” In lieu of a verbal response, Jesse tossed the garment bag at her. Marena unzipped it enough to peek inside, then immediately re-zipped it.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Nyet.”

“Can’t go to a gala wearing that,” Jesse replied, looking pointedly at her worn t-shirt and jeans. Marena threw the garment bag back and crossed her arms.

“How sad. Guess I won’t go.”

“Sure you will. I can think of a few things to make it fun.”

“So can I. Like not going.”

“Not an option.” Jesse was struggling to smother his laughter. The stubborn furrow of Marena’s brow was too cute to keep a straight face around.

“Why are you going?”

“Business.”

“And that has what to do with me?”

“You’re my plus one, little wench.” Marena visibly cringed.

“If we’re being pirates, I want a fucking sword. And I don’t mean your dick,” she snapped, cutting him off before he could sign a single word. Jesse’s shoulders shook with a full-body laugh, composure completely shot. He cupped Marena’s face in both hands and kissed her forehead, which he knew she hated, before pressing the garment bag into her hands once more.

“Try to look a little less like a corpse,” he advised, stepping around her to grab his dinner jacket. A litany of Russian curses followed him.

***

Marena’s concession to not resembling a corpse was a violently red lipstick that made it look like she’d been eating human hearts for every meal, which Jesse immediately wanted to smear across her face. The dress was black, of course, with a high collar and long sleeves. It would have covered her neck to toe had she not hiked one side of the skirt nearly up to her hip while she slipped a set of throwing knives into the holster around her slender thigh.

She made a compelling argument for ditching, Jesse thought, feeling a familiar tightening in his slacks. He couldn’t resist smoothing a hand along her exposed leg, fingers coming to rest just shy of her underwear.

“Once this dress comes off, it’s not going back on,” she warned.

“Noted and appreciated. You still have to come to this party.”

“Fuck.”

“Later.” 

Marena said nothing, just glared at him through her curtain of hair - which she had brushed just enough that the messiness looked intentional - and let her skirts fall back down to her ankles. Jesse quickly ushered her out of the room before he could do something ingenious like cancelling all of his commitments for the next month and spending the entire time in bed.

The ride in the Bentley was tense and silent. A sick pit of nerves was brewing in Jesse’s stomach, all too similar to the way his boyhood self felt on the way to school, and that was ten kinds of bullshit. He was a grown man. He was motherfucking Chromeskull. He should not be feeling like a little kid about to face a playground bully. But he was finding it very difficult to push the feeling away. His face looked a damn sight better than it did several years ago, but it would never go back to the way it was before, and he was about to walk into a room full of people who treated a minute blemish like a national scandal. He wanted his mask. He wanted to say fuck it and just keep driving until he hit someplace tropical. He wanted to kill something, to drown his insecurities in blood and adrenaline.

He half-wished he’d flown Asa out to rig the whole venue beforehand in case things went south.

Beside him, Marena was deathly still, one white-knuckled fist gripping the fabric of her skirt. She looked a million miles away, lost in whatever personal hell her own brain was conjuring for her. Jesse reached over and squeezed her hand, running his thumb over her knuckles. It was his version of a concession; a silent expression of gratitude. The fact that Marena didn’t push his hand away was a testament to how anxious she was.

“I still want a sword,” she grumbled. Jesse smiled and chucked her under the chin, which she also hated, and felt the knot in his chest loosen a bit.

***

It wasn’t as bad as it could have been. People stared, of course, but they were too “polite” (which was money-speak for “two-faced”) to say anything to his face. There were far more eyes on Marena, which Jesse both loved and loathed. The women’s jealous eyes tracked her every move like sharks scenting new prey, which was admittedly hilarious to watch; but the barely-concealed desire on the men’s faces sent prickles of possessiveness down Jesse’s spine. He kept his hand glued to Marena’s lower back, low enough to skirt the line of what their current company would consider decent.

If there was one thing the rich understood, it was possession.

“Cromeans!” the host bellowed, arms spread like they were old friends. “Still alive and in the flesh, I see! Some of the lads were getting worried!” A few of the “lads” murmured noises of agreement while the host gave Jesse an overly enthusiastic handshake. Jesse could feel their gazes catching on the eyepatch and the new curl of his lip, and he almost wished one of them would say something, just to give him an excuse to lash out. But the host’s attention wandered over to Marena, whom he foolishly deemed to be a safer topic of discussion.

