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likecastle · 4 years

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In which Jaskier cuts Geralt’s hair

Well, folks, I was inspired by Geralt’s slightly wavier wig in the new S2 promo photos to write a story in which Geralt finally gets some proper haircare and it brings out his natural curl pattern. This somehow turned into 7,000 words of Geralt musing about his own terrible self-image and Jaskier tenderly negotiating a haircut.

Credit for Geralt’s 3-in-1 shower products goes to @exrayspex, with my thanks for their enthusiasm about this exceedingly soft concept!

I’d like to put this up on AO3 at some point, but the title has me stumped, so if anyone has a suggestion, please let me know.

“When are you going to let me cut your hair?”

Geralt snorts, incredulous. “I’m not.”

Jaskier fixes Geralt with a pleading look. The streaks of peacock blue Jaskier recently added to his hair really bring out the color of his eyes—all the better to beguile him with. “Come on, Geralt, don’t you trust me?”

“No,” Geralt says, trying without much luck to keep his attention on the TV screen. Suddenly he has to fight the urge to tuck a stray strand of his hair behind his ear.

“It would look so nice if you just took proper care of it,” Jaskier wheedles.

“It doesn’t need to look nice.” Geralt can feel his shoulders creeping up towards his ears, and he wishes Jaskier would look at something else besides him. “It’s just hair.”

“But—”

Geralt jabs the remote in the direction of the TV. “Are you going to let me watch this or do you want to go home?”

“Fine, you grouch,” Jaskier says, returning his attention to the screen.

It must not hold Jaskier’s interest, though, because he can feel Jaskier’s gaze returning to him periodically throughout the rest of the film—which in itself isn’t all that unusual, since Jaskier watches even movies he really likes with one eye on his phone. Except that when Geralt meets his gaze, Jaskier’s looking at him with a wistful, almost sad expression. Geralt doesn’t let himself wonder what might be on his mind.

Later, Jaskier yawns wide and says he’d better be going if he doesn’t want to fall asleep at the wheel on the way home. It’s just a dramatic excuse not to help clean up, Geralt knows, but he can’t help smiling at the way Jaskier rubs at his eyes, smudging the faded remnants of his eyeliner. Geralt walks him to the door, and for a moment Jaskier just stands there on the porch, looking at Geralt thoughtfully.

When his hand reaches up, Geralt freezes. He thinks for a moment that Jaskier’s about to cup his cheek and drawn him down—but he just takes a strand of frizzy hair that’s come loose from Geralt’s ponytail and twists it around a finger.

“I thought so,” Jaskier says, with a private little smile.

Geralt’s sure Jaskier must be able to hear the way his breath’s gotten jammed up in his chest. “Thought—?”

“Nothing.” Jaskier digs his hands into the pockets of his jacket and starts down the front steps. “G’night, Geralt.”

As Geralt tidies away their takeout containers and empty beer bottles, his mind keeps wandering back to Jaskier’s offer. He knows Jaskier’s just trying to be nice—or trying to fix him, the way he tried to “liven up” Geralt’s wardrobe early in their friendship and tried to set him up on dates after he split up with Yen last year. But the options he tries to push on Geralt—the overpriced bomber jacket Jaskier bought him that’s still sitting at the back of his closet, the gorgeous chestnut-haired nurse Jaskier introduced him to—always seem to reflect more about Jaskier’s idea of Geralt than they do about Geralt himself.

Because the thing is, he’s not brash and stylish like Jaskier, who’s all eccentric colors combinations and flashing rings that accentuate his expressive hands. Jaskier knows how to construct an outfit that tells the world exactly who he is at any given moment, from his ever-evolving hairstyles to his painstakingly-sourced vintage clothes. Geralt, on the other hand, is just—nothing, an absence of style. His idea of a good outfit is one he can forget he’s wearing, one that will make everyone else forget him when he’s wearing it. His relationship to his appearance is as estranged as his relationship to his ex-wife. Being in his body, making use of it when he’s lifting weights or hammering a nail or swinging Ciri up in his arms—that makes sense to him. But thinking about his body is the opposite of that. He doesn’t like being looked at, even by himself. He avoids the mirror on his medicine cabinet as much as he can and starts feeling close and queasy if he so much as looks at himself in a dressing room mirror.

Before he goes to bed that night, he shakes his hair out from his ponytail and makes himself take a long, hard look in the mirror. All he sees is the sallow, tired-eyed face of a man who can hardly remember how to smile anymore, a face scarred from carelessness and creased from years of worry. His dull white hair, which Jaskier had twisted so carefully around his finger, is somehow greasy and dried out at the same time, limp around his face but bristly at the ends. He can’t find any sign of the potential Jaskier seems to think is there. He suspects it was never there in the first place—a mirage visible only to well-intentioned flatterers like Jaskier—and he feels foolish for looking.

No, Geralt decides, he’s not going to let Jaskier cut his hair, or do anything else to him. Better not to bother at all.

The next time the topic of Geralt’s hair comes up, he’s brought Ciri into Jaskier’s salon for an emergency haircut. Ordinarily, Yennefer handles things like haircuts and clothes shopping, but Saturday night, Ciri emerged from the bathroom with the front her hair lopped off somewhere around her eyebrows and a dawning expression of anxious regret on her face. Geralt had reassured her that everything would be OK, while texting Jaskier frantically for help and silently panicking about what Yen was going to say when she came to pick Ciri up on Sunday night. Thankfully, Jaskier was able to squeeze Ciri into his schedule this afternoon, and he promised to fix Ciri up.

So now Geralt is sitting awkwardly in the waiting area, hunched on a squeaky vinyl-upholstered chair. He’s been to Jaskier’s salon plenty of times—to meet him for lunch or a post-shift drink, to drop off something he left at the house or to give him a ride home—but he rarely does more than stand uneasily just inside the door. The relentless pop music and the echoing acoustics never fail to overwhelm him, as does the muddle of scents—clouds of different hair products and the pervasive smell of something sharp like ammonia. The abundance of mirrors unnerves him, too. Nobody can possibly need to see so many views of their own reflection, can they? Between the curious patrons peering at him in the mirrors and passersby staring in through the plate glass storefront, Geralt feels like he’s on display. And to make matters worse, he keeps catching glimpses of his reflection, his own hunted expression looking back at him from unexpected angles.

Ciri, at least, is having a great time, chatting happily with Jaskier as he snips away at her hair. The last time Geralt took Ciri for a haircut, it was at one of those children’s salons where the chairs looked like toy cars, and now here she is, sitting beside grown women almost like she’s one of them. It scares him, sometimes, to think of her growing up—more than sometimes. There are so many ways the world can fail her, and he can only do so much to protect her. There’s going to come a time when she’s going to get into some kind of trouble he won’t be able to bail her out of, and he’s not sure what he’s going to do with himself when that day comes. But for now, at least he can pay Jaskier to fix her disastrous home-brew haircut.

“What d’you think, Dad?” Ciri calls, and he looks up to see Jaskier removing her cape with a flourish. When he turns Ciri’s chair around to face him, Geralt’s heart catches in his throat. How grown up she looks, he thinks, but what really makes his chest ache is how much she’s coming into herself—becoming someone with her own unique taste in clothes and books and music, who won’t compromise about the bullshit dress codes at school and is brave enough to try something new even if the results are atrocious. He doesn’t know where she gets it.

“You like it?” he asks, not trusting himself to say something that won’t embarrass her.

“Yeah, I guess,” she says with a shrug, and hops down from the chair.

“We could do yours next, Geralt,” Jaskier offers, sweeping up the little blonde fragments of Ciri’s hair from the floor around his station.

“Ooh, yeah!” Ciri grins up at him. “I bet Jaskier would give you a really cool haircut.”

“I’m sure he would,” Geralt says mildly. He doesn’t want to quash Ciri’s enthusiasm or impart his own discomfort to her. It’s one of the things that keeps him up at night, the fear that he’ll pass down all his insecurities. He tries so hard to keep that shit buttoned up, to shield her from his own shortcomings—and he knows it’s inevitable that he’s just going to mess her up in other ways, but he wants to do better for her, has to do better. “Maybe some other time.”

“So you’ll consider it!” Jaskier says triumphantly, coming over to tell the receptionist the total for Ciri’s cut.

Geralt notices Ciri looking at herself in the big mirror behind the front desk, fussing self-consciously with her new fringe. Jaskier must notice, too, because he gives Ciri a big hug and says, “You look great, kiddo. Right, Geralt?”

“Definitely,” Geralt says, surrendering his credit card to the receptionist to pay a frankly staggering amount. He tips a hundred percent.

“You should take him up on it,” Yennefer says that evening when Geralt concludes the story of Ciri’s haircut by telling her about Jaskier’s offer to cut Geralt’s hair.

Geralt blinks in surprise. “Really?”

She glances back to where Ciri is waiting for her in the car. “Jaskier did a good job. She and I are going to have a serious conversation later about when to ask for permission and when to ask for forgiveness, but I have to admit it suits her.”

“It does,” Geralt agrees. He realizes he doesn’t know what it would be like, to feel his appearance suited him. He’s never tried, really, to make his exterior reflect his interior, wouldn’t even know where to begin.

“Besides,” Yennefer says, gesturing to his haphazard ponytail, “you really do need to start taking better care of yourself, now that I’m not around to make sure you’re presentable anymore.”

Geralt’s eyebrows shoot up, a smile twitching his lips. “Is that what you were doing? Looking after me?”

Yennefer lifts one hand to tug a lock of his hair, the gesture so similar to Jaskier’s that it makes him shiver, for some reason. “No, but somebody ought to.”

He ducks his head, hoping to hide the ache that washes through him—a longing for something they both wanted but never quite managed to find together. “If you keep Ciri waiting much longer, she’s gonna make a break for it.”

“She would, too,” Yennefer says affectionately. “Take care of yourself, Geralt.” She surprises him by brushing a kiss against his cheek, then turns to go.

Geralt waits until Yennefer’s car is out of sight before he goes inside. As he loads the dinner dishes into the dishwasher, he thinks again about Jaskier’s offer. He’s never been good at asking for things, let alone holding on them once he has them, but it’s been especially hard since he and Yennefer split—even the littlest things feel like they require an effort it’s not worth making. It’s so easy to tell himself he doesn’t need anything—a fancy haircut, a new jacket, a reassuring glance, a gentle touch. But sometimes, maybe, it’s enough to want them.

Wiping soapy water off his hands, Geralt pulls his phone from his pocket and texts Jaskier. Does your offer to cut my hair still stand? Only if you’ve got time.

OMG YES!!! comes the immediate reply. I can be there in 20. Then, a moment later, Jaskier amends, Shit wait make that 40 need to run to get some supplies

Geralt huffs out a laugh. Have to get up early tomorrow. This weekend?

All booked up this weekend but I’m off on Tues so I can come over to your place in the pm if that works for you

He’d hoped to give himself a few days to cancel, just in case he changes his mind, and in this respect Tuesday’s almost no better than forty minutes from now. But he does like the idea of doing this at home, instead of in the salon. He types out OK and hits send before he can think better of it.

Don’t chicken out before then

No promises, Geralt answers.

Jaskier responds with a string of emoji that Geralt finds completely inscrutable, but which make him smile nonetheless.

Jaskier arrives on Tuesday evening with a six-pack of cold beer and bag crammed full of supplies.

“I thought you were going to cut my hair, not outlast a siege,” Geralt says, trying to ignore the way his stomach twists with nerves over this impending ordeal. He should have cancelled. He should never have said yes to this ridiculous idea.

“Oh, none of this would be remotely useful in warfare,” Jaskier replies. Then, contemplatively, he says, “Well, maybe some of it. But first, I thought we could have a drink.”

“So you can cut my hair drunk?” Geralt asks.

Jaskier rolls his eyes and brushes past Geralt into the kitchen, dumping his bag into an empty chair at the table. “So you can relax a little for once. And so we can talk.”

Geralt feels the knot of anxiety in his stomach tighten even further. “What is there to talk about? It’s just a haircut.”

Jaskier lets out a long-suffering sigh as he rummages around in Geralt’s cutlery drawer in search of a bottle opener. “Geralt, have you not listened to a single word I’ve said about my job?” He pops off the caps of two bottles of beer and hands one to Geralt. “No, don’t answer that, I know you haven’t.”

Geralt takes a sullen sip of his beer, but he doesn’t dispute the accusation.

With a nod of his head, Jaskier gestures for Geralt to follow him into the living room, and flops down on what Geralt has come to think of as his side of the couch. Geralt sits at the other end, turned to face him. “You need to know what you want going into this, or you won’t get good results.” Jaskier fixes him with a gaze that makes Geralt take another swallow of his beer. “Have you ever given any thought to what you like, or don’t like, about your hair?”

“Not . . . really,” Geralt mumbles, wondering how angry Jaskier would be if he called this whole thing off now.

“Well,” Jaskier says patiently, “why do you keep your hair long? I always assumed it was because you liked how it looked, but I’m realizing now I’ve never asked about it.”

Geralt takes another sip of his beer and tries to think of answer that’s not Because I do. He’s worn it long since high school, when it was primarily something to hide behind. It felt like a kind of fuck-you, an off-putting choice to keep people from looking too closely at him—and to help him forget about other people, too. “It’s easier,” he says finally. “Don’t have to get it cut every few weeks, and I can keep it out of my face.”

“OK, that’s good to know.” The calm, encouraging tone Jaskier’s taking should feel condescending, but Geralt finds he doesn’t mind—or maybe it’s just the beer starting to relax him a little.

“You don’t always tie it back, though, do you?” Jaskier goes on.

Geralt shakes his head. “When I’m working, yeah, but the rest of the time . . .” He shrugs. It depends—on who he’s around, how comfortable he feels with them, hell, how hard the wind is blowing. Sometimes he can’t stand the feeling of it in face, and sometimes the pressure of the hair elastic at the base of his skull is enough to make him want to rip it out.

“Can I . . . ?” Jaskier gestures to Geralt’s hair, and Geralt inclines his head. It’s inevitable that Jaskier will have to touch him if they’re going to go through with this, so there’s no point in being shy about it. Jaskier scoots forward on the couch, and Geralt holds very still, letting him reach back and undo the tie holding his hair back. A sheet of frizzy white strands spills around his bowed head, almost obscuring Jaskier from view.

He can feel Jaskier, though, running his fingers through his hair. The touch makes Geralt’s scalp tingle and a shiver runs through him that he tries and fails to suppress.

“OK?” Jaskier asks, and Geralt nods.

“You’ve never told me when you went grey.” Jaskier’s voice is hushed, almost as if he’s afraid of startling him. He continues to card his hand through Geralt’s hair—with professional curiosity, Geralt realizes, but the touch is so gentle it also feels like a reassurance. Geralt closes his eyes, grateful to be shielded from Jaskier’s view.

“Started in high school,” he says. It’s been a long time since he thought about how, when those first thick streaks of white were coming into his dark hair, kids at school would call him skunk and Cruella de Vil, shit he knew better than to respond to but that just made him even more self-conscious. It occurs to him now that most of his memories of being looked at—really noticed—are colored by other people’s derision for things he can’t help. “It was all like this by the time I was twenty-one, twenty-two. Someone told me once it’s genetic, but . . .” He shrugs again. He’s got no one to ask about a family history of premature graying, no photos of distant relatives to compare himself to.

Gentle fingers tuck his hair back behind one ear, and Geralt looks up to see Jaskier smiling at him. “I would pay good money to see pictures of you in high school. I bet you were so surly.”

“You wouldn’t have liked me,” Geralt says “I was insufferable.” Miserable and ungrateful and roiling with self-righteous anger all the time, hardly able to string a civil sentence together.

Jaskier rewards him with a snort of disbelieving laughter. “You’re insufferable now and I like you just fine.”

This is true, Geralt thinks. His anger has banked down somewhat since those days, but he’s no less difficult to be around, and Jaskier’s never seemed to mind his rough edges. If he’s being honest, he wouldn’t have been able to appreciate Jaskier in those day. His constant talking and absurd jokes would have grated on Geralt’s nerves, back then. They did when he first met Jaskier, in fact. He tried, for a long time, to keep his distance, sure that there was nothing he and Jaskier could possibly have to say to each other. But Jaskier kept turning up, kept surprising him, kept being kind to him for no damn reason. Geralt’s glad he did.

“So,” Jaskier says, pushing the conversation back in his desired direction, as he always does, “what I’m hearing is, you like wearing your hair long?”

Geralt considers, taking another swallow of his beer. Liking doesn’t figure into his thinking much, but it’s not just out of habit that he keeps it this way. “Yeah.”

Jaskier’s nod is solemn. “Anything you don’t like about it?”

Again, Geralt has to give this serious thought. “There are, uh . . .” He gestures to the wiry flyaways that tend to form around his head by the end of the day. They tend to tickle his face unpleasantly as he works, which is irritating when he doesn’t hand a hand free to brush them away.

“Yeah, it’s a little dry,” Jaskier says. “But we can fix that up.” Geralt knows exactly how soft Jaskier’s hair is, and he can’t imagine his own ragged hair could ever come close. “Anything else?”

Geralt shrugs.

“OK,” Jaskier says, “enough with the interrogation. I think I’ve got everything I need.”

Jaskier gets up and retrieves another beer—not for himself, but for Geralt. Jaskier’s fingers brush his as he hands over the bottle, and it gives him the same little shiver that he felt when Jaskier was combing through his hair. “D’you want me to tell you what I’m thinking, or just surprise you?”

Geralt’s gut instinct is to make Jaskier tell him what he’s got in mind, so that he has the option to veto it and put this whole thing to a stop. But he thinks of Jaskier’s teasing question the first time they talked about this—Don’t you trust me?—and how he’d said no when the answer is really yes. So he takes a deep pull of his beer and says, “Surprise me.”

The look of glee on Jaskier’s face is worth the knot of dread that immediately forms in Geralt’s stomach. He takes another drinks and reminds himself that it’s just hair. It’ll grow back.

“You’re not gonna regret it, I promise,” Jaskier says, and then his warm hands are urging Geralt up and off the couch.

It takes them a while to get everything situated to Jaskier’s liking—the bathroom is too cramped to accommodate a chair, so Jaskier has Geralt drag one into the kitchen, covering the floor in newspapers to catch the stray clippings. Then Jaskier sends Geralt to wash his hair while he sets up the rest of his supplies. When Geralt comes back downstairs, his hair soaking into his t-shirt, there is a truly staggering array of equipment spread out on the counter, Jaskier’s own little traveling apothecary kit, with everything from dangerously sharp scissors to brightly-colored bottles of product to some kind of instrument that looks like a bowl full of dull spikes, which Jaskier says attaches to his hair dryer.

“Rule number one,” Jaskier says, grabbing the towel out of Geralt’s hands. “No more regular towels on your hair. Your hair deserves to be treated with care.” Geralt snorts, but the towel he hands Geralt is pleasantly soft, with finer knap that’s soft as fleece in his hands. “And don’t rub at it,” Jaskier scolds. He steps closer, wrapping his hands around Geralt’s to guide him, his hand moving in a gentle squeezing motion. “That’s good,” he says, and Geralt feels his cheeks flush.

Once Geralt’s hair is toweled dry, Jaskier maneuvers him into the chair, and combs out his hair with a wide-toothed comb. Jaskier is exceedingly careful not to yank on the knots, but even so the gentle tug sets his skin tangling. Geralt knows his scalp is sensitive—he can remember fighting back tears while Vesemir struggled to brush out his unruly hair as a kid—but it’s never felt like this before. Of course, that might have something to do with the fact that ordinarily, when he finally breaks down and subjects himself to a trim, he just asks Eskel do come over and cut it with the kitchen scissors. Even with someone he trusts as profoundly as he does Eskel, it’s still an uncomfortable ordeal that makes him unaccountably tense. But this isn’t painful, or unnerving at all. It’s . . . nice, embarrassingly so. He can’t help wondering what it would feel like if Jaskier were to drag his nails along his scalp—and then he has to force himself not to think about it, because even the thought of the sensation sends a shudder through him.

Thankfully, Jaskier is busy fiddling with his phone, and a moment later he puts on a playlist he likes to call Geralt’s Sad Dad Rock mix. Geralt appreciates the background noise—familiar songs he can tune out if he wants to, quiet enough that the music’s not intrusive.

“OK,” Jaskier says, snapping a cape around Geralt’s throat. His hand comes to rest on Geralt’s shoulder and he leans in to speak almost directly into Geralt’s ear. “Ready?”

Geralt suppresses another chill and says, “As I’ll ever be.”

Jaskier gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze and gets to work. Geralt’s grateful for the lack of mirrors, because it means he doesn’t have to see what Jaskier’s doing, but at the same time it leaves him without much to go on—just the touch of the comb, Jaskier’s hands carefully repositioning his head, his fingers pulling this or that lock of hair taut to snip at them with the scissors. Eventually, Geralt closes his eyes and lets Jaskier’s voice wash over him. Jaskier often accuses Geralt of not listening to him when he talks, but in truth it’s easy to get lost in the lilting cadence of his speech, like hearing a song but not its lyrics.

“. . . and the thing is,” Jaskier’s saying, though Geralt lost the thread of his rambling long ago, “the more you do it, the better your results will be. You just have to help them along . . .”

He can see why Jaskier’s clients like him so much, how nice it is to fall into the pattern of someone else’s words, especially when that someone has as nice a voice as Jaskier. He’s often grateful for Jaskier’s conversation, which fills silences Geralt didn’t even realize were empty until he came along.

When Jaskier says, “OK, you’re all done,” Geralt is surprised by how quickly the time has passed. “We can just leave it at that and just let it air dry, or . . .” Even though he can’t see Jaskier, he can picture the hopeful expression on his face.

“What?” Geralt asks, twisting around in the chair to look Jaskier in the eye.

Jaskier bites his bottom lip, looking almost nervous. “Or I could show you how to style it. If you wanted. Nothing over the top, I promise.”

Geralt thinks it over. On the one hand, there’s no way he’ll ever bother repeating anything Jaskier shows him how to do, but on the other hand, he wouldn’t mind having Jaskier’s hands on him a little longer. “All right.”

“Really?” Jaskier’s eyes go wide. “Nope, never mind, I’m not gonna second-guess this. No take-backs! You’re committed now.”

Which is how Geralt finds himself being hustled back upstairs and into the bathroom. Jaskier pulls back the shower curtain and is about to start issuing instructions when he lets out a squawk and staggers backward.

Geralt looks around in alarm, expecting to see a giant spider in the tub. It’s only belatedly that he realizes he’s thrown an arm out in front of Jaskier, as if that will protect him from whatever nonexistent threat he was reacting to. “What?”

“Geralt, for shame!” Jaskier exclaims, pointing to the bottle of 3-in-1 shampoo/conditioner/body wash on the edge of the tub. “Is that yours?” He says it with all the breathless horror of someone discovering a murder weapon.

“Uh . . .” Geralt has the distinct feeling he should try to deny it, but there’s no point in trying to pretend. “Yes?”

And then Jaskier is laughing, but it’s warm with delight, not mocking or cruel. In fact, he looks up at Geralt with such fondness that Geralt almost can’t bear it. “Oh, you poor man,” Jaskier says between gusts of laughter. “No wonder your hair is so dry!”

“. . . It’s efficient,” Geralt mutters in a half-hearted attempt to defend himself.

“It’s like washing your hair with dish soap. But don’t worry,” he adds, pressing a hand to Geralt’s chest, “I’ll get you sorted out and then your hair will be so soft it’ll be completely irresistible.”

“Hmm,” Geralt says dubiously, but Jaskier just grins at him.

“OK, this next part is going to be a little awkward. Ordinarily you’d do it by yourself in the shower, but I’m gonna take a wild guess and say you’d rather not jump in the shower with me right now.”

Geralt very much does not acknowledge the wave of heat that rolls through him at the thought. “Probably wouldn’t fit, anyway.”

“Eh, I’ve made it work in smaller spaces than this,” Jaskier says, with such casual confidence that Geralt’s mouth goes dry. “But luckily, you’ve got one of those detachable showerheads, so we should be just fine. Might be easier, though, if you, uh, take off your shirt off.”

Geralt’s already come this far, and, besides, it’s not like Jaskier hasn’t seen him without his shirt on before. As Geralt strips off his shirt, Jaskier puts a towel down on the floor and beckons him to kneel down at the edge the tub. He’s careful to get the water to a comfortable temperature before he puts a warm hand on Geralt’s bare back, guiding him to lean over, his head bowed.

The routine Jaskier directs him through is more complicated than Geralt could ever have anticipated. There’s a thick, dark purple shampoo that Jaskier instructs him to use only once a week—he has another shampoo he’ll give Geralt to use at other times, but really, Jaskier insists, he should only be washing his hair a couple of times a week, anyway. Jaskier shows him how to rub the shampoo into his scalp only and let the water draw it down through the rest of his hair. The pressure of the spray on his scalp makes his skin tingle, as does the press of Jaskier’s body against his side. When Geralt doesn’t apply the conditioner to Jaskier’s liking, he adjusts Geralt’s hands with his own, smoothing their joined fingers through Geralt’s slippery hair. And when it comes time to rinse the conditioner out, he shows Geralt how to cup the water in his palms and press it into the wet mass of his hair.

“You’re doing great,” Jaskier tells him, and Geralt is grateful his face is hidden behind ropes of his wet hair.

Finally, Jaskier pronounces himself satisfied and turns off the water. Now that they’re done the task of washing his hair, Geralt’s awkwardly aware of his chest dripping with water in the cool air of the bathroom—and of Jaskier standing less than an arm’s length away from him.

Jaskier, on the other hand, is nothing but professional, rubbing a series of products into his hands and then smoothing them over Geralt’s hair. After each application, he gathers Geralt’s hair in his hands and presses it up toward Geralt’s scalp, just like they did with the water. It’s a bizarre motion, like nothing Geralt’s ever seen before, but it seems to be having the desired effect, because the strands of hair hanging down in front of his face are slowly forming into thick coils, and Jaskier keeps making little satisfied humming sounds with each new application. Jaskier finishes by wrapping Geralt’s hair up in another one of those extra soft towels.

“And now we wait,” he says, hopping up onto the sink.

Geralt pulls his shirt on again, careful not to disturb the towel on his head, and he might be wrong but he thinks that he catches a little disappointed frown cross Jaskier’s face, but it’s gone before he can be sure.

“Thanks for indulging me,” Jaskier says. “I know you don’t really like this kind of stuff, but I’m having a great time.”

“It’s not as bad as I thought it would be,” Geralt replies. But that sounds worse than it did in his head, and he hastens to add, “I mean—it’s nice—when it’s you.”

Jaskier’s smile is something Geralt can’t quite get to the bottom of—fond and wry and maybe a little sad, too. “Well, I’ve been dying to do this pretty much since the moment I met you, so, you know, thanks for that.”

It’s strange to think Jaskier has been harboring private aspirations where Geralt is concerned. But then Jaskier’s always been full of surprises when it comes to him—immune to his ill temper, amused by his rudeness, tenacious enough to bully his way past his silences. He’s never understood what Jaskier sees in him, and he often feels he offers a poor reward for the hard work Jaskier puts in to being his friend. Because it’s not easy, Geralt knows. Plenty of people have decided Geralt was too difficult to get to know, or too prickly to stick with. Even Yennefer, who’s loved him better than he could possibly deserve, struggled to make inroads against Geralt’s defenses. It never seemed to matter how much he loved Yennefer, he could never bring himself to relax around her. He was always on tenterhooks, waiting for the other shoe to drop—until, in time, it did, a sort of self-fulfilling prophecy. He can’t blame Yennefer ending things. She wants things he doesn’t know how to give. He couldn’t figure out how to change himself into the sort of person she deserved.

“D’you want another beer?” Jaskier asks, nudging Geralt’s knee with his bare foot.

He wouldn’t mind another drink, but he’s loathe to puncture the peaceful little moment that’s grown up between them. “Let’s just stay here.”

Jaskier nods, and a moment later Fleetwood Mac comes on over Jaskier’s phone speakers—one of the only bands they can agree on—and Jaskier treats him to an inspired rendition of “Dreams,” his voice turned otherworldly by the chill acoustics of the bathroom tiles. Geralt watches Jaskier dance on his perch on the edge of the sink and wonders, with an ache in his chest, what it would be like to be so uninhibited, so comfortable in his own skin. He can’t imagine it, but sometimes he feels like he’s maybe just a half-step closer to knowing when he’s around Jaskier.

When the song fades out, Jaskier hops down from the counter and says, “OK, time for the last step.”

Jaskier sticks that torture device attachment onto his hair dryer and lets Geralt’s hair down from the towel. Jaskier lets him stay seated, and starts drying his hair. He doesn’t pull Geralt’s hair taut with a brush, as Geralt has seen Yennefer do when styling her own hair. Instead, he gathers it up a section of hair in that little torture device accessory and holds the dryer still, letting the air work around the strands. Geralt closes his eyes against the noise and sensation of the air against his scalp. It lasts a long time, Geralt bracing his arms on his thighs as Jaskier moves the hair dryer around his head. The noise of the dryer makes conversation difficult, and Geralt feels strangely distant from Jaskier all of a sudden, even though he’s standing so close Geralt could press his face to the soft flesh of his stomach if he wanted to. He knots his hands together between his knees to keep himself from just reaching out and pulling Jaskier close.

When Jaskier finally switches off the hair dryer, the silence it leaves feels big. It’s probably just the heat from the hair dyer, but Geralt feels flushed and a little rubbed raw.

“All right,” Jaskier says, fixing him with a considering look. “Let me just . . .” He reaches out and grips Geralt’s hair in both hands. He doesn’t so much tug as gently crush the strands, but the pressure is enough to make Geralt’s mouth fall open, and he doesn’t exactly make a noise but something happens in his chest like his lungs kickstarting. Jaskier glances down at him with an inquisitive smile. “Sorry, too hard?”

It’s all Geralt can do to shake his head.

“All done,” Jaskier says. When he lets go, Geralt immediately misses the touch. “Wanna take a look?”

Geralt stands up and turns to regard himself in the mirror. To say he doesn’t recognize himself would be an overstatement, but the sight of his reflection is a surprise. The cut doesn’t seem all that different in terms of length, but the ragged edges are gone. The dingy white of his hair has turned a gleaming silver, and it hangs around his face not in its usual lank tangle, but in softly curling waves. It’s almost . . . pretty, a word he’s never associated with himself in his entire life. The new brightness of his hair makes his face seem clearer, more open somehow, and the gentle curls offset the hard lines of his face in a way that make his features look almost delicate, or in any case less roughly hewn than usual. He reaches up to touch it, and to his amazement, it’s just as soft as Jaskier promised it would be. Maybe not as soft as Jaskier’s own hair, but much nicer than he can remember it ever feeling before.

“You like it?” Jaskier asks, and in the mirror, Geralt can see he’s looking at him with a hopeful expression. It makes something twist in his stomach—longing, and at the same time a rejection of what he wants, the certainty that he can’t possibly hang onto anything nice for long enough to enjoy it.

“You know I’ll never go to all this trouble,” he says, gruffly, and immediately regrets it when he sees Jaskier’s smile slip from his face.

“No, I know,” Jaskier says, and starts packing up his supplies. “I just wanted to try it. I’ll still leave you all the products, just in case you change your mind, or—”

“Jaskier.” Geralt swallows hard, and puts a hand on Jaskier’s shoulder. “I—”

Jaskier looks at him with such a searching expression that Geralt hardly knows how to look at him. He’s never known someone who’s so much all the time, expansive and loud and demanding and generous and so goddamn bright.

“What I should have said,” Geralt says, against the tension threatening to stop his throat, “is that I wouldn’t have tried this if it weren’t for you. It’s . . .” He’s not sure how to answer Jaskier’s question. Does he like it? He looks so unlike himself that he honestly doesn’t know what to make of it. He can’t tell if it suits him or not, because he still isn’t sure what that would mean. But he likes the idea that Jaskier’s uncovered this version of him, that this might be how Jaskier sees him in his mind’s eye. “I’m glad we tried it. Thank you.”

“I am, too,” Jaskier says, quietly. “Even if you never do it again, I’m glad you trusted me enough to try. And for the record?” The twist of his lips is almost pained, but it’s a smile all the same. “You look fucking gorgeous.”

Geralt ducks his head, his shoulders inching up. “Jaskier . . .”

“No, I’m serious, Geralt.” Jaskier sounds annoyed, almost angry, all of a sudden. “I know you don’t care about superficial stuff—”

“That’s not—”

“—but take it from someone who spends a lot of time looking at people and doing my best to make them look as good as I possibly can: you’re objectively really fucking good-looking.” Jaskier lets out a harsh, reckless laugh. “And if you don’t care about my professional opinion, I also happen to think you’re the most attractive person I’ve ever met in my entire life, so there’s that.”

“I—”

Now that Jaskier’s started talking, he can’t seem to stop. “You’re the most incredible person I know, Geralt,” he says, in a breathless rush, “and I’m not talking just about your looks—although you are genuinely so ridiculously handsome that it’s really not fair. You’re kind for no reason and incredibly devoted and, OK, sort of a dick sometimes, but also so goddamn careful with other people and so fucking hard on yourself, and I just—I wish you could see yourself the way I do. I wish I could show you, even for just a second, because—”

“You did,” Geralt says. Jaskier stares at him, stunned into silence, and Geralt takes the opportunity to continue. “You do. Not just tonight.” He’s breathing hard, and he tries not to think about how dangerous this feels, like standing up on the top of a tall ladder or walking the line of a roof that might collapse under him at any moment. “When I’m with you, I feel like I could be that person you see in me, maybe. I just . . . don’t know how.”

Jaskier laughs again—softer this time. “You dummy,” he says, “you already are. You’ve just got to believe it.”

“Oh, is that all,” Geralt says.

“Yeah, no big deal,” Jaskier says, waving one hand dismissively. “You’ve got me to convince you, after all.”

“Oh, yeah?” Geralt can’t help the smile spreading across his face, despite the shivery feeling still simmering under his skin. “How’re you gonna do that?”

“Well . . .” Jaskier takes a step towards him, and then another, settling his hands lightly on Geralt’s hips. “I’d probably start a little like this . . .”

The first touch of Jaskier’s lips on his is like a breath of clean air after a storm, and Geralt can feel something that’s been knotted tight inside him for a long time unfurling itself. It doesn’t feel dangerous anymore, that buzz under his skin transmuting into a golden glow. He knows it’s not as simple as it feels—he can’t expect Jaskier to change him with a single kiss—but for the first time in a long while, something feels purely, unequivocally good, and he wants more of it.

In time, Jaskier’s hands creep up Geralt’s sides to his back, even as Geralt’s own hands drift down past Jaskier’s waist. When Jaskier’s hands slip into his hair, Geralt wrenches himself free with a shiver. “You’re going to undo all your hard work,” he says, teasingly.

“D’you really care?” Jaskier asks, and scratches his nails along Geralt’s scalp, wringing a whine from deep in Geralt’s chest that should be embarrassing but isn’t.

“Not really,” Geralt gasps, his whole body pressing closer against Jaskier’s. “You can always do it again.”

Jaskier’s smile is wide as he bends to kiss him again. “That’s what I thought.”

#the witcher #witcher modern au #geralt #geralt of rivia #jaskier #yennefer of vengerberg #cirilla of cintra #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt/jaskier #gerlion #some background yennalt here #i've got 99 problems and aus are all of them #hairdresser!jaskier #i can't believe i wrote modern au witcher fic and still wound up writing a bath fic #the witcher fandom loves baths apparently #somebody please help me title this thing #i need a title that isn't when the rain washes you clean you'll know

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writethelifeyouwant · 4 years

Text

Dive Bar Ch 9/?

Pairing: Dean x Sam (finally)

Rating: 18+

Prompt/Summary: After a one night stand with a random college chick turns into a threesome that also featured his little brother, Dean- well, frankly, he panics. What’s even worse than gay panicking? Gay incest panicking. Luckily, Sam winds up being a little more cool about the whole thing than Dean ever would have imagined.

WC: 3,152

Tags: brother/brother incest, gay panic, angst, blow job, finger sucking, dirty talk, cum swallowing

Created for: @spnkinkbingo | Square - Finger Sucking

Beta: @daydream3r-xo 😘

Divider: @firefly-graphics ❤️

Fic Masterlist

Chapter 8

Chase said he didn’t mind, that it didn’t matter that Sam had said an ex boyfriend’s name. They both knew this was a one time thing, no big deal. But Sam was spiralling. Chase didn’t know that ‘Dean’ was his brother. He had to get home, back to the motel, just out of here. He couldn’t take Chase looking at him all understandingly, with a little pity mixed in, like he was a lost puppy or something. He wasn’t.

Sam got his bearings and started the walk back to the motel. It was a couple of miles but not that far, and the desert night hadn’t turned too cold yet. He welcomed the long walk. He had needed to get out of Chase’s apartment but he wasn’t exactly rushing to get back to his motel room. That he shared with his brother. Whose name he had just moaned when he came inside another guy.

Sam couldn’t fathom how this had happened, how he’d let it get this far. Sure, he’d had a crush on Dean as a kid (honestly it was the one thing he ever had in common with everyone at the schools he crashed in and out of every few months), but he’d pushed past that. When he left for Stanford, he turned over a new leaf, and messed around, and then found Jess and he was better. He had fixed this. He thought he had fixed this.

Sure, Dean would still creep into his dreams every now and then, hanging on the edges like some voyeur watching his thoughts, but Sam hadn’t actually had a sex dream about him since he was a teenager. Well, until the fucking threesome. What the hell made him think that would be a good idea?

Sure, Sam, go ahead. Have a threesome with your biggest childhood crush, that’ll be fine. Hey, now you’re here you may as well suck him off, that won’t make things worse at all. What a fucking idiot he had been.

Dean was everywhere now. In his life, in his thoughts, in his dreams, there was no escaping him. And then a month ago, when Dean had said he was thinking about doing it again? Sam had had to work very hard to cover his erection with his beer and some tactical leaning forward on his knees. And when Dean had said he was thinking about guys in that way … except it didn’t sound like he was thinking about 'guys’ exactly, it had sounded like he was thinking about Sam .

Sam didn’t know what had come over him but before he could stop the words from tumbling out he was offering ‘hey, if you ever need a hand figuring it out...’ Stupid, stupid, stupid. He had absolutely fucked it up, then. Dean had been acting weird ever since that night. Not obviously weird but noticeably like he was holding parts of himself back around Sam, like he wasn’t fully comfortable anymore. And Sam was just waiting for the next screw up to happen and drive Dean away from him for good.

Thank god he hadn’t taken Chase back to their motel room. If Dean had come back early and heard that, heard him…

Sam shuddered and hunched himself tighter inside his jacket, tempted to pull up his hood and run away into the night and never have to face Dean ever again. But he knew he could never do that. No matter how fucked up it was, Dean would have to tell him to get lost himself, nothing less would keep Sam away from him.

Up ahead, the broken neon of the motel sign glinted in and out of sight as cars passed him, rushing off to better places and normal lives. Sam wondered if Dean would be back yet, checking his watch. Yeah, most likely. Not too many bars stayed open this late. That means unless he’d found someone to go home with after all, Dean would be inside waiting for him.

Dean yawned and stretched, scratching his stomach where a bit of dried cum had clung to his happy trail. He should just go to sleep but he didn’t want to dream what he knew he’d dream about. If he passed out though, at least he probably wouldn’t remember the dreams in the morning. He’d flicked on the grainy tv and found some bad porn where the girls were all fake boobs and fake orgasms. Not his kind of thing, but honestly more entertaining than the soap opera reruns the other channels were showing.

A crunch of gravel outside caught his attention and he sat up in bed, taking another swig of Jack. The handle of the door twisted softly and Dean reached for the gun he’d slid under his pillow. As much as common sense told him it would be Sam coming back to the room, he was very much not expecting Sam home tonight. But a moment later Sam crept through the door, trying to be quiet, assuming Dean would be asleep by now.

“And what time do you call this?” Dean smirked from the bed, taking another drink.

“Gah!” Sam shouted, drawing his gun and aiming at Dean.

“Woah, easy tiger,” Dean held up his hands in peace, “s’jus me.”

“Jesus, Dean,” Sam groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face to compose himself. “Why are you still up?”

“Why are you already back?” Dean countered.

“Didn’t want to stay over,” Sam shrugged, shuffling to his bed and discarding his gun and jacket.

“Was he that bad?” Dean cringed.

“No,” Sam grimaced.

“Were you that bad?”

“Wh - no! I was not bad,” Sam shot back.

“Someone’s a little touchy,” Dean teased.

“Am not!”

“Definitely touchy,” Dean confirmed, more to himself than to Sam.