“And who might this lovely creature be?” he asked, ignoring the sinful glances his wife was casting Jesse’s way.

“No one of consequence,” Marena replied sweetly with a tight, close-lipped smile. The man tipped his head back and guffawed, trying not to wither under the combined weight of Jesse and Marena’s unimpressed stares. He forged ahead anyway.

“You always did have a penchant for… unusual company, Cromeans, I’ll give you that. Tell you what,” he rubbed his hands together eagerly, “I’ve got a bottle of Lagavulin with your name on it in the gentlemen’s lounge. I’m sure Genevieve here can handle your lovely companion for a bit while we talk business.” He beamed benevolently at his wife, who looked as though she’d rather eat glass.

“Of course, dear,” she said, pasting a megawatt smile on her botoxed face. “It’s such a treat to see a new face around here. I’m sure the other girls would love to meet you.” She swept away towards a group of tittering young women draped in diamonds and pearls, Marena following with the stiff spine of a person walking to their execution. Jesse felt much the same way as “the lads” filed into the oak-paneled gentlemen’s lounge.

“Business” was code for the same inane bullshit being discussed in the ballroom, with the addition of whiskey, cigars, and complaints about wives and mistresses. These conversations were usually a goldmine for Jesse. As a mute, he was rarely expected to be an active participant, and the number of weaknesses people revealed when they assumed they were surrounded by allies was astounding. Tonight, though, he was twitchy and bored, distracted by thoughts of Marena stabbing one of those debutante brats through the eye with the stem of a champagne glass. As if on cue, his phone vibrated.

Macarena: I’M GOING TO KILL EVERYONE IN THIS BUILDING

💀🖕: DON’T START WITHOUT ME

Macarena: IT’S CUTE THAT YOU THINK I WON’T TAKE YOU OUT FIRST

💀🖕: AWW YOU THINK I’M CUTE?

Macarena: I WILL RIP YOUR SPINE OUT AND BEAT YOU WITH IT

💀🖕: DON’T TEMPT ME WITH A GOOD TIME BABY ;)

Macarena: THIS FUCKER KEEPS TRYING TO GET ME TO DANCE

Macarena: CAN I KNEECAP HIM

Macarena: I’M GONNA KNEECAP HIM

The little bastard’s kneecaps were spared when a staff member scuttled into the lounge to inform the host of some dire emergency, effectively breaking up the little gathering. Jesse strolled back into the ballroom and spotted Marena at a table near the exit, cornered by a little bitch with slicked-back hair and a greasy smile. The waves of irritation coming off of the girl were palpable and her smile obviously fake, and Jesse couldn’t decide if the guy was too stupid to notice, or was ignoring it because he had that effect on every woman he spoke to.

“Come on, baby,” he goaded, and Jesse could have broken his neck just for that, “it’s just one dance. Didn’t your mother ever teach you manners?”

Marena’s smile froze on her face, and Jesse could practically hear the Kill Bill sirens going off in her head. The barb would’ve worked on any other woman in the room - horror of high society horrors, to be considered ill-mannered! - but for people of Marena and Jesse’s backgrounds, it hit much harder and much deeper.

“No,” she said, rising slowly and deliberately from her seat. “She didn’t.” She turned on her heel, leaving the idiot to gape at the failure of his clumsy manipulation tactics. Jesse grabbed her elbow and she passed and made a beeline for the exit. Not that he didn’t relish the prospect of a bloodbath, but initiating one right now would make future business dealings… complicated.

He memorized the fucker’s face on their way out, though.

***

Marena spent the next few days in a well-deserved sulk, resulting in the destruction of two punching bags and a serious case of blue balls for Jesse. He’d really been looking forward to ripping that dress off of her, damn it. He distracted himself with work and few more personal arrangements. At the end of the week, he tracked her down on the rooftop deck.

“Say your piece and fuck off,” she growled as he stood silently next to her chaise lounge, hands behind his back. She sounded exhausted and looked as though she hadn’t slept in at least two days. Affecting an air of mock seriousness, Jesse moved in front of her and bowed, offering her conciliatory gift on open palms.

“You did not.”

The shashka’s scabbard was a deep midnight blue, with subtle patterns of tree branches embossed in the fine leather. The hilt was smooth, black horn. The blade gleamed in the afternoon light as Marena unsheathed it with a fluid schnick.

“You are the absolute worst fucking person in the world,” she said, the corners of her mouth twitching dangerously close to a smile. A glint of wicked delight sparkled in her eyes as she gave the sabre a few experimental twirls and slashes.

“Only for you, baby,” Jesse replied with a cheeky grin. “Want to test it out?”

***

All it took was a pair of handcuffs and a dark warehouse to really bring out the bitch in some people. The asshole from the party (Jesse really needed to come up with a term for male piggies if this was going to be a recurring thing) had been tied up for barely a day and he was already a sniveling mess. Jesse, on the other hand, was in a great mood. He had his mask, his camcorder, and his favorite knife, and judging by the way Marena was practically purring as she traced her fingers around the shashka’s hilt, he was for sure getting laid tonight. 

The rich bitch didn’t recognize Jesse with his face covered, but his eyes went wide and he started screaming obscenities into his gag when Marena stepped under the light. She yanked the fabric out of his mouth.

“You fucking cunt! You’ll fucking regret this! Do you know who I am? Do you-” All the blood drained from his face when Marena drew the sword and held it to his throat in a lightning-fast move. He swallowed hard, the tip digging in just below his Adam’s apple and drawing a bead of blood. She really was a natural with that thing, Jesse thought as he circled the tableau with his camera. It was hot as fuck.

“Hi,” Marena said.

The man sweated in silence.

“I wanted to go back to our conversation a few nights ago,” she continued. “About my mother.” She let the sword drop to her side and the man relaxed fractionally.

“See, she did not teach me manners, but she did teach me a lot of other things.” She pushed the gag back into place and patted him a couple times on his quivering, tear-soaked cheek. Then she reached into her pocket and pulled out a black butterfly knife.

“Lesson one: bleeding.”

#@slash-em-up: *calls Jesse a stupid name once* #me: *filing it away to use forever* #marena gets a sword because she deserves it #marena's name is ''macarena'' in jesse's phone because autocorrect kept changing it and he gave up #my writing #jesse cromeans #chromeskull #marena polunochnaya

[goldenzingy46]

Chapter 2: Sirius Black, aged 7                   

Sirius Black was sitting in the parlour on a ridiculously expensive chair, feet swinging as he grumbled about his mother cutting his hair. He, apparently, wasn’t respectable-looking enough for the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black, which was silly, in his opinion, because Sirius Orion Black was a seven-year-old. Which, of course, meant he was incredibly grown up, but not old and grumpy enough to have to look a certain way for family dinners.

Family dinners! He’d get to see Cousin Andy, who was brilliant. Last time, she brought dungbombs and they let them off at the dinner table, which had been hilarious. His mother had dropped out of her perfect posture and shrieked like a banshee, beautiful hair slipping off her head in cascades, stumbling in her heels and ripping the hem of her gown. It had been hilarious, and, though he had been caught, it had been a riot of an evening he’d never forgot (no, not just because he’d had champagne for the first time! Besides, that was Bellatrix’s fault).

“Alright, Sirius, I think you look gentlemanly now.” Walburga smiled, kissing him on the forehead. “No antics like last year and you’ll be fine. At least with Andromeda, Cygnus can marry her off. You’re our heir apparent.”

“Yes mother,” Sirius groaned, slipping off the chair, looking for an escape from his overbearing mum.

She ruffled his hair, smiling. “Love you, Sirius.”

“Love you too, mum.”

He ran upstairs to get ready, already hearing the guests come in.

“Walburga! Stunning as always, I see,” was his Auntie Druella.

“Druella, my friend!”  which was probably followed up with a hug, kissing on the cheeks and smiling between the two women whom he’d once seen comparing makeup techniques, because the House of Black could never be anything but perfect.

Toujours Pur indeed.

“Reggie! Reggie, come on!” he yelled, dragging his younger brother, Regulus, down the stairs.

Oh, ewwwww.

His father, Orion Black, and his Auntie Druella were deeply in love but married to someone else. Which meant hidden romantic scenes and snogging when nobody was looking, but it was gross.

“Ori,” she whispered, staring deep into his eyes, their hands clutched tightly together.

“Dru,” his father responded, their noses mere inches apart.

“I love you,” Auntie Druella murmured, not giving him time to respond before clutching his face and kissing him like a starving woman, white gloves rumpling on his jawline, lipstick smearing onto his face.

“Ew, ewwww, Reggie don’t look!” Sirius hissed, covering his brother’s eyes, turning away from the sight of his father snogging his aunt.