“Shut up dude,” Sam grunted, pulling off his shirts and throwing them into the dirty laundry bag he had inside his duffel. Dean stared at Sam’s bare back. Why not, right? Sam couldn’t see him doing it. His eyes traced the muscle definition, noticed the slight glisten of sweat that had no doubt arisen from Sam’s walk home, noticed a dark halo at the top of Sam’s shoulder that hadn’t been there the last time he’d seen Sam shirtless.

“What the fuck is that?” Dean staggered off his bed and over to Sam to poke at his shoulder.

“Huh?” Sam looked down to where Dean’s fingers were prodding the bruised ring of a bite mark on his skin. “Nothing, just uh- he got a bit excited.” Sam blushed.

Sam’s skin seared when Dean’s fingers landed on the bite mark Chase had left behind when he came. The touch had startled him but he didn’t flinch away, and now Dean was still standing there, just running his fingers over and over and over the mark.

“Whatever, man,” Sam shrugged his brother off and bent to grab a clean t-shirt out of his duffle bag but Dean’s hand on his chest stopped him. “Dean?” Dean didn’t answer, just kept Sam still and straight while he continued to trace the bruise with his eyes. “Dean, what’s wrong?”

Dean didn’t answer, he just stood there. Sam saw his tongue dart out and wet his bottom lip, followed by his teeth digging in, something he always did when he was thinking. Dean’s eyes were dark and clouded. He’d clearly been drinking the whole time Sam was gone, but there was a latent concentration behind the haze that had descended over them.

“What’s on your mind, man?” Sam turned out of Dean’s grip to face him.

“You know,” Dean sat down on Sam’s bed, bringing his head level with Sam’s waist. “A guy at the bar told me that I had, and I quote, ‘the best damn blowjob lips’ he’d ever seen,” Dean smirked lazily. If Sam had been drinking anything he would have spit it across the room.

“What?”

“What do you think?” Dean looked up at Sam, a new sort of determination in his eyes.

“What do I think about what?” Sam stuttered.

“Well, you’ve been around. You’ve been with guys. You get blowjobs, you give blowjobs too. You think I have good blowjob lips?”

Sam was flabbergasted. If his walk hadn’t done the job of sobering him up, this conversation definitely would have. He felt his throat closing up. He couldn’t tell Dean what he thought about his lips. He couldn’t tell Dean that he used to fantasise about his lips so much he would spit in his hand and pretend it was Dean’s mouth wrapped around his cock instead. “Wh - I … um.”

“You have good blowjob lips,” Dean stated matter of factly. “I remember, they were really good.”

“Um, thanks –” Sam’s voice came out much higher than he’d wanted, “– I guess.”

“Real pretty lips,” Dean mumbled, staring at Sam’s lips, then dragging his eyes down. Down Sam’s chest, and lightly defined abs, and the white strip of cotton peeking out of the waist of his jeans, to the button that all of the sudden Dean’s fingers were on.

“Dean, what are you doing?” Sam knew he should push his brother off himself but he was frozen in place, watching Dean’s fingers flicking the brass button through its buttonhole.

“Taking you up on your offer,” Dean grunted, tugging Sam’s jeans down his legs.

“What the he-”

“You said if I ever needed a hand figuring it out…” Dean dropped to his knees. “Well, I’m trying to figure it out, figure this out.” Dean gestured to the bulge in front of his face where Sam’s cock had started to chub up in his underwear. “Just, just let me?”

Dean looked up at Sam from his knees, his hands in the waist of Sam’s briefs. Sam looked down at him stoically, mouth gaping as he tried to calm his breathing. He nodded, and Dean nodded back, and gulped down his nerves. He tucked his fingers into the elastic and pulled the briefs down too, revealing Sam’s semi-erect cock.

Dean’s eyes lit up. Yeah he’d seen it before but never this close. He brought his hands up hesitantly, planting one on Sam’s thigh to steady himself, and bringing the other to brush against the head of his dick, which was still hanging down between his legs not standing tall yet. Sam hissed when Dean’s fingers brushed against him, and Dean darted his eyes back up to his brother’s face.

His eyes were crushed closed, lips parted and glistening in the low light of the lamp between their beds. Dean caressed his fingers along Sam’s length and watched his face contort, wrinkle and pinch. He wrapped his hand around the whole and squeezed lightly, drawing a gasp from Sam. The cock in his hand was nearly fully hard now, and Dean spotted a small bead of moisture at the slit. Without thinking about it at all he stuck his tongue out and touched it to the tip. Dean could swear what he heard from Sam then might have actually been a whimper.

He looked back up at Sam, fascinated by his face as he touched him. This time, when he brought his tongue back to Sam’s cock, he kept his eyes on Sam’s face and watched the pleasure rinse across it. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was doing but he had a dick, he knew what he liked people to do to it, he figured it couldn’t be that hard, right?

Dean licked his lips and kissed the tip of Sam’s cock, then kissed it harder, used his tongue, heard Sam moan. He uncurled his fingers and held Sam in his palm as he kissed down his shaft to the base and down, kissing across his balls. Sam moaned again. Right, Dean thought, time to actually do this. He licked a long strip up the vein that was pulsing obviously in Sam’s length and pulled the head into his mouth, giving an experimental suck.

“Aah,” Sam groaned, his hand landing on the top of Dean’s head and combing through his hair. Dean began to bob his head up and down a little, testing how it felt in his mouth. He found he really liked the feel of the skin against his tongue. There wasn’t something he could pinpoint it feeling like, but it was soft, smooth even though he could also feel the veins running close under the skin when he dragged his tongue along their lines.

Dean felt Sam’s hand travel to the back of his head, where it pushed forward slightly, encouraging him down further. He let Sam guide him, remembering at the last second to pull his lips over his teeth on the way down. Sam’s groan rattled through his body, and Dean smiled around the cock in his mouth, loving that he’d pulled that sound from his baby brother.

“So good,” Sam sighed under his breath. Dean’s eyes flicked back to Sam’s face as he sucked harder and pulled off.

“Is this okay?” Dean asked, pumping his fist around Sam teasingly.

“Yeah. God , yeah,” Sam moaned as Dean twisted his thumb over the tip. Sam’s hand slid around to Dean’s face and rested on his cheek, thumb stroking over his lips. “That guy was right,” Sam huffed, “you’ve got great blowjob lips.”

Dean smiled and darted his tongue out to wet his lips again, catching Sam’s thumb as he did. Sam made a little hum at the contact, so Dean did it again. He brought Sam’s thumb in his mouth and twirled his tongue around it, pulling a grunt from him. Dean’s eyes lit up.

“So, your cock isn’t the only thing you like me sucking on, then.”

“How about you shut up and keep sucking, hm?” Sam’s eyes were hard and burning, and Dean wasn’t about to disobey him. Sam’s thumb hooked into Dean’s cheek and pulled him back to his cock, dragging him down its length until he couldn’t breathe, his moans growing deeper the further Dean took him. “Now keep your head moving,” Sam instructed, tugging back on Dean’s hair so he understood. The sharp pull sent a thrill down Dean’s spine and a little moan escaped him, resonating through Sam.

“Yeah, that, do that,” Sam gasped, and Dean moaned again as he drew off Sam’s cock and plunged back down. “Fuck, you look pretty with my cock in your mouth,” Dean groaned in approval, trying to communicate to Sam how much he was appreciating the commentary.

“Oh, you like that? Like me telling you how hot you look on your knees for me? Want me to tell you how much I’ve wanted you there since Dany asked you to touch me?”

Dean’s moan choked off into something higher and more desperate than he would ever admit to. He really, really liked Sam talking to him. Redoubling his efforts, he started to move more quickly, hollowing his cheeks and sucking harder every time he pulled back. He kept one hand on the base of Sam’s cock, holding it in place so he could move around it, but his other hand crept down into his own boxers. Sam’s noises had all gone straight to Dean’s cock, and he’d been painfully hard for too long, he couldn’t ignore it anymore.

When Dean pulled his cock out from under his waistband he groaned at the cool air hitting it, and in relief at finally being able to touch himself properly. Sam felt Dean slow and peeled his eyes open to check what had changed. He caught sight of Dean’s hand around his own cock and chuckled darkly.

“I don’t think so,” Sam shook his head and used his leg to bat Dean’s hand away from himself. “You can touch yourself after I cum.”

Dean whined and took his hand off his cock, bringing it up to Sam’s instead.

“Good boy,” Sam smirked.

Now motivated by the fact that he couldn’t get himself off until he finished Sam, Dean tried to take his brother's cock deeper than he had been, but had to pull back when he gagged.

“Woah,” Sam tugged Dean back and rubbed his neck while he caught his breath. “You don’t need to kill yourself, dude,” he chuckled and brought Dean’s lips back to his cock. “Just focus on the tip, keep that real nice and wet,” Dean followed the instruction eagerly and closed his lips around the ruddy head of Sam’s shaft. “Mm, yeah,” Sam groaned appreciatively, “and use your hands at the base, fuck, yeah, like that.”

Dean did what Sam said, suckling at the head of his cock enthusiastically, spit leaking from his lips, which he used to ease the glide of his hand along the shaft. He built his pace up, quicker and quicker, humming when he felt Sam start to tighten and heard his breath begin to catch.

“M’close, De, clos- shit !”

Dean felt Sam’s balls draw up tight to his body and fuck , if that wasn’t so hot. He pulled his lips tight around Sam and laved his tongue over the slit and something salty and warm gushed out. Dean moaned at the taste, his mouth falling open. Sam’s cum painted his tongue, spurted against his lips, dripped down his chin. It was filthy, and Dean loved it.

“Fuck,” Sam groaned, looking down at his big brother. “Lips look even better with my cum on them.” He reached out and smeared it around Dean’s mouth, pushing it back between his lips for Dean to swallow down.

Dean sucked down every drop Sam gave him, pulling another finger into his mouth. He figured he was safe now, and brought his hand back to his dick, squeezing to relieve the pressure that was building. As he stroked messily at himself he sucked harder on Sam's fingers, swirling his tongue around them in lyrical patterns and trying to memorise every groove of his fingerprints.

“Guess my cock is the only thing you like sucking on,” Sam panted teasingly, parodying Dean’s own words back to him. He dropped to his knees next to Dean and began to nuzzle against his brother’s neck, nipping and licking as he went.

Dean was past caring how desperate he looked, he needed to cum so badly he felt himself almost whine around Sam’s fingers in his mouth. Sam started to pump his fingers in and out, fucking Dean’s mouth while he frantically jerked himself off.

“God you really like this don’t you?” Sam whispered against Dean’s ear reverently. “Such a little slut for me,” he bit at Dean’s ear and brought his hand to join Dean’s on his cock. Sam’s touch was the final stroke for Dean, and he crumpled against Sam, coming over their hands with a hoarse shout and Sam’s fingers pressing against his tongue. He whimpered as Sam withdrew his fingers but that was quickly stifled when Sam brought his other hand to Dean’s lips, hesitantly, but Dean didn’t need to think about it before he lapped at Sam’s hand, sucking his own come off his baby brother.

Sam stared at Dean, soberly, cautiously, but still with the burn of arousal in his eyes. Dean met his gaze, eyes glassy and unfocused, still coming down from his high. Sam’s finger pulled out of his mouth.

“So,” Sam cleared his throat, “did that help?”

Tags: @vulgar-library @jackandthesoulmates @negans-lucille-tblr @fandomfic-galore @petitgateau911 @whoreforackles @schaefchenherde @hawkerz12 @dylansbabygirl24 @mineshinamary @popsensationnicole23 @spn-problems @donthateme454 @doyouknowsamw @peridottea91 @delightfulbakeryaliendeputy @fictionallemons @natastic @Marvelfansworld @half-closeted-bi-girl @j-ai-adore-dean @kiss-my-peachy-arse @tftumblin @alice101macwil @disneysloot @caitlinvd @crashlyrose @miufel @itsthedoctah10 @leftlokiofpuppy @devilsbbyy @akshi8278 @deandreamernp@lyarr24 @lovealways-j @kickingitwithkirk @delightfullykrispypeach

#dive bar #wincest #spnkinkbingo #dom!sam #sub!dean

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harley-sunday · 4 years

Text

Encore [epilogue]

Summary: The new Disney+ show ‘Encore’ brings together former castmates of a high school musical, tasking them with re-creating their original performance in a high school reunion like no other. Emotions run high as you face faded friendships, long-forgotten controversies, killer choreography, and an ex-boyfriend you haven’t seen in eighteen years.

Pairing: Chris Evans x reader [unnamed OFC, nicknamed ‘Ace’)

Warnings: Language. NSFW

Word count: 3.1k

AN: This is it... The epilogue of Encore’s Encore. What a ride, huh? I had so much fun writing this, diving into this backstory, and making sure these two knuckleheads found their way to each other in the end :) Hope you’ll enjoy the last part, but please let me know what you think! ♥

eL, I owe you something chocolate for all the hours you’ve spend in this daydream world with me. Thank you so, SO much, sweets!

Masterlist

“Nic,” you answer with a smile, putting your phone on speaker, “we’re almost there.”

“Ok, good,” she says, “cause these potatoes are done.”

Chris chuckles beside you, “Two minutes, Nicole.”

“Step on it, Evans,” Nicole groans, “I’ve got two very impatient kids here who, I’m sure, aren’t above killing their mother if we don’t start eating soon.”

“Nicole,” you laugh.

“What? I’m serious,” she protests. “Please tell me you remembered to bring the-”

“It’s in the trunk, Nicole,” Chris reassures her with a smile. “We’re pulling up now, so you’re good.”

“Oh thank God,” Nicole says as she hangs up.

“I’ll leave the door open for you,” you tell him, before you give a kiss. “See you soon.”

He winks and sits back, trying to hide from view as you make your way to the front door.

The door opens before you even have a chance to ring the doorbell and you are greeted by two very excited boys who both run up to you and throw their arms around your waist. You run your hands through their hair, “Hi guys,”

“We’re gonna watch you and mommy on TV!” Robby exclaims, while he takes your hand and leads you inside. Leo’s still wrapped around your waist, his feet on yours, and so you penguin walk through the hall and into the kitchen, where you find Nicole and Keith.

“Hi,” Nicole says with a smile, planting a kiss on your cheek, “you had a good flight?”

“Not too bad,” you tell her as you give Keith a hug.

“How’s the apartment?” She tells Leo to let go of you then, and when he doesn’t listen right away she throws him one of those mom-looks that makes him do exactly what she wants.

“It’s fine,” you tell her, taking the glass of wine she’s offered you, “I’m not sure all my stuff’s gonna fit, but-”

“I still don’t understand why you don’t just move in with him, I mean-”

“Nicole,” you berate her, one eyebrow raised. “Have you met me and my commitment issues?”

“Yes, I know, taking it slow, blah blah blah,” she says while she pulls a face. “You know you’re just gonna be at his place all the time, right?”

“I know,” you agree with a nod, “but it’s nice to have, like, my own place, at least until he gets back from filming Knives Out, you know? I don’t- It would be weird to stay at his house when we’re not technically back-”

“Oh, come on!” She throws her hands in the air then, “You know what, I give up. Just let me know if you need help decorating the new place or whatever.”

“I love you,” you tell her, making a kissing face.

“Uhu,” she says, trying to keep a straight face but failing. She pulls you in for a hug, “It’s good to have you back, babe.”

“MOM!”

“Oh shit,” Nicole curses quietly and lets go of you. “Here we go.”

You pulls up your texting app and hit <send> on the draft you typed earlier, which simply says:

Now.

“Mom, Leo hit me!”

You follow Nicole into the dining room where you find Robby, a red spot on his cheek that confirms his story, and a very guilty-looking Leo. Before Nicole has a chance to say anything there’s a knock on the front door and you see the confusion on Leo and Robby’s faces when they quickly realize an unexpected guest has shown up.

It’s then the door to the dining room opens and you see the boys’ eyes widen in shock when they see who has just stepped into their house. You throw Nicole a wink and step back, letting your back rest against the wall as you watch the scene in front of you unfold with a smile.

“Hi boys,” Chris says, using the deeper voice Steve Rogers is known for. Holding Captain America’s shield in front of him he salutes them, before he sets the shield down and walks over to where they’re seated, kneeling in between them.

Leo finally seems to have found his voice again and looks from Chris to Nicole, “Momma! Cap’ain America is here!”

“He sure is, baby,” Nicole says with a smile.

As if on cue, both boys jump out of their seats and throw their arms around Chris’ neck, giggling when he stands up, carrying them to the living room with ease.

“Come on,” you nudge Nicole before you set your glass down, “Chris can handle those two, I’ll help you get everything on the table.”

She tells Keith to go take some pictures, maybe even a video so that, when necessary, they can help Leo and Robby remember about the deal they made with Captain America about being kind to each other. Once you’re in the kitchen she lets out a staggered breath, “I really hope this will help with all the fighting.”

“It will,” you assure her, gently patting her arm. “Captain America shows up, you listen, right? Those kids, oh Nic,” you let out a laugh, “they’ll be on their best behaviour from now on, because Captain America will find out if they’re not.”

After a dinner filled with stories from Leo and Robby, trying to impress Captain America with whatever they can think of, you settle down in the living room, your episode of ‘Encore’ just minutes from airing.

You and Chris sit down on the couch, Robby on his lap, while Leo snuggles up on yours, but only after both boys agree that Leo gets to sit on Cap’s lap after the second commercial break. Keith and Nicole are snuggled up on the love seat and you watch them out of the corner of your eye, smiling when you see Keith tickle Nicole which earns him a gentle slap on the wrist, followed by a kiss.

The episode starts then, the boys clapping and cheering loudly whenever they catch a glimpse of their mom. You can’t help but cringe when you see the footage of that first day, the awkward hug you gave Chris of course shown in its entirety. That’s the only time there’s any focus on you and Chris, which you’re thankful for, glad that whatever was going between you two didn’t transpire in rehearsals enough to make it into the final cut.

You smile when you see parts of the performance on screen and look away in embarrassment when they show the scene between you and Chris, making out in Kenickie’s car. Keith wolf whistles and Nicole winks at you, while the boys look up at you and Chris, confusion written all over their faces.

Robby, now in your lap, takes the lead, “You kissed Captain America.” It’s not so much a question as it is a statement and you’re not sure how to reply.

Chris steps in, “She did, but it’s super secret, so you can’t tell anyone that you know, ok?”

Robby and Leo nod fervently, excited to share another secret with Captain America.

“So, am I dropping you off at your place, or-” he says with a grin.

You shake your head and laugh, “You can, but then you’d have to drop yourself off there as well and I don’t think Dodger would be too excited to spend the night alone.”

“That’s what I thought,” he says as he drives past your apartment, speeding up a little to make his point, a cheeky grin playing on his lips.

You turn towards him in your seat and stare at him for a few seconds, memories starting to flood your mind now that you’re driving through Sudbury again together for the first time in eighteen years. You let your bottom lip roll between your teeth while an idea starts to form.

He looks over at you, “What?”

You shrug, “Remember that time you took me for a drive and we ended up at Great Meadows?”

“Yeah-”

“Yeah.” You reach out your hand and let it rest on the top of his thigh, “Wanna take me there again?”

He swallows hard, the double entendre not lost on him, and he just nods, gripping the steering wheel just a little tighter.

You let your hand travel further up his thigh and cup him through his jeans, drawing a sharp breath from him when you squeeze ever so slightly. It’s about five more minutes to the parking you were referring to and you keep your hand in place for every second of them, your thumb rubbing back and forth in languid strokes.

His breathing picks up and you can tell he’s trying to keep his cool, but the way he grows harder under your touch betrays his efforts. He curses quietly, “Fuck, Ace.”

“Uhu,” you reply with a sly smile and another squeeze.

He pulls up to the parking then, and you’re relieved to find it empty, not sure what you would have done if there’d been other people around. Before you have time to say anything he’s unbuckled his seatbelt and puts his hand over yours, keeping you in place, grinding against your hand.

You take your hand out from underneath his and unbuckle your seatbelt, while you tell him to slide his seat back. He does and watches you intently, no doubt curious to see what you’ll do next. You throw him a wink and move around in your seat, your ass now hitting the dashboard. Planting one feet firmly on the ground, you throw the other over his leg and slide onto his lap. It takes some effort, but finally you find yourself straddling his thigh.

Your skirt has ridden up and you can feel your soaked panties press against his jeans, a shiver running through you when you feel him flex his muscles. You cup his face and pull him in for a kiss and as you do you buck your hips, sliding over his leg, a moan escaping you from the friction it creates.

“Ace,” he breathes against your lips, his hands on your hips to keep you in place.