“I love you too,” he heard his father say, breathlessly, after the kiss.

Regulus shoved Sirius’ hands off his eyes and dragged him downstairs, straight past their father and their aunt, who didn’t even notice them come through.

“My sons! Where were you?” cried Walburga, impeccably dressed as always.

“I’m sure they just got a little… caught up in something,” their Great-Aunt Cassiopeia interrupted, showing her teeth. She knew about the affair between Orion and Druella, but of course she didn’t tell anyone, because she was Cassiopeia Black and she loved chaos.

Grandfather Pollux and Grandmother Irma lurked in the back corner, and Sirius instinctively moved away from them, as both of them were creepy and despised children. Lightly tugging Reggie’s hand, Sirius began to reverse away from their leering grandparents, only to crash backwards into an elderly couple.

“Grandpa Arcturus! Grandma Mel!” Reggie cried, getting smothered in hugs and forehead kisses from Melania.

“How’s my little man these days, huh?” For all she seemed nice, the Black family could team up and be deadly, especially the woman.

“Sirius! Heir apparent! I guess you’re ready for when I finally die so your father can take over, huh?” Arcturus said, shaking Sirius’ hand firmly, his seven-year-old self almost bouncing up and down at the force.

“I- uh… oh look, Reg, there’s Uncle Alphard!” he stuttered, pulling his brother away from their grandma, Arcturus frowning with displeasure as they ran away.

“Sirius!” their Uncle Alphard cried, seeing them come in his direction. “How’s my favourite nephew, then, huh?”

Sirius found his hand sliding out of Reggie’s, and suddenly he was up in the air, too high, way too high, and everything was spinning.

“Uncle- I- urgh,” Sirius spluttered, unable to voice his discomfort. “My brother’s here too!”

He found himself on the ground again, sinking to the floor dizzily.

“Little Regulus! I didn’t see you there!” Alphard said, pinching his cheeks and ruffling his hair. “How’s my lil’ kiddo?”

“Why is everyone calling me little? I am a big boy now! I’m six!” Regulus pouted, looking adorable with big brown eyes and ruffled hair.

“Of course, but you will always be my little kiddo!” Their uncle boomed, sweeping the pair of them into a hug, of which they barely came past his knee. He crouched so he could be at their level, his slightly greasy shoulder length hair swinging in front of their faces. Regulus wrinkled his nose and batted it like a small kitten, to which Alphard let out a hearty laugh and opened his battered leather satchel. “Don’t tell anyone, but I got you each a little gift from my travels,” he whispered, handing Regulus a little ship in a bottle, and Sirius a set of expensive-looking bangles.

“Brother!” Walburga sniffed, elegantly looking down her nose at him, black lace gown sweeping the floor as she marched up beside him. “I haven’t seen you in ages. Come and catch up with us.”

Alphard stood up, dusting off his battered suit, and nodded. On his way to join the women, he winked and Sirius, and murmured, “Give ‘em hell for me, kid.”

With Uncle Alfie gone, the Black brothers looked for another distraction. Without a distraction in sight, however, the middle daughter of Cygnus and Druella Black was stalking through the room, pale skin almost glowing, thick, sleek, black hair swirling loose down her back, a rare luxury for a ten-year-old in the Black family, dark eyes searching the room for prey.

“My favourite cousins! What fun!” Bellatrix yelled, flitting through the room towards them.

“Trix!” Sirius giggled, knowing she hated that nickname.

Bellatrix frowned, and then smiled that nasty smile that ten-year-olds with a cruel streak do, and it was not a nice smile. It was the kind of smile that made Sirius hug his younger brother instinctively, and step in front of him, creating a kind of human shield.

“Kreacher!” she snapped, calling the wrinkled old house elf to her side. “Get us something… fun… to play with.”

Kreacher’s yellowing teeth flashed as he obeyed. “Kreacher bes doing what Young Mistress Black’s wanting.”

She giggled, patting Sirius’ shoulder with a cold hand, to which he recoiled. “It isn’t always I get to play with my little cousins, is it now, Reggie?”

Her eyes flickered to the younger of the two, who was partially hidden behind Sirius, and she had a mask of malice disguising her pretty features. Kreacher popped back in, offering her a dark orb, white streaks of lightning crashing within, and she pulled on her black gloves, straightening the hem by the crook of her elbow, and held the orb out to Sirius.

“Little cousin! Would you like to have a taste of our family’s little treasures?” she hissed, eyes wild and nearly glowing with the power she had over them.

Sirius pulled Reggie back, he had no idea what it was, but it felt ugly, and it radiated an aura of coldness.

“Now, now, don’t be like that! It’s all in good fun! Here, little Reg, you try it!” Bellatrix grabbed him by the arm and pulled him into a tight, one-armed embrace.

“Reggie, no! It feels icky, don’t touch it!” fear clogged his throat as he watched his little brother encircled in the arms of his crazy cousin.

“Come now, just a little brush, that’s all it takes,” Bellatrix coaxed Regulus.

“B-but it feels kinda gross,” Reggie stammered, his hand half out, eyes wide and panicked. “Siri?”

“Reggie, don’t listen to her, don’t touch it! It’s evil!” Sirius cried, watching him but unable to help.

“Don’t be silly, Cousin Sirius, how can an object be evil?” Bellatrix murmured, gloved hand caressing the orb.

“Now, now, Bella,” a soft voice crooned. “Stop toying with our baby cousins, it’s very rude.” Narcissa Black straightened up, dress smooth without a single wrinkle.

“I-I’m not a baby!” Reg complained, defiantly.

“Yes, of course not. Bella, let us go somewhere else.”

“But Cissy…” Bellatrix whined.

“Bella,” Narcissa warned, hands clenching together in a very ladylike manner.

With a dramatic sigh and a grand flourish, Bellatrix relinquished her hold on Regulus, pouting as she swept after her younger sister.

Sirius gently embraced his younger brother, letting Reg cry onto his sleeve. “I’ll always be here for you, Reg,” he whispered. “Always.”

Tears burned his eyes as he hugged Reggie fiercely, never letting go. He would protect his younger brother. Forever and always. Always and forever.

“Hey, little cuz!” Andy called, vaulting over the table to join them. “What’s wrong?”

Sirius glanced up, and muttered, “Bellatrix.”

“Ah, damn. However, I have an idea for a prank…”

Even Regulus looked up at that. Sirius grinned, the mischievous grin that only a seven-year-old can wear. “Let’s hear it.”

Andromeda grinned, and Sirius groaned, knowing that look. “Let’s get you two clean, first..."

#marauders #pro marauders #marauders era #marauders fanfiction #sirius black #black family #regulus black #cassiopeia black #alphard black #pollux black #irma black #walburga black #orion black #arcturus black #melania black #druella black #cygnus black #andromeda black #bellatrix black #narcissa black

[roonil-wazlib-at-221b]

See You Later (Or Not)

Pairing: Five x Reader

Request: HII could i request a five x reader thing where the reader is a robin hood kinda “villain” she’s cocky and charming. and it annoys five but at the same time he’s like “damn” IDK i just want some love/hate thing with a villain reader :))

The first time Five meets another one of the special children, apart from his siblings, is when he’s twenty-three years old. This is, of course, a surprise to him. He’s heard about one girl in India who’s been able to heal fatal wounds; she’s gained coverage quite like the Academy had had in its prime. And he has heard rumors about someone in Canada that can move faster than light. But since there are only 43—probably less, Five supposes, and it’s definitely at the most 42 now that Ben’s dead—they’re all spread out all over the world, some probably in places where they’re unable to be heard of or even hear of the Umbrella Academy, thus possibly, a handful of the 43 might not even know they’re superpowered.

But since the Umbrella Academy was so popular, Five is reasonably certain that every child with access to the internet and born on October 1, 1989 has tested themself vigorously for traces of superpowers. It’s why superpowered villains are not common, per se, but not exactly unheard of either.

He’s staring one in the face right now, for the first time in his life, and also for the first time in his life Five is fairly sure he is not going to win this fight.

The pressure for the Umbrella Academy to reform is great, as only Five and Luther remain out of the seven original children. Anyone that knows Five, really, wouldn’t have expected him to stay. They’d expect him to go off traveling the world, or becoming a scientist, or being a professor at a college (or jumping into the future for half a century), but Five’s not an idiot. The world needs the Academy, whether the Academy be just him or all of them. It would be better if it was all of them; he has no idea how to beat you.

Besides, most all other people are idiots. Reginald Hargreeves may be an ass, and he may still think of the children as less than him, but he’s not an idiot, and Five doesn’t need to prove anything to him. Reginald just assumes that the children can and will do something. They never impress him; most of the time they disappoint him, but it’s better than the scrutinizing gazes of people as Five’s not-normal siblings try to pretend that they are. They’ll never truly fit in, so why should they try? Why not do what they’ve always done? It keeps the press mostly off Five’s back, unless he’s done something extraordinary, unlike how Allison never gets a moment’s peace and people only ever want to talk with Diego about his past instead of his present.