You give him another kiss and let your hands fall to his jeans then, your fingers unbuckling his belt with ease before you undo his button and zipper. One hand finds its way into his boxers and takes him out, and you press yourself against his leg when you see he’s completely hard.

Your thumb runs over the tip, coating it in precum. Pulling back you look at him and you feel the heat rise to your cheeks when you let a bit of spit fall onto your hand, your eyes never leaving his. Both hands are on his cock then, working in tandem, while he grabs onto your hips and helps you ride his thigh in earnest.

It isn’t long before his head falls back against the headrest, his breathing more ragged now, and you can tell he’s getting close from the way he thrusts into your hands.

“I’m right there with you,” you whisper, feeling your orgasm starting to build.

He flexes the muscles in leg again and pushes you down harder as he slides you from his knee to his hip and back.

You keep running your hands up and down his shaft, faster than before, and then you lean forward and put your mouth to his ear, “Come for me, Chris.”

He shakes his head while he tightens his grip on your hips, lifting you up, and you whimper at the loss of contact. He kisses you, hard, and then puts one hand on your lower back, pushing you against him, while the other takes his cock from your hands. “Wanna come inside of you,” he growls, his voice low and dangerous, and you almost come right then and there.

You put your hands on his shoulders and slowly lower yourself onto him, a moan escaping your when he fills you up effortlessly. His hands are back on your hips then, helping you ride him, setting a pace that you know will get both of you there quickly.

Burying your face in his neck, closer now than you were before, you sneak one hand in between you to play with your clit. You want to tell him you’re about to come, but then he bucks his hips at the same time he pushes you down and the words get stuck in your throat because your orgasm washes over you instantly.

You feel him come inside of you not much later and he wraps his arms around you, cradling you against his chest and whispering sweet nothings in your ear as you both come down from your high.

When you wake up the next morning Chris’ side of the bed is already empty and you figure he must have gone out for an early morning run. That is until you hear Dodger bark somewhere on the other end of the house, which is weird, because Chris told you he usually takes his dog along on his runs. You decide you might as well get up, feeling well-rested after your early night yesterday, but still longing for some coffee.

You start to make your way to the kitchen, but halfway there you are greeted by an excited Dodger, who you give some well-deserved scratches before continuing your mission to get some coffee. Your brows knit together when you see a bouquet of red tulips on the kitchen counter, which you are sure weren’t there yesterday.

“I was just gonna get you,” Chris says as hands you a plate with two Danish, and a cup of coffee while he pulls a face, “I hate to rush you, but we have an hour before we need to leave, so you kind need to haul-”

“What?” You look at him, shaking your head, “What are you talking about?”

“I can’t- It’s a surprise,” he says with a wicked grin. “So just- Eat your breakfast, and I’ll go take a shower, ok?”

“Ok,” you draw out, even more confused. You watch him walk out of the kitchen and turn towards Dodger, who’s at your feet hoping you’ll drop a bit of Danish, or maybe just both. “You in on this?”

Dodger barks quietly, which doesn’t really help. Still, you sneak him a bit of your Danish before you sit down at the breakfast bar and try to figure out what the hell is going on.

You’re in the car about an hour later and Chris still won’t tell you where you’re headed, but when he turns onto the I90 after twenty minutes or so, you are fairly certain you’ll end up in Boston, even though that leaves about a thousand places he could take you to.

He’s unusually quiet and so you figure it must be something important but there’s just no way of telling what is happening right now. When he pulls up on Salem Street about thirty minutes later you’re even more confused, almost certain that you’ve never been here before.

When you round the car to join him on the sidewalk, he takes your hand and leads the way down the street until you get to what looks like a barber shop. It confuses you even more, because are you here to watch him get a haircut, or?

You follow him inside and you’re surprised when the guy behind the counter greets him as if they’re old friends, telling him Dave will be with you guys in a second.

“Chris,” you whisper, gently tugging on his hand.

Before he has the chance to respond a guy walks through the curtains behind the counter and walks up to you and it takes everything you have not to stare at him, because he’s almost twice the size of Chris. This must be Dave, you figure, and you watch as he gives Chris a hug.

“How you doin’, kid?”

“Good,” Chris smiles. He nods towards you then, “This is Ace.”

You throw him a look because why would he use your nickname, but it’s then Dave gives you a hug and you find yourself a little stunned at how gentle he is for such a big guy. Before you have the chance to ask any questions, Dave beckons you and Chris to follow him through the curtains and it’s there things get even more confusing.

There’s a chair set up, but it isn’t a barber’s chair, and you glance at Chris, hoping to finally get some answers.

“I’ll just eh-,” Dave says then, “I’ll just go grab something from the back,” and disappears through another curtain, leaving you and Chris alone.

Chris takes your hands in his and gives them a gentle squeeze, “Remember when I told you that I got that ace of hearts tattooed on what was supposed to be our ten-year anniversary?”

You nod, slowly starting to maybe connect the dots, but it isn’t until you realize what today’s date is that you let out a gasp, “Oh.”

“Yeah,” he nods and smiles, “Happy twenty-year anniversary, Ace.” He tugs on your hands, pulling you close before he wraps his arms around you, his mouth close to your ear when he says, “It’s time to start fixing things.”

Dave reappears then and asks Chris if he’s ready. Chris nods and takes his sweater off, before he sits down in the chair and Dave starts prepping his skin. Chris holds out his hand to you and you’re quick to take it, standing next to him and watching in awe as Dave starts to fill in the broken line of Chris’ tattoo, the colour red he’s using matching that of the existing heart perfectly. You give his hand a gentle squeeze to let him know that Dave’s done not much later and let go then, so Chris can get up out of the chair and admire his tattoo in the mirror that’s hanging on the wall.

Dave throws you a wink, “Everything as it should be.”

“Yeah,” you agree with a smile, for some reason feeling the heat rise to your cheeks, as if the enormity of what Chris has just done only now hits you. You watch as Dave places what looks like saran wrap on Chris’ chest before he hands him a tube of cream and some instructions on how to take care of it the next couple of days.

Walking out of the shop not much later Chris looks at you, a tender look in his eyes, “You ok?”

“Yeah,” you nod, a moment of clarity suddenly hitting you.

“So,” Chris asks, hesitating a little, “am I dropping you off at your place or-?”

“No,” you say as you let go of his hand and turn towards him. You cup his face ih your hands and push yourself up so your lips ghost against his, “You’re taking me home.”

#chris evans x reader #Chris Evans fanfic #Harley Sunday x Chris Evans #chris evans #Encore

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thelittlebirdthattoldyou · 4 years

Note

iwaoi & the 1 by Taylor swift folklore album, For the song request things if that’s still open!!

here you go, anon! i’ve written more iwaoi-as-exes content over the past week than i thought i ever would :’)

the 1 - taylor swift

pairing: iwaizumi hajime/oikawa tooru

content: angst with a hopeful ending (it’s actually not that angsty they’re just not together), magical realism, timeskip

wc: 921

Argentina brings with it a break from the past. The moment Oikawa steps out of the airport, backpack over his shoulder, suitcase in tow, he takes in the humid summer air, and something loosens in his chest. It still hurts - the ache of losing Iwaizumi is akin to that of amputating a limb - but it hurts less. And then Oikawa spots Jose Blanco standing in front of an electric blue sportscar, holding a handmade sign, and he smiles. He’ll be alright.

Oikawa settles into his spot on the team with ease. At eighteen, he’s the youngest, just past legal drinking age, and the other members make it their mission to show him the ropes. He’s subjected to affectionate nicknames and hair ruffles on the court, crushing hugs and rapidfire teasing Spanish outside it. Slowly, he starts to heal. Missing Iwaizumi takes a backseat.

Part of life in Argentina is the festivities. Oikawa has never been one to pass up a good party, but his teammates drag him into town a staggering amount of nights per month. If not for their strict training regimens, Oikawa would have no idea how they stay in shape.

This particular night is more sedate than usual. It finds the team occupying a table at a small garden restaurant a few blocks away from downtown San Juan. The place is called La Fuente, apparently because of an old fountain in the courtyard that no one thought to remove when it was built.

Oikawa passed it by on his way into the restaurant. It didn’t look like much; a central tier made of mottled brown stone standing in a shallow brick pool. Matteo and Isaias were jostling him, pushing him forward to get to their table faster, and Oikawa let it go.

But now he’s gotten his fill of Argentinian barbeque and Bonarda wine, and he decides to get some air. The captain, Aman Valdiviezo, stops him on his way. “Where you off to, Tooru?” he asks.

“I think I’ll head out to the fountain to clear my head,” Oikawa says, swaying slightly on his feet. His head is buzzing, and the excursion might help him sober up.

“Don’t fall in,” Aman says. His tone is jovial, but not without a note of warning. Oikawa frowns.

Aman just chuckles and pats him on the back, and Oikawa wishes him a good night and heads outside.

The night is dark and pleasant, and Oikawa takes a deep breath of the fresh air. The party is still audible, but it sounds distant, as if from another world. It feels a little more lonely out here, or maybe that’s just his imagination.

He takes a seat on the edge of the fountain, pressing his hand against the cool brick. A look into the clear water reveals that the bottom is speckled with coins of all shapes and sizes. Most are Argentinian, but there are a few that he recognizes as American or European, and others of more mysterious origin.

Fumbling for his wallet, Oikawa takes out one of the ten yen coins he keeps with him for good luck. He presses it to his lips before flipping it into the water; it lands with a small plop.

The water ripples, and Oikawa frowns, leaning closer to look. One coin shouldn’t be able to cause such a disturbance.

He sucks in a sharp inhale when his reflection fades in the water, replaced with a familiar face. Iwaizumi’s face.

Oikawa watches with wide eyes as the pool shows him a scene of Iwaizumi in line at the grocery store, the same endearing scrunch between his eyebrows as he picks out lettuce. Iwaizumi taking notes in his early morning lecture. Iwaizumi and some strange girl at a club. Iwaizumi taking her hand and whispering something in her ear and leading her off the dance floor back to his dorm.

The last one almost drives Oikawa to put his fist through the water. But before he can, the image changes, morphs into something more tender.

Oikawa’s breath hitches when he recognizes himself, body curled into Iwaizumi’s side on the couch in front of some action movie. It’s a memory from before they started dating, but Iwaizumi holds him like a lover, the arm around his shoulders tentative yet so sweet. Them kissing for the first time in the middle of winter, cold lips and warm breath. Them with Hanamaki and Matsukawa on the night before their graduation, passing around a stolen bottle of rosé.

Their time together plays out like a film reel, and when it ends, Oikawa finds that he’s unconsciously reached for it, fingers floating mere centimeters above the water’s surface.

Pulling his hand back, Oikawa presses it to his flushed cheek. It comes away wet with tears. Oikawa blinks. He doesn’t know when he started crying.

He’s happy here, even without Iwaizumi, but still he wonders… if he never left the country, would they have made it? If Iwaizumi had kissed him earlier, if they had more time to be in love, if they just fought harder to stay together -

With trembling fingers, Oikawa unlocks his phone and taps on Iwaizumi’s contact number. He knows the rule is to never call your ex when you’re drunk, but he doesn’t feel drunk. His head is clearer than it’s been in a long time.

Tossing one more coin into the water for good luck, Oikawa hits call, and he holds his breath for a few agonizing seconds while the ringtone plays.

Iwaizumi picks up.

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imjusthereforbatfam · 4 years

Text

Never-Ending Encore, ch 8

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

Chapter Summary: Yes, this is Gotham City but helping people isn’t a CRIME, Red Hood! Eden’s not afraid of some crazy nutzos! Er, well… Okay, maybe she’s a little afraid of some crazy nutzos, but… But that’s not gonna stop her from helping people when she can! 😤

Warnings: minor swearing, very minor mentions of suic*de and previous suic*dal behavior, very minor mentions of previous abuse, abuse forgiven/excused by victim (which I personally don't care for but this is how Eden currently handles/perceives her trauma so...)

---

Eden sat down at the table with a content sigh. The heavenly aroma of homemade garlic bread was more prominent now that the rolls were right in front of her. The scent, mixed with the expectation of company and the eagerness of having some Mad Mountain Fudge chilling in her fridge, made her feel incredibly at-home. Though, to be fair, it was more of a hope for company than an expectation.

Red Hood said he’d try to come this night or the next, but that didn’t necessarily mean he would. Admittedly, Eden's shier half – which vividly recalled Aaron’s earlier, uh… praises toward Red Hood’s… physique – wouldn’t entirely mind waiting a few days to see him. The rest of her was so excited, though, that she had to keep reminding herself it was okay if he didn’t come tonight. It wouldn’t be the end of the world. He was a busy man, after all, saving dumbasses like herself and doing… whatever an ex-mob boss might do to make a place like Gotham better.

Not that any of that stopped her from hoping he would come, of course. Nor would it stop her from being disappointed if he didn’t. Even so, Eden knew she was just one, very small person among a million other very small people in this city. She understood that visiting a random civilian like her, even with the world's greatest fudge in her fridge, couldn't rank very high on Red Hood’s to-do list. Especially in a city like this, filled with a thousand not-so-very-small people — many of whom were quite dangerous.

Still, taking in her surroundings, Eden couldn’t help but smile. She was excited for him to come visit. The entire one-roomed apartment – not just the kitchen space – was clean now. She was back in the habit of making her bed every morning, and— okay, fine, the chair by her closet still held her not-quite-clean clothes, but at least they were folded now! Which was an improvement from the misshapen pile of before!

The once-crowded coffee table had also been improved. Now, it only housed her laptop, headphones, and one book (and notebook) at a time. The rest of her books and notebooks – aside from the pair she kept on the kitchen table – had a new home, piled neatly along the wall dividing the kitchen from the main living/sleeping space. They still needed a proper shelf, but the current setup worked for now.

Two plants with tall, twisting stems stood guard on either side of her slow-growing book collection, while a small, mismatched assortment of baby foliage in tiny, colorful pots sat along the edge of her kitchen table near the window. It wasn’t anything compared to rows and rows of crops back on the farm, nor the nearby woods she dearly missed walking through, but it still felt good to be around some greenery again.

Biting into a roll, Eden continued penning ideas into the notebook she kept on the kitchen table; new ways to make her place even homier, things that needed her attention, different possibilities to look into. Though it was the mortifying thought of Red Hood coming back to her apartment in its previous state that had spurred her into action, Eden now found herself genuinely starting to enjoy the little space.

Now that she was putting in the effort, her apartment was actually starting to feel… pleasant. Welcoming, even. And even though her neighbors were still ridiculously loud at times, Eden was finding herself happy with her little home. Enjoying the fruits of her labor whenever she paused to take it in... It was a very nice feeling.

Eden suddenly stopped writing. Her heart leapt in excitement as she looked to the far window, the one that led to the fire escape. It could be nothing, but she could’ve sworn she’d heard— The soft tapping repeated itself.

Scrambling up from the table, Eden flew to the window – nearly slipping in her socks – and beamed at the sight of Red Hood on the other side. He greeted her with a short wave of his hand.

“Hi there, Mr. Hood!” she greeted the moment she had the window open. “It’s so nice to see you again! How are you? Your fudge is almost ready, but it needs another couple of minutes or so to finish chilling. I hope that’s alright? I remembered you said you might stop by tonight, but I didn’t think it would be until later on so I— oh! Where are my manners?” She moved out of the way, her cheeks warming. “Won’t you come in?”

“Don’t mind if I do.”

Eden smiled as he deftly climbed inside, pleased to find she could still easily recognize Red Hood’s humored tone.

“Smells good in here,” he said turning toward the kitchen.

She quirked a brow, glancing at his helmet. “You can smell with that thing on?”

“It has an automatic filtration system." He lifted his chin, apparently quite proud of it. "Keeps Fear Gas out, lets good-smelling food in.”

"Really?” She hummed, making a show of looking over his helmet. “It doesn’t look all that fancy to me, Mr. Hood."

He scoffed. “It’s a lot more high-tech than it looks, Cookie Girl.”

“Oh, yeah?” She turned up her nose, grinning, as she led him toward the kitchen table. “What kind of high-tech stuff does it have, then, hotshot?”

“All kinds,” he said unabashedly, not afraid to meet her teasing head-on. “There’s the obvious, like night vision, thermal imaging, incendiary devices, and high-frequency—”

“Hold on, wait.” She turned the words over in her head. “Incendiary devices? Isn’t that just fancy talk for bombs?"

“It might be,” he said confidently.

"You have a bomb in your helmet?" She made a humored face. “That doesn’t sound very high-tech, Mr. Hood. Or obvious.”

He hummed, leaning forward slightly, resting his hands on his hips. “You don’t believe me?” Eden could imagine him grinning at her.

She crossed her arms playfully. “No way. You’re just trying to get a rise out of me. There’s no way you have an actual bomb that close to your head. You’re not that crazy, Mr. Hood.”

He made an amused sound, tilting his head to one side.

Eden opened her mouth, then shut it. She looked him up and down, faltering. “Are… Are you? Mr. Hood, do you really have— Are you— Please tell me you’re joking. That’s— Do you?”

“Relax, Ede.” He said it comfortably, as if he called her that all the time. Eden blinked, trying to remember if he’d ever called her that before — or anything other than Cookie Girl. “It’s just for absolutely fucked situations where I don’t have any other options.”

Her eyes widened. “Wait— You don’t mean— You don’t mean—” She jabbed at her temples frantically, trying to sputter something out.

Red Hood watched her struggle until what she was trying to say finally clicked.

He jerked forward, his hands up. “Shit, not like that! It’s an escape thing, not a kill myself thing,” he explained. “I take it off and throw it like a grenade.”

“Oh. Cool. Okay. A grenade. That’s cool.”

“Breathe, Cookie Girl," he reminded her.

“I’m breathing! Totally breathing!” She took a huge breath for good measure. Then another. “Sorry, I just—” She shook her head, plopping into her seat. She looked at him, then, in realization, jolted right back up again. “Oh, sorry! Please,” she gestured to the spare chair in front of him, “have a seat.”

“I’m alright.” Red Hood leaned onto its back, watching her sit down again. Her face was red hot. “You okay?”

“Yes, fine, thank you.” She took a few slow breaths, her brows pulled together with worry. “Do you… end up in situations like that a lot? Where you have to blow up your helmet to get away?”

Just a few nights ago, there’d been an explosion on the Westward Bridge. One of her coworkers said a friend spotted Red Hood escaping the scene afterwards. Eden, becoming more accustomed to Gotham’s shenanigans than she cared to admit, hadn’t worried about him too much when she’d heard. In fact, oddly enough, she’d felt a bit proud. But maybe she shouldn’t have.

Maybe she was wrong to have assumed he was okay. Maybe he’d been in serious trouble. Maybe he’d needed help. Maybe she should’ve done something. Maybe she should’ve—

“Not really,” Red Hood answered, breaking her dizzying thoughts with a casual shrug. “It’s the last of my last resorts, and it’s pretty rare for me to be so off my game.”

“Oh. Oh, good. That's...” She sighed in relief, then smiled up at him. “I’m glad to hear it, Mr. Hood.”

Of course. What in the world was she thinking? Red Hood wasn’t some small-time, stumbling wannabe. Unlike her pitiful attempts at playing hero, he actually knew what he was doing. If she ever showed up to one of his firefights, she’d probably just end up causing him trouble and end up staggering home with a plethora of healing bullet holes and another encore under her belt. (Maybe two, if she was particularly unlucky.)

Red Hood pulled out his chair and turned it so that its back was nearly up against the wall beside them. When he sat down, angled the way he was, he had a clear line of sight of the entire apartment.

The move was familiar to Eden, but it surprised her to see it done so precisely and naturally. The only other person she’d seen do that – and do it like that – was Mama.

Mama always had to have an eye on her surroundings, so she rarely took a seat without her back against a wall or being tucked in a corner. The habit was one of many from her life before "Louanne Smith". They were so far ingrained into her psyche that if she ever tried to go against them the struggle was obvious to even the blindest fool. Though she feigned ignorance at having ever lived such a life, it had obviously taught her all the skills she now used to keep their “cousins” safe: how to observe and analyze even the smallest detail, how to fight and defend unflinchingly, how to disappear without a trace, how to… make other people disappear.

It made Eden curious to see Red Hood with a habit like that. On the bright side, it probably meant she didn’t have to worry about him the way she had been. If he was even half as capable as Mama was, chances were he could handle just about anything thrown at him — even in a place like Gotham.

But… on the not-so-bright side, she had to wonder...

Red Hood tilted his head slowly. “What?”