No, if Five went to school he’d chafe under the strict rules meant for idiots, and the teachers that are also idiots, and everything, and if he became a scientist he’d have to prove his findings instead of just showing them off, even if they are right. And if Five became a professor, he’d have to teach idiots, and he’d be the least-liked professor on campus.

It’s better to know that you are capable instead of shoving it in people’s faces; it creates less resentment, and it also isn’t as annoying.

This isn’t the first time Five’s ever heard of you—nobody really knows who you are, but your superhero name is ‘The Ghost’.  He’s read a lot about you. He doesn’t know your motivations, what your past is, what you do with the things you steal, nothing. You’re under suspicion of over two dozen murders, but it’s only speculation, really, that you committed them. You’re unknown completely, unlike

“Five Hargreeves,” you drawl. Your hair is pulled into a ponytail, your face covered with a mask. You’re wearing sweatpants and a hoodie. If it wasn’t for the fact that the outfit is all black, and you’re wearing a mask, you could be a regular college student out for a stroll. In the house of a very famous, very controversial politician. Honestly, Five shouldn’t be here either. The man is a scumbag and really deserves everything that’s coming to him. Five defending him could damage the Academy’s reputation, not to mention his personal one. Besides, he just doesn’t really feel like defending the man.

Still, whatever you’re planning on doing, it can’t be good. And despite the man’s faults, Five can’t let you kill him. That would also put a damper on his reputation—damn, there really isn’t a win for him in this situation, is there?

Hoping to take you by surprise, Five teleports to where you are, but faster than he can blink you disappear from his vision. Thank goodness Five can think quick on his feet; he teleports over to the kitchen and grabs a handful of cutlery before freezing, trying to hold his panting breaths in so he can try to hear your feet on the floor. He can barely make out a shuffling sound and he tries to pinpoint it. After a second of frustration, he chucks a silver spoon in that direction. It bounces off an invisible force by the unlit stove and Five’s eyes narrow.

He jumps, but you must have let the spoon hit you deliberately. He’s met with a cast-iron pot swung directly at his face and he goes down faster than a stack of cards (but, unbeknownst to you, the only thing he’s going to complain about later is the terribly sore purple-green bruise on his jaw).

Panting, you make yourself visible again and rub your shoulder, wincing. You think you strained it by swinging that heavy pot.

“I need to start going back to the gym,” you mutter, stepping over the superhero and walking over to where Senator Hasselhoff is cowering behind a coach, taking your gun out of your waistband as you go. “All right, Senator. Let’s see what you’ve got on your computer.”

SENATOR LAPTOP SCANDAL CALLS FOR IMMEDIATE RESIGNATION OF OFFICE AFTER ARREST

After Senator Hasselhoff, in some twisted mistake, accidentally posted the entire contents of his laptop to every social media platform he has, there has been an immediate public outcry for resignation from his post. The senator is currently in jail awaiting trial after multiple suspicious and incriminating files were spotted amid the tax information, Viagra shipping orders, and plane tickets. Authorities were immediately involved concerning the videos of underaged children performing sexual acts on his laptop, as well as documents concerning bribes the senator has both accepted and sent out. One such bribe concerns the secrecy from a woman the senator apparently had an affair with…

Five snorts as he sets down the newspaper. You’ve got style, he’ll certainly give you that. And he’s not even fussed about losing the fight; who wants to protect a man like that, even if Reginald had told Five to? Sure, maybe Five would have preferred you using your words instead of instantly jumping on the attack and knocking him out cold, which was humiliating, especially when Diego found out from Luther and hassled him about it for two hours straight, but he supposes his reputation might have had something to do with your approach. He’s not exactly the cuddliest person around.

Reginald hasn’t said a word to Five since he’d woken up in the medical room with his adopted father’s face and his mother’s looming over him. Reginald had sniffed and walked straight out of the room the second Five’s eyes opened.

Five’s not quite sure what Reginald feels. Maybe he’s disappointed Five failed, maybe he knows (even though Five doesn’t want to admit it) that he gave up the fight embarrassingly quickly, or maybe he’s disappointed that the senator wasn’t able to pay him the large sum of money for Five’s protection, both because Five had done a piss-poor job of protecting him, and also because the FBI has frozen the senator’s accounts.