“Hm?” Eden blinked and realized she been staring. “Oh, sorry! I was just remembering my, uh… um… well, it doesn’t really matter, I guess. I just got lost in thought. Sorry.”

“You don’t have to keep apologizing.”

“Right, sor— I mean, uh, thank you. I guess.” Cheeks warm, she glanced around quickly for something else to talk about. “Um, would you like some garlic rolls, Mr. Hood?” She picked up the plate and offered it to him. “They’re stuffed with cheese.”

He leaned closer to the food, inhaling it. “So that’s what smells so good.”

She smiled. “Try some!”

He started to grab one when his head turned toward the kitchen. He looked into it a moment then lowered his hand, sat back, and said, “On second thought, I’m okay.”

Eden lowered the plate slightly, surprised. She glanced into her kitchen, wondering what he’d seen to change his mind. The space was perfectly clean and tidy, as she always kept it. The only thing “out of place” was the baking sheet cooling on her stovetop. Any other dishes were already drying in the sink wrack.

“Are you sure? I really don’t mind… I’m happy to share.”

“I’m not interested in stealing your dinner. Besides,” he added in a lighter tone, “I need to save room for the fudge.”

Eden nodded slowly and set the plate down. Glancing toward the kitchen again, she wondered what had tipped him off that the rolls were her meal for the night. The empty baking sheet? The drying dishes?

Always have more than you think you’ll need, she remembered. That was a tried-and-true rule on the farm. They never knew when they were going to have company, so there was always more of things than Eden’s family could ever go through on their own — more blankets, more clothes, more toiletries, more food. Especially food. If there were seven people in the house, they made enough food for ten, and those extra servings came in handy more often than not.

“Can I get you something to drink, then, Mr. Hood?” she asked, picked up her pen and writing the old rule into her notebook. “I have sweet tea, orange juice… uh, water…” She paused, thinking. “Milk?”

He snorted. “I’m good.”

She quirked an impish brow. “Does your fancy, high-tech helmet even have a way for you to drink things? Some built-in twisty-straw component or something?”

He shook his head, edging forward. “Nope. Sorry. No twisty-straws.”

“Your helmet can be an emergency grenade, but it has no cool twisty-straw thingy?” She tsk-tsked, trading her pen for a roll. “I’m disappointed, Mr. Hood. It’s like you’re not even trying to impress me.”

He chuckled. “I’ll get right on that, Cookie Girl,” he assured, a smirk-like quality to his voice.

Eden shook her head at him, trying to hide her grin behind the roll.

He nodded to the notebook in front of her. “What are you working on?”

“Oh, just some ideas.” She pushed it toward him, inviting him to look. “I haven’t been treating this place right,” she explained, pulling apart the roll. “Acting like it’s a prison when it’s a home in need of as much tender loving care as any other.”

Red Hood hummed, going over her lists. “Hard to make a home in a neighborhood like this,” he muttered.

“Doesn’t mean I need to let it sit and rot like I was. It’s nice to have a place you’re at least a little proud of.”

He gave a half-shrug and nodded.

He flipped to a previous page in the notebook, glancing up to see if she minded. Eden shrugged, knowing most of the pages were haphazardly filled with everyday nonsense that likely wouldn’t mean much to him. He looked them over while she ate and she looked over him, a little embarrassed when he started reading out random thoughts.

“‘Mary: Superfluous, plain but extra, well-meaning but unaware’?”

“Uh, that’s a… That’s a thing for work.”

“What do you do for work? Evaluate assholes?”

She laughed. “No, no, I’m a…" She fixed her posture, feeling a bit proud. "I’m an actress, actually."

“A professional liar? Great.”

“Wha—? No! Lying and acting are two very different skill sets, Mr. Hood!”

“Uh-huh. Sure, Cookie Girl. Whatever you say.”

“No really! I’ll have you know I’m an awful liar but a really great— er, uh, well, okay, maybe not a really great actor— I mean, maybe not a great actor either, but, you know, I— Well, actually—”

He snickered, then moved on to the next blurb he could tease her with.

“Are all your notebooks filled like this?” he eventually asked, glancing at her collection against the wall.

She gave a half-shrug as she finished the last roll. “Some are more coherent. This one’s mostly for stuff that pops in my head while I’m eating or in the kitchen. It’s easier to have my thoughts written down where I can see them instead of fighting through them all in my head.”

“Makes sense.” He leaned forward brazenly. “Am I in any of those thoughts?”

“Not any of the written down ones,” she said with a laugh, assuming that was the real question. “I’m not that dumb, Mr. Hood.”

“Good to know,” he said with a nod. “Speaking of dumb, though…” He leaned back in his chair and fished out a cell phone from inside his leather jacket. “I was wondering if you could help me connect some dots here.”

“Me? I don’t know what you could possibly need my help sorting out, Mr. Hood," aside from an urgent, impromptu lesson on goat milking perhaps, "but I’ll certainly try.”

“Oh, you can help a lot more than you think, Edie.” Red Hood set the phone down on the table and pushed it toward her.

Eden blinked again at his sudden use of one of her everyday nicknames, suddenly nervous. She looked down at the phone, at the picture on its screen, and her brows lifted in surprise. She immediately recognized the sleek, minimalist decor of Café Très Boissons and the slightly hunched, unassuming man who’d been taking her picture earlier that day. But more than that, she recognized the angle the picture had been taken from.

Turning to Red Hood, wide-eyed, she faintly recalled the faces of the boys in the corner booth. The younger two were obviously out of the running, but between the smiling one and the one in the red hoodie… It wasn’t exactly a hard leap to make.

“Wait, were you the guy—?”

“I have contacts all over this city,” he told her. “They keep me informed.”

Eden’s brow furrowed. She worked her mouth to say something, not really sure she believed him, but he leaned over the table and swiped the screen to the right, moving the conversation forward before she could. The new picture was taken closer to the scout and clearer than the first, better showing his face and overall frame.

“So imagine my surprise,” Red Hood went on, “when I learn a small-time heiress has a look-alike who can clock up a potential threat in a heartbeat, and it turns out that look-alike—” he swiped right again, this time to a grainy, blown-up picture of Eden, Veronica, and Aaron crossing the street “—is you.”

Eden stared at the picture: she and Veronica arm-in-arm, Veronica’s purse over her shoulder, a flippant expression on her face that didn’t seem to fit quite right. The picture was from an entirely different viewpoint, somewhere up in the air looking down on them, and of a far poorer quality than the first two.

“Security camera?” she guessed glancing up at him. His permeating stare was hard to meet through the angry “eyes” of his helmet.

“Traffic cam.”

Eden sank a little lower. “You’re making me feel like I’m in trouble here, Mr. Hood,” she mumbled.

“Aren’t you?” he accused. “You’ve practically got a flashing neon sign on your forehead that says In Deep Shit.”

“No, I—!” She huffed and moved some hair out of her face. “I do not. I meant trouble like a kid with her hand caught in the cookie jar.”

“Funny.” He moved to rest his jaw on his fist. “I didn’t.”

Eden lowered her gaze, unable to meet the unbreakable scrutiny of his “eyes”. “I’m not in any trouble,” she muttered, rubbing her socked feet together under the table. “Not like that, anyway. I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh. Sure. Y’know,” he half-teased, “I think I’m starting to understand what you meant about being able to lie and being able to act.”

She struggled with a response to that. “What… What even makes you think I’m in that kind of trouble anyhow?”

“You want the short list or the long?”

She stared at him. His certainty was unshakable.

There’s no way it was that obvious she was in trouble… But it wasn’t deep trouble like he seemed to think. Just… ankle-deep trouble. That she was slowly sinking in. No big deal.

Besides, it wasn’t any of his business. Her “trouble” was just between her and her parents. And her siblings, sort of. And… probably the people Frank worked with... and for… But, like, at its core, it was mostly just her and her parents.

“It’s nothing big,” she promised. “Nothing vigilante worthy, anyway.”

Red Hood tilted his head, silently encouraging her to continue regardless.

“It’s just… family stuff.”

Just a looming fight between divorced parents; their adult child stuck in the middle and trying to put out the fire before it sparked. A totally normal thing for a totally normal "family".

Only, like… kicked up to a ten because Eden was a metahuman, her father was a superhero-obsessed farmer-turned-geneticist who basically stole samples of her DNA, and her mother was not afraid to get her hands dirty. Especially if she perceived something as a threat to her daughter’s well-being — which Frank’s recent work and actions could definitely be perceived as.

Plus, everyone in that facility seemed to know about her powers. Mama would not like that. That Eden regretted helping them – that she’d tried to rescind her consent, been denied, and her DNA taken anyway – just made the whole thing even messier.

The only way to hide any of it from her mother was to literally take the money Frank gave her for her "donation", run off, and hide away while she tried to string everything together. Because once Mama knew, Frank was a dead man. Unless Eden could figure out some way to cushion the information and keep her from digging deeper, there was no doubt in her mind that Mama would wipe every last trace of him – and his colleagues – off the face of the earth.

And Eden… Eden didn’t want that.

Despite everything he’d done and put her through, despite all the hurt and tears, part of her still thought of Frank as her father. As the man who read her stories every night and taught her to ride a bike and a horse. The one who called her “Champ” and always carried her up on his shoulders when they went into town. Who told her she was meant for great things, encouraged her compassion, always put her back on her feet… told her he loved her every morning and every night when she was young…

They were both older now, and him colder. He’d abused her trust and love in pursuit of his own goals. Again. This time with intent. But he was still the man who, above all else, wanted to help others. Eden knew that. He just… didn’t seem to mind hurting her in the process. And a part of her hated him for it, but she still loved him, too. She couldn't stand the thought of him getting hurt, or worse.

Which, you know, with her mama a hairpin trigger away from… removing him… sorta left Eden caught between a rock and a hard place. But, again, that wasn’t any of Red Hood’s business.

“It’s not that big a deal,” she stressed. “And anyway, Veronica’s the one with the scout right now, not me.” She swiped back to the picture of the man in the suit and pointed to him firmly. “He cared about getting her picture, not mine. Even if he mixed us up, it still means she’s the one in real trouble here.”

Red Hood hummed. The disharmony was hard to interpret, but she was willing to bet he was neither fooled by nor satisfied with her answer.

“What?” she shot back, crossing her arms, acting defensive to force the conversation forward. “It’s not my fault he confused me for Veronica.”

“No, but you wanted to keep him confused. In fact,” he reached over and swiped back to the traffic cam picture, “you did everything you could to make sure he thought he had the right girl.”

Eden lifted her chin, waiting for the real question. Red Hood studied her, possibly waiting to see if she’d answer it herself. Maybe blubber out something as she was wont to do. But she was determined to keep her mouth shut this time.

She tipped her head, politely prompting him to continue. When he didn’t, she huffed.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Hood,” she said rubbing her forehead, “but I really don’t know what you’re trying to ask me here. I’m not a mind reader.”

He stayed quiet for a few more beats. His consideration shifted from her to the picture on his phone. “For now, I guess my biggest questions are why and how.”

Eden sat up a little. “Why?” she repeated, not sure she understood.

“Yeah. According to my source,” he said slowly, “you two,” he nodded toward her and Aaron in the picture, “figured out the scout was there for Veronica before she’d even entered the building and that he’d mixed the two of you up.”

“Right,” she agreed cautiously. “And?”

“And?” He gestured in front of him as though he’d clearly laid everything out on the table itself. “Didn’t it occur to you that if he saw the real Veronica, the scout would’ve pieced it all together and left you alone?”

Had that occurred to her? She couldn’t remember. Probably not.

But even if it had, Eden wouldn’t have wanted him to leave her alone if it meant throwing Veronica under the bus like that. Eden at least knew how she was supposed to act in that kind of situation, which was more than Veronica could probably say. And besides, no matter what might’ve happened, she would’ve been fine in the end. Veronica didn’t have that guarantee. Nobody did. Except Eden.

“It was better for him to bother me than her,” she said firmly. “At the very least it threw them off her scent for a bit. Hopefully, she can get some sort of security team or something before they get too wise.”

“They?”

“Whoever wanted those pictures in the first place,” she explained. “I seriously doubt that scout was taking them for his own sake, or he would’ve left the moment “Veronica” started noticing him.” She tilted her head at Red Hood and gave him a wicked smile. “Or did your source not mention that part of my theory?”

“He did,” he said simply. “All the more reason to want to stick your head in the sand, though, don’t you think? It’s what anyone else would’ve done.”

She frowned, finally realizing what he was saying. “You Gothamites are so weird. I’d have thought a vigilante would at least understand..."

“Uh, rude?”

“Sorry, I don’t mean to be, but… It’s just I think I figured out what you’re really asking me, and Aaron and Veronica asked me the same thing earlier, too, and it’s just…" She shook her head, finding it hard to wrap her brain around. "Y’all…” She huffed. “Y’all’re just so weird to me.”

Red Hood didn’t say anything.

“Sorry,” she said again, more genuinely. “But you’re asking me why I helped her, right? Even if it wasn’t… oh, how did Veronica say it?” She turned her head, trying to remember. “Wasn’t my problem, I think? Something like that…” She refocused on him. “Anyway, my answer to you is the same as it was for them: because it was the right thing to do.”

Red Hood made a short, unamused noise. “The right thing was pretending to be that girl? Putting yourself in danger?"

“The right thing was helping her,” she corrected. “And that scout had already taken my picture anyway, so…” She swiped between the pictures. “At least I stopped him from taking the real Veronica’s picture, too.”

“But now he’s got your picture.” He sat back and crossed his arms. “Which means his employer’s going to have your picture. If they don’t already.”

“Which they probably do, since he was using a cell phone," she pointed out.

He threw his hands in the air. “Exactly! And he could be some sick, psycho fuck!"

"Well—"

"This is Gotham, Ede," he went on, imploring her to listen. "Even if they know you're not Veronica, they'll know you tried to fuck with their plans for her, whatever they are. People get themselves killed for way less here. You know that, right?”

“No, I... I guess I hadn’t really…”

So that was why a lot of Gothamites didn’t go out of their way to help others! Of course! There was no guarantee offering their hand to one person wouldn't put a huge target on their back with another. And nobody in their right mind would want to risk gaining the attention of one of Gotham’s scarier characters. It all made perfect sense now. Gothamites kept their heads down and only focused on their own problems because they had to. If they didn't, they could very well be signing their life away. And when people asked her why she was helping others, they weren't really asking her that; they were asking her why she was so willing to put her own life in danger for someone else.

But Eden wasn't like them. No matter what happened or what anyone did to her, she would be fine. She was always fine. It didn’t mean she had to throw on a cape and go looking for trouble every day like Frank had wanted her to, but it also meant she didn’t have the same excuse as everyone else. If she could step in and help somebody, she should. She was one of the few in this town who probably could. And, most importantly, she wanted to.

“I still would’ve helped her,” she decided. “Even if someone scary thinks I’m her for a little while, or gets mad at me, at least Veronica is safe for now.”

Red Hood stared at her, unmoving. It wasn’t clear what he was thinking or feeling, but Eden could imagine he might not like what he was hearing. After all, as far as he knew, Eden was just a totally normal, would-die-and-stay-dead civilian.

“I mean, if they have any brain cells at all, they should realize pretty quickly “Veronica” doesn’t look like she should, right?” she said trying to reassure him. “And even if they don’t, all they have to do is follow me home once and they’ll realize they’ve got the wrong girl.” She pointed out the window. “Even a total rock-for-brains moron would start scratching their head if Veronica Bradford came to a neighborhood like this.”

He followed her finger, seeming to consider her words. “Maybe,” he acknowledged. “But they’d probably just say fuck it and stick around anyway. Especially if it was some goon following orders.”

Eden bobbed her head from side to side, agreeing with the possibility. “They’d still figure it out eventually, though. Veronica’s a socialite. And I’m definitely not. Eventually, she’d post a Snapstagram story or go somewhere fancy while I’m hanging about here and things wouldn’t add up. And if they were still convinced I’m Veronica after something like that, then I don’t think they’re smart enough to be considered much of a threat to anybody but themselves.”

“Everybody is a threat in this city,” he warned her. “And the last thing you want is some twisted mother fucker knowing where you live. Especially if they think you messed with them.”

“I’d rather someone like that know where I live and make my life difficult than let someone else get hurt or killed because I didn’t help them,” she said stubbornly.

Red Hood let out a gruff, half-groaning sound as he sat back to stare up at the ceiling. "Of course you would," he grumbled. He stayed like that for a minute, perhaps trying to gauge how serious she was. He sighed, apparently finding his answer. "I don't get you. You freak out when a stranger shows up to warn you inside, but the idea of some asshole coming here and actually trying to fuck with you? That doesn't scare you?"

"In my defense, this is the ninth floor and it was my private fire escape. I had every right to freak out when some big stranger with guns and a mean-faced helmet suddenly showed up out of nowhere."

He huffed.

"And I'm not completely helpless, Mr. Hood," she told him. "I have a little fighting know-how under my belt."

"Uh-huh, yeah, sure. And how's your neck, again?"

"My...?" She blinked at him, then remembered the healed cut and frowned. "Hey, I'll have you know I was doing very well for myself until I got stabbed!" she said pointing at him.

He looked up again, this time as if asking a higher power for help. “So if someone broke in here with a gun or another knife, you think you'd be able to fight them off?"

“I'd be fine."

"So you do think you could."

"Not really, no."

He stared at her. “Y'know... a little lie might be nice right about now.”

"I could 100% fight them off no problem, Mr. Hood."

He groaned, covering his eyes. "God, you are an awful liar."

Eden tried very hard to suppress her giggles. “If it makes you feel any better," she offered, "I wasn’t planning on it. Pretending to be Veronica, I mean."

Red Hood sighed, but he lowered his hand and gave her his attention anyway.

"Veronica’s not very… Well, let’s say she’s not the most observant person around. And I know my foresight’s not exactly great in the heat of the moment, and I might end up paying for it eventually, but… I couldn’t just... not do something when that scout noticed her, you know? She needed someone to help her and she didn't even know it. So I just… did.”

Red Hood let out a sharp laugh, which sounded sharper with the distortion. He looked away, subtly shaking his head. “So you just did,” he muttered to himself. He turned to her again. “Didn’t you agree not to do anything stupid before I came by again, Cookie Girl?” he teased.

Eden smiled apologetically, then turned coy. “I did try, Mr. Hood,” she said sweetly. “And I promise that that was the stupidest of the stupid things I did. Which I’m willing to bet is still a million times better than the craziest thing you’ve done since the last time I saw you.”

He put a hand on his chest. “Who me? Do something crazy? Never.”

“Uh-huh. You sure about that? Because I’m pretty sure I heard someone say something about a red vigilante being involved with that big explosion Friday night.”

“Nope. Wasn’t me. Must’ve been Red Robin. I’m completely innocent.”

Eden nodded along, not admitting she only knew of the other vigilante because she’d thought Red Robin was just another of Red Hood’s names until somebody corrected her.

“Oh, completely innocent, I’m sure,” she goaded. “And what was it that you were doing oh-so-innocently while the bridge was blowing sky high, Mr. Hood?”

“Hey, the bridge is still standing, isn’t it? He made sure there wouldn’t be any structural damage. Just a little mess of things. He knows what he’s doing with shit like that.”

“Uh-huh. Yeah. I sure hope he does. Especially if he also has a helmet full of explosives.”

“Not to worry, Ede," he assured her. "I’m the crazy Red.”

“Oh. Good. I feel so much better now. Thanks."

He laughed.

“Wait.” She pointed at him. “Do you both go by Red?”

“We do," he nodded, "but Double R’s usually Red if we’re using shorthand,” he said crossing his arms. “They call me Hood to keep it simple.”

“Oh, well, that’s not confusing at all. Though I suppose y’all can’t exactly call him Robin. That’d be even more confusing.”

Red Hood scoffed. “Demon Spawn would have an absolute fit if we did that.” He looked to the side. “Then again…” He rubbed his chin, seeming to consider it.

“Um,” Eden lifted a tentative finger to catch his attention. “I’m sorry, but this is Gotham City, so I’m gonna need you to clarify: do you mean, like… a real demon spawn or…?”

“I mean I think he is,” Red Hood joked, “but, no, not really. That’s just what I call Robin ‘cause he’s a little shit.”

She perked up. “You mean Robin like… Batman's Robin?” He nodded and Eden scoffed with certainty. “Well, he can’t be that bad, then.”

Red Hood let out a short, sharp laugh. Something about it a bit painful. “Are you an expert on Robins now, Ede?”