Either way, Five’s not fussed. His pride is a little bit bruised from his siblings’ haggling, but his jaw is a lot bit bruised, and to top it all off, he’s really confused about you. Sure, he knows that everyone has layers and blah blah blah about some people doing ‘right thing, wrong way’ or however the saying goes.

But he’s looked closer into every crime you’ve ever been suspected of or connected to, and if he even scratches the surface it turns into a sort of… Robin Hood scheme. All you ever do is attack rich scumbags, and more than often the poor somehow benefit, even if no one has been able to clearly draw a line between the two. Mostly because most everyone is an idiot, and Five is not.

But still.

It’s the confusion that makes the first thing Five says to you a compliment.

Five had been walking down the back alley shortcut he always takes to Griddy’s. A particularly strong gust of wind had pushed him slightly, his hands falling out of his pockets to brace himself against the brick wall.

Just then you’d appeared in front of him out of nowhere, hands on your hips. This time your hair hangs around your face, buffeted by the wind, but the rest of your outfit is the same. Five’s body tenses up with the familiar fight-or-flight feeling, his brain screaming at him to Get her! Jump now! She’s a villain! but for some reason he hesitates. He can’t explain why. Maybe it’s the way you’re helping people, in your own way, or maybe it’s how you’re also a person with superpowers and Five knows how, even though the powers can be liberating, they’re also a chain, and he can’t talk about stuff like that with his siblings.

Or maybe his powers are just chains because of Reginald. You were never forced into using your powers; you use them of your own volition.

“Nice work with the Senator,” Five hears his voice say, and he feels his lips move, but they feel disconnected from his brain. “You gonna hit me with a frying pan again? It’s a pretty unusual weapon, but hey, to each his own, right?”

Your face is inscrutable behind the mask, but your voice is most certainly not. Five can hear the playful tone as you reply, “I like to think I’m a trendsetter. Next thing you know every villain you fight will be wielding a pan. I imagine your jaw won’t like that very much, will it?”

Five hadn’t noticed in the heat of the moment, but you’re a girl. And you’re his age (well duh, his brain intones, she’s one of the 43 children, dumbass).

Five isn’t misogynistic; he considers Allison more capable than Luther and Diego put together, and he has a deep respect for Vanya after all the years with the rest of them, supposed to be special but instead achingly normal. He respects women, probably more than men, even, because of how much of a dumbass all his brothers are, and how shitty most men are.

Still, the fact that your voice is high and sweet and somehow vulnerable as you try to be cocky and intimidating makes him feel guilty for trying to hurt you, and it ignites a feeling in his chest that he doesn’t like.

He can’t help but imagine what you look like underneath the mask.

“You’re like a modern-day Robin Hood,” Five blurts out, surprisingly ineloquent despite the fact that he doesn’t know you, you’re a threat, and he should be knocking you down right now. He shouldn’t be… trying to make polite conversation. He shouldn’t be itching to tie your hair back so it doesn’t obstruct your vision.

“If the shoe fits,” you respond, cocking your head at him. Five wishes he could see your face, if only to understand what you’re thinking.

“What do you want?”

“It varies from moment to moment.” You take a step closer and Five should tense up, should strike out, but he can’t. The wind is blowing in his direction and the faint smell of mint shampoo fills his nose, making his brain all fuzzy. At the same time, the riddles you’re speaking in annoy him.

“Well, what do you want right now?” he snaps. Are you just wasting his time or trying to be annoying?

“I wanted to talk.” You cock your head as Five snorts. That’s got to be the lamest lie he’s ever heard. “Sorry. I’ll see you later, I guess. You won’t see me, though!”

Before Five can say anything else, you turn away and turn invisible. He’s simply too tired to chase after you.

Five turns away to continue to Griddy’s. He slouches his shoulders and shoves his hands in his pockets to protect them from the wind, feeling instinctively for his wallet, but it’s not there.

Five pieces it together quickly; the ‘strong gust of wind’ hadn’t been wind at all.

“Damn it, Ghost!”

#tua #the umbrella academy #number five #five #five hargreeves #five hargreeves x reader #reader x five hargreeves #five x reader #number five x reader #reader x number five #reader insert #reader x five

[automaticphilosopherdestiny]

It's time to talk about opening.

In short, it's bad. In this article, I will try to explain my point of view in detail. Whether you agree with it or not is up to you.

The opening begins with beautiful shots of the sky and the main character, who is standing with his back to us. This moment caused me wild delight, as it is an obvious reference to my favorite u-turn from the ending of the original manga. And do not doubt that even the colors are chosen the same.

It's a great start.

Next, we present Qs. And at the beginning, turning to the viewer, the faces of these characters change the face of the main character, and then each other, which immediately makes it clear how important they are and how much time will be given to them.

(Please don't give an analogy here with the opening of the second season and Kaneka's role in it, because it's a mess)

Then the characters ' silhouettes are shown all together. In the center of the, of course, Sasaki, because, as nor fact, the main hero.

Then follow the landscapes of Tokyo, again Qs with kagune and logo. All this is done perfectly and I have nothing to complain about.

However, then we are shown ARIMA, and it is done poorly.

ARIMA — "grandfather" Qs, mentor and called "father" of the hero, and the squad Qs created with the aim of getting fighters who will surpass him, but at the opening of his show as a regular character. There's absolutely nothing to hold on to. It was just shown and that's all.

It seems to me that it would be much more interesting to depict it in the same way as in the frame below. And put somewhere on the background behind the Qs.

And now a very cool moment, which, unfortunately, is a spoiler.

And from that moment they never should have inserted in the first series, because after seeing this, you need quite a bit of thought to guess of who Sasaki is, but in the manga, though short time, but still remained a small affair.

And now the opening has real problems.

The fact is that, apparently, the animators had a task to cram almost all the characters, even the most minor ones, into it. This game begins with a group of Qs, who just stands significantly on the roof and looks into the distance *here an ellipsis to give a deep meaning

This is a clear list of what you need to show in the opening:

1) Sending

Note: what type of manga we have read and whisking well.

2) Qs and Sasaki, because they are important Persians.

3) Logo.

4) ARIMA Kisho.

5) in Short such a cool bullshit, when compare individual from different time segments and there still color of different, Ah you understood.

6) Yes, all the stupid stuff the rest of it, somebody nice will come, I answer.

7) And krinkov a couple of times paste, they are important to Persians, do not forget.

8) Ah and in late, to this mummy with tch was fighting type hint on than will end 12 a series of.

And now we will focus more on some of the characters who have this problem is particularly acute.

1) Scarecrow.

A whole frame with his face (mask) on the entire screen immediately after Touki, Yomo and Nishiki. This is just the thickest possible hint of the character's importance. Why put so much emphasis on it? In the manga, prior to pressing that button on the Song, he remained a regular drone that did not strongly encourage fans to play. In the anime, it was highlighted from the first minutes. Pierrot, please do not throw signs at the audience with the words "this is IMPORTANT", "PAY ATTENTION", "everything is NOT so SIMPLE". Let the audience think for themselves when the time comes

I understand that Ishida also had It in one of the illustrations, but in the same row with other ghouls (two of which, at the same time, did not appear in the opening), and even against the background of the main characters

2) Tsukiyama.

The appearance and condition of this character must have been an intrigue. In the opening, they scored at once on two of its stages ("hickka" and "diet victim"), jumping immediately to "melancholic".

3) Furuta and Kijima.

Here is perishing whom certainly not waited, so these guys, however as and their the emergence of already in the second series of. In any case, if you really wanted to show them in the opening, it was worth putting in a corner of some moment with the more important, at that time, CCG investigators, but definitely not to take a separate scene for them.

But even that problem pales in comparison to what they did to Furuta. Nimura's eyes, which look viciously at the audience — the worst thing in the opening. This is just a wild feil, and after that I'm absolutely sure that Ishida was not consulted.

The whole horror is that one of these moments they completely perverted the essence of the character, making him a typical villain, and at the same time frankly burned that he is not a simple statistic. Actually, here Pierrot again throw the above tablets, but this time they are written a little fake information.

In General, what happens since the appearance of Juuzou is a pure fanservice in order to please every fan by showing their favorite character.

Of course, I was happy to see Chie in the opening, but it wasn't worth it. At 0:34, the bad taste just starts, and you expect something special from a piece like "Tokyo ghoul".

With regards to the song, it is clearly an Amateur, but I personally went and if it were picked up a suitable video series, it would be very, very cool, but we have what we have, or rather the Pierrotts fucked us with it.

#tokyo ghoul #anime #talk tag #text tag