“Well… no,” she mumbled, a little embarrassed. “But if he’s a Robin then… I dunno. He can’t be all that bad.”

“Have you ever met the brat?”

Eden shook her head slowly, fighting the urge to scowl.

No, she hadn’t met the boy Red Hood was talking about… But she’d met one of his predecessors. And that Robin? He’d saved her life. Not just from a fight or another encore. She could handle those things on her own. Poorly, sure. But she could.

No, what he’d saved her from was a life full of fights and encores. And pain. Endless, endless cycles of pain.

Without him, who knows where she’d be today. Who she’d be. Certainly not the person she was. Not the civilian trying to make the best of an awful situation by following her theatrical dreams. If he hadn’t knocked some sense into her, she would probably be what Frank wanted her to be. A… A hero. A constantly struggling, hurting, dying, pitiful attempt of a superhero.

Robin saved her from that. From a life of wishing every day, every death, would be her last.

As far as she was concerned, she owed that boy every good goddamn thing in her life. So to hear Red Hood call her hero a brat or a demon spawn, even if it was a completely different boy, even if Red Hood obviously knew him a thousand times better than Eden knew the one she’d met… Well, it upset her. In her heart, “Robin” was still the boy from her childhood.

Though, even she could admit it was hard to remember him clearly after so many years. She could remember the way he’d spoken to her and how it had impacted her, but not most of what he’d actually said. She could remember him joking and laughing with her, but not the way it sounded. She could remember the way he’d smiled and offered his hand before lifting her up into the air, but the scene was fuzzy.

“Sorry,” Red Hood grumbled, rubbing the jawline of his helmet. “I guess you’re more of a Gothamite than we thought.”

“Huh?” She squinted at him, confused. “No, I’m not. What do you mean?”

“Well...” He leaned back, spreading out slightly. “People these days tend to be pretty protective of their Robins. Even when this one first started out and was swinging his sword everywhere—”

“This one’s got a sword?” she blurted out, shocked.

“Yeah, a katana. He hacked up a couple of goons pretty good with it, too. Which I thought was great,” he said gesturing to himself, “but B didn’t.”

“B? As in… Batman?” she whispered.

He snorted at her. “He’s not the boogeyman, Ede. He’s not gonna jump out of your closet if you say his name too loud." Despite saying this, he was clearly doing a quick survey of her apartment.

“Wow. I feel so reassured,” she droned. “Anyway, no, I should be the one apologizing. You clearly know this Robin well, so if you think he’s a—” her mouth twitched slightly “—a brat then... you… probably have your reasons for it. I suppose. And I should... respect that,” she half-snarled.

Red Hood clapped slowly. “Wow. What a beautiful performance, Edie. How’s it feel to be such a great actor?”

“Oh—” she reached over the table and shoved him “—shut it, you!”

He just laughed her off.

“You better start being nice to me, Hood," she said standing and moving toward the fridge.

“Or what?” he asked confidently.

She grinned at him. “Or you’re not getting any Mad Mountain Fudge,” she teased right back.

---

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#jason todd #red hood #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd x oc #red hood x reader #red hood fanfiction #jason todd fluff #red hood fluff #silly #fluff #Never-Ending Encore #chapter 8 #oc: Eden Smith #red hood x oc #cross posted on ao3

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angst-fairygodmother · 4 years

Note

Since you do Umbrella Academy now, can you do one where you visit Klaus in jail/the hospital/rehab and have to say your his spouse/partner in order to get in even though you're not actually together, but you wish you were so it stings?

A/N: Fake dating? I like the way you think ;) Word Count: 3255 Rating: M - references to drugs and rehab, swearing, self-depreciation

‘Guess who got thrown back in rehab’ calls were a not uncommon part of your friendship with Klaus Hargreeves, made as a courtesy so you’d know he wasn’t dead when he missed your weekly breakfasts. It would happen every couple of months when, in his impaired state, he pissed off a cop, or when he decided that the beds there were easier than trying to find one elsewhere (no matter how many times you offered for him to just move in with you he’d remained stubbornly against ‘becoming your burden’). He’d do the required time, get his sobriety token, and be right back where he started.

What was unusual was that this was not one of those calls, because you had already gotten one a few days ago and there was no way he would have been discharged, and for all the crap he pulled, he was smart enough not to get kicked out for misbehavior.

“Heeey Y/N!” his voice echoed, tinny and distorted, over your answering machine. “This place is swanky.” You tolled your eyes at his exaggerated tone. “They give us phone privileges and free time to do crossword puzzles or whatever ex-addicts do. Anyway, I’m very lonely and very bored and I miss you. You should come see me. Guests can come whenever, how weird is that? But they also do a big ‘family dinner’ on Sundays if you’d like to be part of something terrible. Love you! Come visit!”

You could hear the manic grin on his face as the message cut off with a slam. He didn’t mean anything by the words, he never did, but still they made your heart skip a beat. Anyone with half an ounce of common sense would know better to fall for their best friend, especially when he was a hopeless drug addict with, understandably, no desire to change his ways. And you knew that. Yet here you were, already mentally rearranging your schedule to let you go see him sooner rather than later, thoughts half-consumed by the idea that his gorgeous green eyes might have a special spark for you, shining on your account.

You shifted uncomfortably behind the woman at the reception desk ahead of you, fretting at the slightly frayed edge of your shirtsleeve, waiting for your turn to speak to the dour-looking man.

“Next!” he called gesturing for you to approach as the woman moved aside to sign in on a clipboard.

“Um, hi,” you said awkwardly, pressing your lips together. “My name is Y/N. I’m here to see Klaus…Klaus Hargreeves? He called me and asked me to come and visit, but I wasn’t home so he left it as a message and I don’t know if there are any other permissions I need or anything I was supposed to do first, he just said to come by…” you put on your most apologetic look.

He barely looked up from whatever he was doing at the desk behind the counter.

“Are you family?” you weren’t sure whether boredom or annoyance was the stronger emotion in his tone, only that it somehow carried both. “The first two weeks are limited to one designated visitor and they have to be family.”

“Oh…I…”

Your mind raced. Klaus’s message had sounded like he really wanted you there, and you were one of the few people who could say they put up with him long-term. His family were never there for him and basically saw him as a hopeless failure, so if they were the only company he was allowed to have then he would be spending his time completely alone, and probably disappointed that you didn’t stop by.

The receptionist raised an eyebrow expectantly.

“I’m his fiancé,” you blurted out before the thought could fully process.

“Fiancé?” he echoed incredulously. “Hargreeves didn’t mention a fiancé.”

“…our…families don’t like us much, so we keep the engagement secret. I mean his family doesn’t like me and mine…think…well…”

“That he’s a waste of space and you could do much better?”

“Excuse me?” you bristled at the way he sounded like he was stating the obvious.

“He’s here because he decided to mix a truly stupid amount of cocaine and ecstasy. I’m sure he’s every parent’s dream match for their child.” He rolled his eyes. “Wait here.”

He slapped a cardboard sign onto the counter that read “Please Wait, Someone Will Return Shortly” and walked briskly off down the narrow corridor.

The minutes seems to drag on like years as you waited, sure that your half-cocked story would be blown out of the water and you would be banned from the facility, maybe even escorted out by burly, terrifying security guards. You chewed anxiously on your lip, rubbing the skin of it raw.

Then, the man was back, sitting at his desk with a sigh.

“Sign this waiver.” He gestured at you vaguely with a clipboard.

You skimmed the document, noting that it mostly contained affirmations that you were not smuggling drugs, weapons, or other contraband to the patients in the facility or from them to other people, and signed it quickly, nearly throwing it in your haste to return it and get to Klaus before anyone caught on.

“Room 31, on the left. Visiting hours are over at 4pm. This isn’t the honeymoon suite at the Ritz, and Steve gets very angry when he makes his rounds and catches anything hinky.” The man waved you down the hall and you felt your face burn in embarrassment as you scurried away from him.

You stopped in front of the indicated door and hesitated, unsure whether you should knock or just walk in. The decision was made for you seconds later when the door flew open and a skinny blonde woman stumbled out, nearly crashing into you and staggering down the hall with a slurred and mumbled apology. You turned to watch her go, puzzling over how someone in rehab could seem so utterly sloshed and jumped when you heard someone cheerfully call your name. Turning back to the still open door, you spotted Klaus dangling upside down from the top bunk of the set of beds in the little grey room.

“Well don’t just stand there, get in here and give your fiancé a hug!” he laughed, arms outstretched.

A soft smile on your face, you walked over to him, closing the door as you passed. His arms wrapped around you, face pressed to your torso and soft curls tickling you. You tried not to blush as you returned the oddly positioned hug. After a moment, you both let go and he nimbly swung himself upright before dropping over the rail to stand beside you.

Gesturing dramatically to the man sleeping on the bottom bunk, very naked body only barely covered by a sheet, he shouted, “Y/N, this is my roommate Brady. Brady, my future spouse. Brady here has just gotten done having some amazing sex and will be out completely cold for the next several hours, don’t mind him.”

“Why are you shouting?” you asked, giving him a puzzled expression.

“What?!” you rolled your eyes as he rubbed at his ear and it became clear that he was, as usual, exaggerating. “Well as I just mentioned, Brady decided to hook up with one of the girls from the klepto hall, but decided to bring her here even though I was already occupying the room, and the two of them needed a truly heroic volume to drown them out. Frankly, it’s a damn shame we were warned against this visit having a conjugal nature, or I’d invite you to help me return the favor.”

He winked at you and you flushed cheeks hot with embarrassment and the knowledge of how easily you would have agreed to such a suggestion.

“Is there somewhere we can actually sit to hang out, or do we have to cram into the eighteen inches between your mattress and the ceiling?” you asked, looking more thoroughly around the room which held little more than the bunks, two sets of clear plastic drawers, and a wire shelf which held towels and toiletries not unlike what would be found in the bathroom of a cheap motel.

He held up a finger, indicating for you to wait, or possibly that he liked your idea, you weren’t sure which, and scrambled back up the ladder to his bed. A moment later he had stripped it down to the mattress and used the bedding (a sheet, a pillow, and a thin, scratchy blanket) to arrange a makeshift seating area in the corner.

He gestured to the pillow as if it were a grand throne. “For you.”

You sat, squirming a bit to get comfortable, and leaned back against the cool brick. As soon as you settled, he attempted to flop down beside you, long, leather-clad legs draped over your lap, and smacked his head against the wall in the process.

“You know Klaus, head trauma is probably not the best way to score an early release,” you teased.

He rubbed his head, wincing dramatically.

“I’m not trying to get out this time,” he said after a moment. “I’m really going to do it, follow the steps and get clean.”

You raised an incredulous eyebrow.

“I mean it. I don’t want to leave and get high again right away. I’ll…see someone or whatever about the ghost thing.”

“Who are you and what have you done with my Klaus?”

A strange expression crept over his face when you called him before his stubborn pout quickly returned.

“I’m serious, Y/N.”

“Okay,” you nodded, reaching out impulsively to take his free hand in both of yours. “I’ve always believed you can do whatever you set your mind to, and I’ll be here for you no matter what. But can I ask just one question?”

“Well sure, anything.”

“Why now? What’s different this time that you want to do this?”

“Technically that’s two questions.”

You narrowed your eyes. “And you’re deflecting.”

He shrugged sheepishly. “There’s…someone. They mean the world to me. And as Ben pointed out, no one wants an addict around, not long term. We just waste space and cause frustration. So I have to change if I want to be worth their time.”

“Woah, hey. Back up. You are more than your addiction. I am happy for you that you want to get clean, but you shouldn’t do it for someone else. For one thing, if they care about you, they’ll learn to accept that part of you and support you through it. Until and unless it’s the right time for you to get clean for you. Otherwise, you’ll end up hurting yourself, and probably self-sabotage, and it’s going to be worse in the long run. Or they’ll be your only reason to stay clean and if you lose them…”

“I…” he stared at you in silence, at a loss for words for possibly the first time in all the years you had known him.

“They make me want to be better though. They deserve better than the gutter trash, the absolute garbage, I’ve become.”

“Stop putting yourself down like that,” you growled in frustration. “It’s not helping and more importantly, it’s not true. You are funny and kind and give the best damn hugs in the entire world, even when with anyone else they’d be hella awkward. And that is worth something. Someone doesn’t see that, then you’re the one that deserves better.”

“Well…I’ve never exactly talked to them about it before, but I get the feeling they only see the best in me, somehow, and I want to be that version, their version…”

You sigh and nod. “Like I said, I’m here for you, no matter what. And I’m proud of you for wanting to make a serious try at sobriety, I hope that’s clear. I just…don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“I know. I love that about you, Y/N. You’re always looking out for me.”

He smiled softly at you, shifting to rest his head on your shoulder, making it so that he was practically sitting in your lap.

“So, do I know this mystery person?” You asked, returning his smile and absently running one of your thumbs across his knuckles. “Because if not, I insist on meeting them soon and assessing for myself whether they’re good enough for my best friend.”

Your voice felt forced, strangled by the lump in your throat at the thought. You cared enough about him to want him to be happy, but it still stung in the little, jealous part of your brain that he couldn’t open his eyes and really see you, find that happiness with you.

He was silent for long enough that you wondered if he had fallen asleep on you. But when you turned to check, you found his bright green eyes staring up at you in awe and adoration. You bit your lip as you met his gaze, his focus briefly drawn downward to it before returning to the rest of you.

“You are so beautiful,” he murmured, breath tickling the side of your neck and sending shivers down your spine. “And so fucking clueless.”

You shoved him playfully to hide the way your heart raced as it dawned on you that he returned your feelings just as strongly, but he was not deterred in the slightest. He turned to lean over you, a charming smirk plastered on his beautiful face, bracing himself with one hand pressed to the wall beside your head and the other still caught between your own.

“Do you have any idea how badly I want to kiss you right now, Y/N?”

You looked up at him through your eyelashes coyly. “What are you waiting for, an engraved invitation?”

His lips dropped to yours in an instant, a growl of desire escaping in the last seconds before you connected. Your hands slipped over his shoulders, toying with the curls at the nape of his neck, and his newly freed one rose to cup the back of your neck, pulling you closer. His tongue ran along your bottom lip before he nipped at it playfully and you parted for him, sighing happily into the kiss. Your tongues danced together, exploring, teasing tasting. His fingers tangled into your hair, and one of your hands curled to grip his shoulder, nails dragging against his shirt. You couldn’t think straight, hazily aware of the need for oxygen, but not caring, not when you had him, like this, finally.

Reluctantly he pulled away, laughing as you leaned forward, chasing his retreating lips, and the two of you gasped and panted for air.

“That was even more amazing than I could have dreamed of,” he sighed dazedly. “And believe me, I’ve dreamed of doing that a lot. And…more than that.” He waggled his eyebrows at you.

You laughed, shaking your head in mock annoyance at him and he pouted.

“Why haven’t you ever said anything before?” you asked. “We could have been doing that for ages.”

“Ages? I like the sound of that. Let’s start now.”

He straddled your waist and leaned in, your second kiss just as hungry as the first, but much shorter as you pulled back.

“You’re deflecting again.”

“I had hoped that ravishing you would be enough of a distraction you wouldn’t notice.”

“You should know me better than that,” you teased. “Just answer the question and we can return to the ‘ravishing’ sooner.”

“Is that a promise?” his brows arched flirtatiously and you rolled your eyes.

“Because, fundamentally, I am a coward,” he sighed. “I know you can do better and I’ve never done anything in my life to deserve someone even half as incredible as you and I was too scared to risk losing the one good thing in my life.”

“Oh Klaus,” you tilted your head to one side and looked at him a little sadly. “You could never lose me, no matter what.”

He smiled, hopeful and tender.

“And if we’re going to be together, you can bet your ass we’re going to work on that dreadful lack of self-esteem.”

“Later.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Right now, we’re doing the fun stuff.”

Grinning, you leaned forward to kiss him again, and you both jumped at the sudden, pounding knock on the door.

“Your visiting time is up,” a voice called, drill-sergeant loud even through the wood. “You have ten minutes to clear out before I throw you out.”

Klaus sighed.

“To be continued I guess,” you said, and this time it was your turn to pout, but he remained in his spot, seated over you.

“I’m not quire done with you,” he countered, voice low and seductive, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your jaw. “And I can get a lot done in ten minutes.”

You felt him smirk against your skin as your pulse fluttered at the suggestion in his tone. Practically melting under his touch, you let him shift you so that you were more stretched beneath him, head tilted back to still rest on the wall and chest thrust slightly upward, opening up access to a wide swath of skin. His teeth trailed lightly down the column of your throat until he reached the point where it met your shoulder and bit down. The sound you made was somewhere between a yelp and a moan, and he chuckled, filing the sound away and resolving to try and draw it out of your again in future contexts.

He continued to lavish attention on the spot, alternating soft bites and suckling with soothing his tongue on the mark, while you ran your fingers through his curls, nails scratching against his scalp in a way that drew purring groans from his lips.

“By the way, you know,” he murmured, tracing kisses back up to the spot beneath your ear and from there along your jaw. “I’m all for getting married, but don’t you think you should at least buy me dinner first?”

“What?” you frowned, the cover story you had used to get in completely forgotten in the wake of all that had happened.

“I’ve never even been in a long-term relationship, so imagine my surprise when I was informed this afternoon that my fiancé was here to see me.”

“Oh. That. I, uh…I panicked. The receptionist said family only and that was the first thing I thought of.”

“The first thing you could think of was promising to marry me?”

“Oh shut up. He bought it, and you didn’t challenge it or he wouldn’t have let me in.”

“And boy am I glad I did.” He paused, drawing back to look down at you, eyes tracing your face as if memorizing every pore. “But I don’t mind it. I like the sound of it, the idea is quite nice actually…”

You could tell he was just speaking his thoughts as they came to him. Still it made your heart skip a beat and your face flush at how quick he was to leap to the idea of the two of you getting married for real, and how completely okay, more than okay, you were with it too.

“Slow down there Klaus,” you cautioned, placing one hand on his chest to rest over his heart. “Let’s stick to pretend, for now, and maybe we can discuss the real thing once you get out of here…”

He grinned, standing and pulling you to your feet before wrapping you in his arms in a hug that you never wanted to end.

“Deal.”

#The Umbrella Academy #TUA #The Umbrella Academy fic #Klaus Hargreeves #Klaus Hargreeves x reader #reader insert #fake dating is such a fun trope #fake engaged is even better #This is probably pre-canon but also that creates the unfortunate likelihood that there is no happy ending so lets just not think about it

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luciferpens · 3 years

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Loved You Once || Aurora & Kass ft Zoey

What: Another accidental run in -- except this time... more people get hurt. Where: Poseidon Beach When: March 25, 2021 Who: Aurora, Kass (@kassmeifyoucan), ft Zoey (@icarialex) TW: Abuse, death, breakups, lies,

Pacing never seemed to actually help any kind of situation but here she was.... Pacing. She was nervous, and not just because of everything that had been going on as of late. No, it was also due to the fact that she had planned out something special. A date. An actual date where she called it a date and they both knew it was a date and—look. It was a date. Granted, she hadn’t exactly told Zoey that it was a date. She’d just said it was a surprise but... Maybe part of the surprise would be that it was actually a date? To her nerves and utter horror, Zoey wouldn’t be off of work for another half hour, maybe less depending on how long it took her to close up shop. A whole half hour for her to be alone with her thoughts. To worry over every detail. The campfire was lit, the guitar and the food basket and blankets were hidden behind a large piece of driftwood. The blonde would be none-the-wiser! It was perfect! Until it wasn’t. Because there she was. And no, not Zoey. Aurora. What the hell was she doing walking on her beach? ....Okay so it wasn’t her beach. But still. The fuck. Without missing a beat, Kassandra crossed her arms over her chest and called out to the other woman. “Um... Hey?”

—

Aurora was not used to Island life or Island time, everyone here seemed to move at a different speed, a slower one, a less get up and go sort of speed. And when you come from the chaos of LA and the FBI anything other than 100 seemed like a snail's pace. Though…. She was slowly learning to enjoy it. Those she met were slowly convincing her to take things a bit slower and enjoy the view. So she decided to take their advice and enjoy the view of the ocean. She slipped out of her shoes and laced them over her fingers as she started to slowly walk up the coast line, just letting her mind wonder and flutter between all the things going on. Running into Kass and then running into Juliette, she really should just leave. Leave them both to their lives without her showing up and being a bomb. There was so much to be done too… with Jane being taken she needed to keep her safe and then close the file; there were still other files on her desk back home, other people she needed to find; other things she needed to do -- and yet she couldn’t leave Icaria yet. Not until she was 100% sure Jane would be safe and had everything she needed here. So she was stuck. Stuck with these thoughts, this place and the anxiety of knowing every moment here meant so many other things she wasn’t ready to deal with. Lost in thought she almost jumped out of her skin when she heard a familiar voice. Her hand, not the one holding the shoes, flew to her chest. “Oh -- hey.” She said with a tiny, tiny smile but as the tone of Kass’ voice registered in her head it faltered and she glanced away, “I uh -- didn’t even see you there, I can go back” she tossed her thumb over her shoulder indicating she could turn back around and walk away, give her space. “I hate to intrude or -- anything.”

—

"Its a beach, Aurora. You're allowed to be on it. I just... Sorry, I guess I find it funny and also kind of like the universe is.." Kassandra sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose for a moment before she held up her hands in a surrendering motion. "Look. You can be wherever you want. I'm not going to force you to leave. It's just hard seeing you. Logically I know it shouldn't be because you're not even.... Nevermind." Kassandra breathed deeply for a moment, trying to calm herself down. The good part of this whole interaction was that Zoey wasn't here, something she was super incredibly thankful for. That would be a whole can of worms that she didn't think she was ready to explain. Mainly because Zoey, Gods bless her, was the sweetest human bean to ever exist. She'd probably be so nice that her and Aurora would become friends and -- Nope. No. Do not think like that. It was then that she realized she'd been stuck in her own head and that she should probably say something that came off as completely awful. "Enjoying the weather?" No. Not that, you absolute fucking disaster of a human-ish being.

—

"It is." Aurora said with a slow nod, she wiggled her toes into the sand trying to use it to ground herself and not get upset. She was normally so good at keeping her cool and not getting emotional, but apparently that could be thrown out the window when it came to her ex-girlfriend. Clearing her throat she tilted her head to one side. "I'm not even?" she asked eyebrow shooting upward rather curious to know where Kass's mind was taking that sentence. But when no answer came quickly she realized Kass was lost in her mind and just cleared her throat hoping the noise would snap Kass out of her thoughts.

"The weather?" She asked glancing up to the sky, the ocean then to Kassandra again, "It's a nice difference from the places I've been lately. Not having to wear a ton of layers is -- a nice change of pace.”

—

Small talk. She could do small talk. On a beach. With her girlfriend not girlfriend planning on showing up at any minute. While she was talking to her ex girlfriend. Of course, totally fine. This was normal, right? Yeah, super normal. "You're not even gay." She finished her earlier thought, hoping that Aurora would understand. "So it's not like I should be upset about that. I'm not. But that's neither here nor there. Glad you're liking the weather though. It's a lot different from Portland." Kassandra sighed, rubbing the back of her neck before taking a cautious step closer to Aurora. "Look, I'm sorry. About my behavior since you've seen me, I mean. I'm not sorry for past me because honestly... Past me is still hurting which means... Present me is also hurting." She could slap herself. "I don't know what I'm saying. You make me forget how to function and it's annoying the absolute shit out of me." Kassandra put out into the open in probably the most honest thing she's said to Aurora in a long time. "But I'll manage.... So uh. You and Brandon? Still together?" Saying his name left a bitter taste in her mouth but she pressed on, wondering if she'd genuinely felt happy for her ex or not.

—

Aurora slowly tilted her head not understanding why in the world Kass would think she was straight but as Kass continued to talk the pieces fell back into place and she slowly nodded her head letting out a huff of a laugh. "Let me -- first clear up some misconceptions." She said running her free hand through her hair and tossing it to one side. "I am not gay, this is true, but I'm also not straight. I'm demi -- well, pansexual. Have been since we were children." Aurora swung her arms behind her back and looped her fingers together. "Two, you never need to apologize to me about your past or what happened between us. I know I fucked us up and hurt you and I take full ownership of that. Yell at me if you need to, tell me you hate me or slap me if it will make you feel better. I deserve it." She shrugged. She honestly knew she deserved it, she knew she had broken Kass when she did what she did; and while she would have done it differently knowing what she knew now -- she knew that in the moment young Aurora was doing the best she could to protect herself. "As for Brandon, no. We --" She shook her head, "Weren't ever seriously dating, after we were," she motioned between them with a free hand " he basically -- was a beard and he knew it, I knew it. It was a safety thing." She shrugged. That sounded bad, but Brandon knew something bad was happening in her house and he just -- never questioned and did what he could to give her safe spaces to come to instead of being at home where her mother was.

—

She wasn't meaning to see red, but here she was. Listening to every word that came out of Aurora's mouth and letting it cut her deep, just like her words had when they were sixteen. "You're fucking kidding me." Her arms crossed over her chest, staring incredulously at her ex. "Do you have any fucking idea how much internalized homophobia I felt because of my mom? Because of you? I get that you couldn't have told your mom. I fucking understand. But you could have told me. I spent the next two fucking years of my life hating who I was because of who I loved." Kassandra felt sick to her stomach, taking a few staggering steps away from Aurora as she bent over, hands moving to her knees as she gulped in air. Before Aurora could potentially make a move towards her, she held up a hand. "Don't you fucking dare come near me. I can't... You.. He was a beard. And you're..." Kassandra swallowed thickly, wishing the bile away. "You're pan. So you..." Green eyes tore upwards, looking at Aurora with such a broken gaze. "What was I to you? Was I some kind of fucking joke to you? An experiment? Because clearly whatever we were didn't fucking matter if you couldn't tell me the truth. You let me believe that I wasn't..." Tears flooded her vision, nausea ramping up in her belly. "Am I worthless to everyone I try to care about?"

—

Aurora felt her heart ripping from her chest. Why she still had it she wasn't sure; her heart had been ripped out -- well now three times. Twice by the same woman. It was a useless item, only seemed to cause her pain. Gods she should just go back to Quantico. Why was she still fucking on this gods forsaken island? Seeing Kass crying, seeing her in such pain made Aurora want to throw up. She never meant to hurt her. "I --" she shook her head, "I don't think you totally understand why couldn't tell my mom, why I had to do what I did." she swallowed, looking away and stopping herself from moving to comfort her ex love. "I'm so, so so, fucking sorry about it all, about hurting you, about -- all of it, Kass, I really am." She sucked in her lips tears welling in her eyes. "You are -- were the one person on this planet I love--d more than anything" She caught herself caught the present tense and while sure, it was still true she didn't need to hurt Kass more. "I couldn't tell anyone the truth. I didn't even tell my own father until I was already 18 and about to graduate highschool. I didn't tell a SOUL about all the abuse I suffered through until I was 23 and -- honestly since then you're the only other person I've even mentioned it to." she shook her head thrusting her hand down to her side before stepping forward, anger in her movements but determination as well. "Don't you fucking dare Kassandra." She didn't curse often, but here she was, cursing and angry too. "You are not in any way worthless Kass. I didn't -- break up with you because I didn't love you. I loved you so much that I had to to keep my crazy mother from literally killing one of us. You have never -- ever been worthless and I am so sorry I ever made you think you were."

—

All Zoey had to go off of was a cryptic text from Kass telling her to meet the woman at the beach after she got off from work. Typically she’d worry about not having her bathing suit on her that day, but since the brunette didn’t like getting in the water, she didn’t worry so much. Zoey would rather spend her time with Kassandra than swim anyway. She could do the latter anytime. Still, she wasn’t used to being antsy to close shop. The artist loved her work, but she’d be lying if she didn’t love spending time with the mysterious and sometimes juxtaposing woman as well. When five o’clock finally came around, Zoey closed everything up and then began her short walk to the beach. She checked in with Noreen on the way to make sure everything was okay at the Inn, and then followed Kassandra’s directions on which street entrance to take that was closest to her destination. The blonde was so engrossed in her phone that she didn’t notice how close she was to her desired spot until she heard Kass yelling. The pain in her tone caused pain in her heart, but Zoey stood back and waited. It seemed important, and the illustrator didn’t know if she should interfere.

She had no idea who the other woman was until she heard her mess up between love and loved. Then, Zoey’s heart stopped. Aurora. That’s who it had to be. Not being ready or able to hear what Kass’ reaction to that would be, she turned back around and walked away. Zoey wouldn’t go far because she’d seen the effort Kassandra had put into setting everything up in the background. So, she found a nearby bench, sat down, and did what she always did when she was upset or anxious. Zoey began to sketch.

—

Her brain had turned off as the rage and nausea consumed her, Kassandra staring at Aurora as she looked at her with that unreadable expression. It all shifted in her face when she stumbled over her words, stumbled over that word. Her eyes narrowed, she wanted to challenge that. Because no. No. Aurora didn't fucking get to do that to her. Not after a decade. But before she could even get out a word edgewise, the other woman was rounding on her. Kass visibly flinched, taking a step back as she wrapped her arms around her torso. It was then that she heard footsteps from behind her, causing her to turn around to see Zoey's retreating form. No.... No no no. Fuck. She wanted to go off after Zoey but she knew she had to deal with the woman who was right here, in front of her. "You don't get to do that. You don't get to come back into my life and stumble over that word, Aurora. I loved you. Loved. Past tense. I thought... I thought that a part of me would always love you. But I don't know how I could ever..." Love someone who hid the truth from me. She couldn't even say it, realizing how much of a hypocrite that would make her. "You were my first love. And I want to one day not hate you. But you don't get to insinuate that you still love me. Not after... Not after everything. Not after twelve fucking years." A tear fell down a cheek, Kassandra quickly wiping it away. "I need to go because that woman you saw walk away? Unlike you..." She locked their gazes, taking another step backwards in the direction of where Zoey had gone. "I can't let a good thing slip through my fingers." Kassandra turned to walk towards where she'd seen the blonde head off to, stopping for a moment to turn her head just enough so it was barely looking over her shoulder. "I need time.. Time to process what you've told me. Just please don't... Don't hurt me again." And with that, she walked away.

—

Seeing the flinch made Aurora recoil, to fold in on herself. She never wanted to be scary to people she cared about; those she was hunting for work, sure 100% she'd be fine being seen as threatening. But Kass? No she didn't want to do that. She took a couple stumbling steps backwards as Kassandra spoke. There was a stab of pain in her chest. She knew better than to not calculate her every word, when she let her mouth run she got hurt. This was just more proof of that. More proof she needed to slow down and think before she spoke. As Kassandra continued, as she laid into her, saying she didn't know how she could ever her stomach dropped. She didn't connect the dots, didn't totally realize there was more to be said and instead took it as a sentence. A statement. Kass, in Aurora's mind, didn't know how she could ever have loved her. Right. This -- this was. She deserved that. She didn't deserve to say the things she did, even if some part of it still felt true to her. Nope. The muscles tightened in her jaw as her fists clenched and tears threatened to spill. Another jab as she mentioned the other woman; some blonde who had walked up looked confused, hurt and then walked away. She just nodded and watched as Kass started to walk off. She was unmovable. Frozen as still as a statue as Kass slowed for a moment to say one last thing. She didn't look up, didn't dare even breathe. She waited a few moments until she could hear Kass's steps fade and she finally let out a breath. With that breath the tears came, the anger flowed and she felt an intense level of fear and hatred towards herself. She turned on a dime, kicked the sand creating a small cloud before she walked off, eyes down.... only to stop ten feet forward and see what Kass had been hiding when she first walked up. Oh. She had messed up a date with -- that blonde girl and now -- she felt even fucking worse. She slipped her shoes on and started to run, exercise being the only thing to clear her mind.

#discord #Aurora #Kass #Zoey #Aurora: c: Kass #Aurora: c: Zoey #You Broke Me First

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kristannafever · 5 years

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Gnister ~ Verdt det

Kristanna modern smut au ~Kristanna smut week 2020 - super late!

Rated: M

WC: 2440

Chapter Index

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

Anna loved the idea of letting Kristoff sleep in while she went and made breakfast. Except that he always seemed to appear in whatever room she was in within moments of leaving the bed.

This morning he looked extra peaceful. Anna placed the gentlest of kisses on his forehead and slipped from bed, grabbing the fleece pants and tank top from the floor. She pulled them on as she made her way down the hall to the kitchen. There was no point in opening the blinds because she knew Kristoff would be naked when he wandered in.

This morning was no exception.

She had just started the oven to cook some bacon when she heard him yawn as he walked into the room, one hand between his legs, scratching himself.

“Why are they always so itchy in the morning?” she asked him with a laugh.

He shrugged and grinned back.

Anna walked right up to him and batted his hand away, taking the liberty to scratch for him. Kristoff always kept his nails cut right down and Anna’s were a bit longer, perfect for a traditional French manicure.

Kristoff’s head lolled back and he moaned enthusiastically. He loved it when she did this for him and had told her so on several occasions.

Anna actually had to laugh to herself. While the rest of him was completely au natural, he did shave his balls regularly to keep the skin smooth. Anna asked him once what inspired him to do so and he had admitted that he did it for the first time before she came to his apartment for their first date in hopes that it would make himself more appealing to her.

And since they both seemed to enjoy it, he kept it that way.

Anna looked up at him as she ran her nails all over his soft wrinkly skin. His muscular neck looked particularly delicious and Anna soon found her hands wandering all over him, cupping his balls while she playfully stroked his cock until it started to stiffen.

It didn’t take long.

He brought his head back up and looked down at her with those sparks dancing in his suggestive eyes.

“How about a shower?” Anna raised an eyebrow.

His smile widened. “A shower sounds amazing right now.”

It didn’t take long before they were in the steamy bathroom, caressing each other under the hot cascading water.

Anna didn’t want the week to come to an end but there was only two days left before Kristoff and her would be going back to work. The time had been so blissful after spending those two months apart that the thought of returning to reality made her a little solemn.

At least they both had weekends off. They could use those precious days to do whatever they wanted.

Anna gave a soft sigh when Kristoff pushed his cock inside of her, leaning her back against the cool tile and hooking her legs together at the ankle.

“What’s on your mind, baby?” he asked, kissing her neck as he held her firmly under her thighs at the right angle for them to make love under the water.

“Just going to miss you when we go back to work.”

“Hmmm,” he hummed against the skin at her shoulder, “me too. But it will make coming home to each other that much better, yeah?”

“Of course,” Anna let out in a moan as he stroked that part inside of her that made her forget her own name. The fullness that she felt when they were joined never ceased to amaze her.

“Besides, work is good for the soul.”

“I know, Kristoff. And I love what I do, but oh God, I love you, and I love this…” She sighed. “Do you think our love life is going to suffer, you know, if we’re tired from work all week long.”

“No way,” he answered immediately, moving his right hand and putting his thumb on her clit. “Impossible.”

Anna moaned, gripping him tighter around his broad shoulders as he brought her closer. “You’re not going to get tired of me if all I want to do is jump your bones after you’ve had an exhausting day?”

He pulled back to look at her face. “Never. When it comes to you Anna, I will always be… be… um… huh, I forget the word. I will always be hungry… never full?”

“Insatiable?” Anna panted against the build up within her. God, the things he could do to her body.

“That’s it.”

“Yes,” Anna let out a long moan of the word as Kristoff brought her right to the edge and a breathy exhale of his name as she tipped over it.

Kristoff put his hand back on her other thigh and pushed his face back onto her shoulder, kissing her neck once more as the pace of his thrusts picked up for a moment before he slowed as his cock began to throb strongly inside of her.

When he was finished, he paused with his body against hers, giving a long sigh before moving to let her go. Anna held him close and he sunk back against her body with understanding. He always knew when she needed to stay connected to him for a moment.

Work was good for the soul, yes, but Kristoff was too. Therefore, Anna decided to savour their last few precious days together before they went back to reality. Thank goodness for Uber Eats, because Anna didn’t plan to leave the house until Monday morning when they went back to their jobs.

*****

Kristoff didn’t want to admit it, but being back at work was a little harder than he thought it was going to be.

By the time Anna swung by the job site to pick him up on the first day, he was so keyed up with anticipation of making love to her that he couldn’t wait long enough to get her to the bedroom. The entire ride home they told each other about how much they wanted one another and they came together as soon as the front door was closed with Anna’s back against it as they fucked each other senseless.

The next day it was much of the same, only this time they staggered to the living room couch and came together with more love between them than desperation. It was like that until the end of the week and Kristoff was never so happy that it was a Friday. He was tired dammit, but it did not diminish his drive to be with Anna.

That night they actually made dinner first and watched a bit of television before they started kissing.

Normally the kissing quickly gave way to the other parts of having sex, but this time they kissed for what felt like an hour. It was something Kristoff realized they had not actually taken the time to do yet. It was special to receive so much attention from Anna’s wonderful lips. She left him breathless by the time she finally got up and grabbed his hand to drag him to the bedroom.

They undressed each other and fell onto the bed, touching and caressing with the same slow appreciation as their kissing.

Kristoff wasn’t naïve enough to think that this crazy insatiable drive between them to be make love was going to last forever. While it would start to fade over time, he was confident that it was never going to go away. He knew neither of them would ever let it.

So for the time being he was going to enjoy and savour every one of these passionate moments between them, just as he knew Anna was as well.

“I need you now, Kristoff,” she breathed.

He moved to hover over her, hands caressed her body and taking her nakedness in again with wide eyes and shaky breaths. Kristoff wasn’t even inside of her yet and she was writhing against his touch. If he lived to be a thousand years old, he would never tire of seeing her in such a state.

The way her chest heaved as she arched her back, her hard nipples sliding between her slender fingers when he finally pushed his way slowly into her heat. Her moans, her open mouth, her beautiful neck, strained with her head thrown back hard against the bed as he thrust himself deeper and deeper.

Kristoff stopped and pulled from her, needing to get her into a position for what he suddenly had in mind. He slipped off the bed and went to the foot of it, grabbing Anna by the ankles with a grin as he pulled her ass towards the very edge.

She giggled, looking up at him with nothing but love and trust. She didn’t need to ask because she knew that inspiration sometimes came to him and she liked to roll with it.

He grabbed her by the waist and pushed himself back into her, then adjusted her hips up a littler higher and getting himself where he wanted to be the most, fully encased by her sensitive walls with no room left to spare. He let out a moan, feeling the flicker of her arousal against his length as he found that blissful feeling of being joined with her so completely.

Anna looked up at him with those beautiful sparks dancing in her eyes, hands going back to her breasts, ready for whatever was about to happen.

Kristoff couldn’t stop staring back at her as he took one hand of the firm grip that he had against her hips, securing her to him as tightly as possible, and brought his thumb to her clit and began circling over it. Anna gasped, body tightening again as her eyes bored into his soul.

It was hard not to move as her centre started to quiver more strongly around him, but he had a sudden need to feel everything that went through her from start to finish. It was maddening, wanting to thrust into her so badly, wanting that friction… but he was enjoying feeling every single one of her pulses of pleasure more than he thought was possible.

“Herregud, Kristoff,” Anna panted, getting closer.

Sweat broke out on his forehead as he slowed, giving her a moment catch her breath before taking her back to the precipice of her climax. This was better than before when he brought her to the edge… this was better than watching her orgasm too, now that he could feel everything against his achingly hard cock, fully pressed within her and unmoving to appreciate every single part of it.

It was a combination of the trill he got from bringing her such pleasure and how much he adored every single fiber of her being. He would always, always, take her pleasure more seriously than his own. And this was all still relatively new to him in the grand scheme of things.

He hadn’t experienced even a fraction of the things with his ex that he had experienced with Anna. Back then there were times when he was simply not in the mood, even if his ex had been, and they never ventured to try anything besides the missionary position or her being on top. It was weird for him, the few times he still went through the motions of sex with Hilde when he wasn’t even all that into it.

Not now.

Anna… his Anna… he still failed to understand the things that she did to him, the ways she made him feel. Kristoff had never really thought of himself as much of a sexual being until the sparks flew between them when he met Anna for the first time. She had woken something deep inside of him. Something primal and hungry. Something that would be impossible to keep satisfied if Anna didn’t have that same desire.

Thank the stars she did, because at this point in time he didn’t think it was possible not to want her every breathing minute of every day. At least his sexual prowess hadn’t been utilized at all before he met Anna. He much preferred sharing all these new and intimate experiences with the love of his life than an ex that meant nothing to him.

Anna gasped and Kristoff backed off once more, relishing in the feeling even though it was almost causing him physical pain.

“Verdt det.” Worth it.

“What?” Anna moaned, squeezing her breasts now.

“Nothing,” he muttered and put his thumb back on her clit.

No more torture, it was time to give her what she needed. He increased his pace on her clit and Anna came undone quickly, thighs clenching around him, back arched so much the only part of her touching the bed anymore was the top of her head and her fists clenched around the top of the covers.

Kristoff cried out with her and pulled her against him as tight as he could, feeling every single strong contraction of her climax. Then all of the sudden he was there. It surprised the hell out of him and his open jaw dipped down onto his collarbone as he let out a breath. It was the weirdest orgasm he ever had. It felt good, but it was somehow muted. Like how the feeling of the build up was stronger than the release itself.

Regardless, he didn’t care. He let out a long sigh and pulled himself from her after a moment.

Anna was looking up at him with amused eyes. “How did that feel?”

He chuckled. “It was… different.”

“Did it feel involuntary?” Anna sat up.

He blinked. “Yeah, actually, it did.”

She smiled at him. “You’ve done that to me before.”

“Done what?” Kristoff moved to sit beside her on the bed.

“Remember the other night when I made you stop touching me because I wanted you inside of me when I came?” He nodded. “Well, I guess I didn’t stop you soon enough because I actually did… well… you know… before I even got to have you.”

“You did?”

Anna nodded with her bottom lip pinched in her teeth. “But of course you still gave me another one.”

Kristoff gave her a little laugh with a playful shake of his head.

“Anyway, that first one was good, but just kind of… soft, you know?”

“Well now I do,” he chuckled.

Anna giggled with him. “Let’s have some ice cream and after we can aim to give you a better one. Sound good?”

Kristoff smiled and pulled her in for a kiss. “As long as I give you a great one first.”

#gnister #cee wrote this mess #kristanna smut week 2020 #kristoff #anna #kristanna #kristanna modern au #better late than never i guess?#lol

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ethereousdelirious · 4 years

Text

This is not finished but I’m posting it anyway 1) because I’m honestly not sure if I’ll ever finish it and 2) because it’s a CRIME that I haven’t whumped P\ercy yet

This is exactly the kind of fic that middle school aged Ethereous would have lost their shit over haha

Fandom: C\ritical R\ole C\ampaign 1

Characters: P\ercy, V\ex, K\eyleth

Pairing: N/A

Tropes: a\ppendicitis, caretaking, vomiting in semi-public

Summary: There’s not much to it honestly-- It’s the obligatory a\ppendicitis fic that every f\andom needs

Warnings/Notes: Brief mention of vomiting (nothing explicit) As far as symptoms, I had a\ppendicitis when I was 10, so I kinda based this on what I remember, plus prettying some things up to make for a more engaging story Spoiler-free, plausibly canon

It wasn't unusual for Percy to wake up feeling like absolute shit. In fact, that was more often the case than not. It came with being a wanderer, he supposed.

Still, warm in his bed at Greyskull Keep, he had expected to wake up feeling refreshed, not like death warmed over.

He sat up slowly and his stomach gave an angry pulse in response. That was okay, then. He could handle a stomach ache, a little nausea.

He got dressed, leaving his coat behind, and headed downstairs to see who was awake.

The smell of bacon greeted him, and his stomach gave a nervous little flutter.

Vex and Keyleth were both awake, although they were doing more conversing than eating. Percy sat down to join them and immediately poured himself a cup of coffee.

"Morning, Percy," Vex said. She leaned over and took the mug from him. "Thank you, darling."

Percy took this in stride and merely poured out another cup. "Some for you as well, Keyleth?"

She wrinkled her nose. "Oh, no thank you."

"You look pale," Vex said conversationally, stealing the cream out from under Percy's hand.

"I should hope so," Percy said back. "I'd be quite concerned if I wasn't."

"You do look pale," Keyleth agreed. "Did you not sleep well?"

"I slept just fine," Percy said, stealing the cream back from Vex. "I'm always pale. I'm a pale person."

"You know what I meant." Vex gave him a keen look and nudged a plate of bacon toward him. "Humor me and eat something."

Sensing a trap, Percy took a dignified sip of his coffee. "Later."

"He'd tell if something was wrong," Keyleth said pointedly to Vex. "Wouldn't you, Percy?"

He gave her his most winning smile. "Of course I would, dear."

"Alright," Vex grumbled. "You still look pale, though."

Percy, keen to drop the subject, let her have the last word on it. "So, shopping today?"

To his surprise, Vex scoffed. "I know Vax is going to want to get an eyeful of Gilmore's Glorious Goods, if you know what I mean."

Percy choked on his coffee. His side throbbed momentarily and he crossed his free arm over his stomach.

"Vex!" Keyleth was turning a furious red.

"What? He has no shame about it!"

"Well," Percy said diplomatically, "perhaps we can go separately. I would like to see Gilmore."

"Oh, me too," Keyleth said. "I want to see what kind of books he has."

"Well, I," Vex said dramatically, "want a new dress. Why not, right? We have the money. What do you think, Keyleth? Want to come dress shopping with me?"

"Ooh, yes!" Keyleth beam.

"And you, Percy? Want to buy a dress?"

"No comment,” Percy said. “Although I would be happy to accompany you if you don't mind stopping by a blacksmith's after. I could use some more scrap metal."

"We should leave early, then," Vex said. "Vax is going to want to stick together and it's going to hurt his feelings if we all tease him about Gilmore."

They left not long after. Percy was pleased to find that he had made it through breakfast without actually having to eat anything, and neither Vex nor Keyleth noticed.

He had never been sick like this before-- His stomach ached a little, particularly on the right side, and he felt a bit nauseated, but that was it. It got a little worse when they were walking, but not by much.

It was just distracting, that was all.

Unfortunately, he had nothing else to think about while Vex and Keyleth fawned over dresses together.

"This green one would look so pretty on you," Vex said, pointing one out to Keyleth. "Don't you think so, Percy?"

"Hm?" He shook himself and uncrossed his arms.

Vex frowned, the dress forgotten. "Are you okay? You really don't look well."

"I'm," Percy's breath stuttered in his chest, which was odd, "fine." He swallowed, suddenly feeling much worse.

Vex frowned, obviously not buying it. She and Keyleth rounded on him in sync. "You're sure? Nothing's wrong?" she pressed.

Gods, but Vex was scary when she wanted to be. Keyleth too. "I'm… A bit tired, I suppose?" Percy admitted. "I can handle a bit of shopping, it's not like I'm about to collapse or anything." His side gave a sharp throb and he winced.

Keyleth was on him in an instant. "What was that?"

"Alright, alright, for goodness' sake." Percy put up his hands. "Really, I just feel a bit off. You've never had an off day? I promise I'm not so noble or stupid that I would insist on spending a day out shopping when I should be in bed."

This at last seemed to pacify Vex and Keyleth.

"Okay, but tell us if you need to go home, alright?" Vex said.

Percy tried not to roll his eyes. "I will."

He didn't. Not when a cold sweat started to form on the back of his neck, not when his stomach began to roil, not when the pain got so bad he had to grit his teeth to keep from crying out. For one thing, he wasn't even sure he could walk the few meters across the shop to get Vex's attention.

How did it get this bad? One minute he had been lightly bored in a dress shop, and the next--

He bit his lip and swallowed back a wave of nausea. He needed to leave, now, and he was paralyzed.

"Vex?" he managed, his voice tight and thready, "Keyleth?"

Keyleth heard him. She looked over and her eyes widened. "Oh, Percy." She went to him and placed a cool, soft hand on his forehead. "Oh, Percy," she said again. "Oh, no."

"Can we please go now?" Percy asked through gritted teeth.

"Let me get Vex."

Percy nodded and Keyleth turned away. The pain began to subside, not by much, but enough that he longer felt in danger of collapsing. His shoulders relaxed a bit. By the time Keyleth returned with Vex he was breathing normally and was even confident he could walk, at least a short distance.

"Percy, what's wrong? Vex asked.

"I'm, uh," he paused, trying to find words that wouldn't worry her too much, "I think I need to go home."

"He's burning up, Vex," Keyleth said.

"Oh, darling." Vex put a hand on his forehead.

"We should go," Percy said, keenly aware of the melodrama about to unfold. He knew for a fact he wasn't going to make it back without vomiting, and he would really rather not do inside the shop.

"What's the matter?" Vex asked. She looked at him and evidently noticed the way he had his arms wrapped around himself. "Is it your stomach?"

"Yes," Percy said urgently. It was starting to get bad again, centered around his right side. "Let's go. Please."

Vex and Keyleth flanked him and steered him out of the shop. His movements were stiff, clumsy. They weren't moving nearly as fast as he wanted to, but his body didn't seem to want to work.

Despite the bright spring sun, he was starting to shiver, and the pain was so bad it brought tears to his eyes.

This did not go unnoticed.

"Oh, Percy," Keyleth breathed. "Do you want to stop for a bit?"

"No," he said through gritted teeth.

"Do you think Pike will be able to help with this?" Vex asked.

"I'm sure she will," Keyleth said.

Percy pulled his coat tighter around his shoulders to try to stave off the violent shivers wracking his frame. His whole body was shaking with pain and cold.

He looked around frantically. It was late enough in the morning that streets were bustling and there was very little privacy to be found. His stomach lurched and he stopped abruptly, doubling over in pain.

Vex tugged sharply on his arm. He staggered after her with Keyleth in tow, nearly blinded by the agonizing throb in his side.

"It's okay, Percy," Vex was saying. Someone was stroking his hair. He fell to his hands and knees and vomited. The pain dulled somewhat and he took in a few shallow, rasping breaths. "I s-swear it wasn't this bad this morning," he said. He hauled himself to his feet and looked around. Vex had led him to an empty alleyway.

"I know," Vex said, her brow furrowed. "We're almost home."

Percy wiped his mouth on his sleeve, making a note to avoid this part of town for a while. Again, the waves of agony seemed to be dying down, though it never completely went away. His fever certainly wasn't getting any better.

The world took on a vague, sort of dreamy quality as he walked, until suddenly they were back at Greyskull and he was staring at the landing on the top of the stairs.

Shivering head to toe, he leaned on the banister and started to ascend the stairs, with Vex stationed at his side and Keyleth behind him. He made it without assistance and collapsed into bed without bothering to take off his boots.

"We need to find Pike," Vex said.

"I think," Percy kicked aimlessly at his calf, trying to remove his boot without sitting up, "I'm sorry, I think I need a proper doctor."

"Is it really that bad?" Vex put her hand on his forehead again and brushed his damp hair out of his face. "Poor thing." She put her other hand on his stomach and he flinched away reflexively. "Did that hurt?" she asked.

"A bit," Percy said.

"Percy," she said sharply, "where exactly does it hurt?"

"Ah…" He opened his coat and gestured at the lower right of his abdomen, scared to even touch it.

"Shit."

"What is it?" Keyleth asked, wide-eyed.

"This happened to Vax, when we were kids. Magic can't cure it. They had to do surgery to fix it. He still has the scar."

"Surgery?" Percy said, trying to keep the note of fear out of his voice. He knew there were some illnesses that magic simply couldn't cure, but this… He'd never had surgery before. The idea of someone cutting him open made his skin crawl.

"It's urgent," Vex said. She turned to Keyleth. "Here, take all my money and go. Please."

"Are you sure?" Keyleth looked at Percy.

"You can't both stay and fuss over me," Percy said. He closed his eyes. "I hate to be a bother but, when you decide, can the person who remains please take my boots off?"

"Alright, I'll go," Vex said.

Percy sighed through his nose.

"Alright, boots off," Keyleth said with false cheer. She tugged off Percy's boots and stared down at him. "Do you want to go under the covers?"

"No, thank you," Percy said.

#ethereous writes #sickfic #whump

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wispandwhispers · 4 years

Text

moonboy

Pairings: Prinxiety, Logicality, qpr dukeceit

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Tw(s): Cursing, torture, blood, slightly unsympathetic remy for a bit, implied unrequited love, crying.

Words: 4412

Notes: This is so late I’m so sorry. I don’t wanna write for the next week. Christ.

The moment Roman pulled away, Virgil slapped him across the face.

"Why did you do that?" Lunapuer's query came out in staggered breaths, the type filled by adrenaline. He backed away from the other slowly. "Why. Did. You. Do. That?"

Shit. Should of asked for consent first.

"I don't know really, I thought that It would be romantic?"

The emo has started to pace around the room, "This doesn't make sense. You hate me. You despise the fact I breathe, you design a personalised ring of Dante's inferno to try and drive me to my tipping point." He whipped his head to face Roman, eyes voids of chaotic madness, of stars and nebulas and galaxies and everything beyond. The couch, coffee table and various other furniture had begun to slowly rise into the air, shaking with the distress that the boy must feel and almost primed to obliterate whatever was causing Virgil distress.

If I touched one of those floaty things, would get the galaxy on me?

"Why the fuck would you kiss me?" The tension wasn't thick, it was more sluggish. Harder to move through, harder to navigate and so much harder to leave. Roman was starting to feel ..disturbed ..by this and maybe he was starting to realise that Lunaper was..not normal.

Wait Lunapuer. Luna Puer. Moon Child. What?

"What..are you?"

A long lingering glare.

"I think it would be time for you to stare into my -"

The sound of a metal knocker hitting wood to the tune of One Jump Ahead interrupted the emo's train of thought.

Virgil eyes died down, putting his planned smiting on hold. He walked over to the source of the knocking and opened the front door to be met with a kid who couldn't be just anything more than a year older than him. And he wasn't being Xia's older brother.

Recognising him, Roman got off the floor and ran up to him, wrapping him in a hug. The boy hugged him back.

"Thomas, you know I love you but why exactly are you here?"

"I'll answer that when you tell me who you brought home. And why the couch is floating. But first the boy?"

Xia gave the emo a shaky grin, trying to mentally concoct a sentence that wouldn't immediately get him killed.

"Umm, Thomas this is Virgil, Virgil this is Thomas."

Despite Virgil only putting his hand out for a hand sake, Xia's cup his face and stare into his eyes.

"How 'bout on the beach...."

"On the beach for what?"

"For the wedd...," He noticed Roman's 'Not now' hand signal "..ling. Yeah for Wedling."

Thomas ignored the emo's confused facial expression.

"Anyway, Dad wants me to babysit you."

"What the fuck, I'm sixteen, I don't need supervision. I'm practically an adult."

(Thomas crouched down slightly so he was on Roman's eye level. "You and me both know that we barely have the cooking skills to cook a cup of ramen.")

("Ha, I'm calling you Ramen now, you don't have a choice.")

Thomas stood back up.

"That's what I said, but Remus' is going to need a fucking good lawyer for him to have a chance to see the light of day again."

"That bad? God.."

While the family was trying to figure out what they were going to do, Virgil put back on his jacket.

"Not to interrupt this lovely familial bonding moment but Remus isn't going to need a lawyer."

Thomas looked over to Virgil in shock.

"Oh yeah, Virgil, meet my elder brother Thomas and Thomas meet my ex- arch nemesis, who recently tried to kill/brainwash me, Virgil."

****

"It's my car, why can't I drive?"

Lunaper opened the clicked it open with his key.

"Without me, you won't be able to find Remy , ergo you won't be able to prove your brother's innocence . Also you've put me in a bad mood, so if you don't want me to finish what I started in the living room, I suggest you shut up."

During the emo's rant, the car had proceeded to float about a foot of the ground and the lifter's eyes seemed to be smoking with cosmos.

("I call shotgun!" Thomas ran to the front seat like a child.)

Roman, you can't get yourself killed, you haven't married him.

Xia climbed into the backseat.

"Fine but be gentle with it."

("I'll be gentle until I have to be rough with it.")

("What?")

(Virgil didn't respond.)

******

(Roman and Thomas talk to each other in the back about men.)

ThomasTheDankEngine: ...you're a bottom..

I'mRoyalty: Wtf, why would you even assume that?

ThomasTheDankEngine: So I didn't walk into a scene in the room? Cause you really seem to like him at least from what I've gathered (aha, you didn't deny liking him though)

I'mRoyalty: (Yes, I am attracted to the most beautiful creation on earth, leave me alone )You were barely in the house for 5 minutes,you couldn't have gathered any 'data'

ThomasTheDankEngine: The 'data' I have collected is the visuals of your eyes undressing him, you horny bastard.

I'mRoyalty: Hey, at least I'm not a Remus level of horny

ThomasTheDankEngine : Fair enough. On a different note, you are aware that your crush isn't even hitting the gas pedal. He's just staring at the road and moving the steering wheel. I'm calling it now, he's an alien

I'mRoyalty: Tbh, I don't think he even knows what he is. And I don't really care, I just want to kiss him. And marry him. And all that other couple stuff.

******

"Um, Virgil, why are we at the Station?"

"I don't know either..."

Unbuckling his seatbelt and stepping outside into the semi cool spring air, the trio made there way over to the police station door.

"Shit, is Pa actually crying?"

"Yeah, he's not doing that well.."

Thomas turned the younger.

"Okay, lets go in before I have an attack over this."

Roman could almost see Lunapuer eyes widen in realisation of something. Roman couldn't put his finger on it.

He isn't moving..

"Hey, Virgil, aren't you coming with us?"

The emo's neck turned.

"To your parents, I'm just some random ass kid with glitchy irises. I'm not immediate family so I don't have a fucking right to be inside."

"You'll be ok though?"

"Is that even a question. I'm never ok, I promise."

*****

The squeaky floors of the centre made Roman feel uncomfortable ,like they had to always clear up...something.

(He would leave the empty gap up to his brother. It was more his forte.)

Walking pass the seemingly pissed officer (who let them move after they were patted down and had stayed their full names, they were met with the face of -

Dad spotted us, time to use those lessons from Jan now.

Their Dad ran up to them and held there faces, almost like they would fade away into nothingness the minute they let go.

"Why the flipping fuck are you here?"

Okay, Dad can curse, my life is a lie.

"Me And Thomas wanted to see Remus." Roman stopped on his elder's foot, code for 'play along'.

The parent stepped back and only know he could see his Dad's dishevelled hair that was rash and messed up that looked like the type you would have after years on end of stress despite the fact when it was neat hours ago.

"Look, I would prefer you here for moral support and all that jazz but your brother and his partner have basically secured their cell, they keep on ranting about how there was a lemon fic -whatever that means- about you and hypnotism and Remington apparently being the reason why they are in this fucking mess- DO YOU ANY IDEA WHAT THIS NONSENSE MEANS!"

I know what it means but I don't need to chucked to Picani's for a session.

Thomas seemed to get the 'we got the information we need, let's roll' signal.

"Oh, shit, I think I left the the oven running, Roman let's roll."

("I new that theatre major would come in handy.")

"Come back when you're done!"

("Anyway, I don't understand what's happening or what you know so you fill him in."

"Okay!"

("I don't really have a choice anyway.")

******

"Get in the fucking car, we are going to cut a bitch."

******

Virgil parked the car at the opposite side of the road.He slammed it so hard that it dented its inside and he had probably broken the door, but Roman wasn't going to comment about that because he feared the earth that was contained in his crush.

He rushed over to Zenith who was laying in the sand of the bay, casually scrolling through his feed with a Starbucks cup in hand and not like the government had just pronounced him dead.

He noticed the angry man in purple charging towards him.

"Virgie, did you see-"

"Cut me none of that 'Virgie' bullshit Remington, you blackmailed someone into silence, you know you aren't allowed to abuse you abilities like that."

Remy pushed down the bridge of sunglasses, revealing his eyes that seemed even more chaotic than Lunapuer's but floating with clouds instead of space.

"This isn't some game anymore, people I care-"

("You care about my brother and Janus")

("While you were being a shit bag to me, I had to find someone who would show me where my classrooms were.")

"back to what I was saying- People I care about are going to suffer serious consequences for crap you should pay the price for-wait, why did Jan and Rem even try to drown you in the first place?"

The glasses are off, what does it mean?

"Cousin, if you think you are big enough to say my full name then you are big enough to deal with the consequences of my coffee break."

("Why the fuck are you having coffee so late?")

("You've seen me off caffeine. I'm not exactly a sane person."

"I don't even want to fight you because I might actually kill you."

Remy looked over his shoulder to see the setting sun glistening over the water he was supposedly dead in.

"(Oh, shit) Look, cuz-"

Where Virgil's eye sockets should be were replaced with a empty caverns of galaxy that was literally choking his cousin. The tendrils of the universe snaked up his neck and grasped onto it.

"C͈̈́Á͖͔͊L̢̖̘̎̄̉̿̓͟͢L̢̢̽̆ ͚͔̩̀̿̒MȆ̡̢̛̖͖̇͞ ̰̠̘̫͑̎̈́̄A ͇̖̙̽̐̓Ñ̜I̡̢͉̝͌̒̌̎C̗͛K̰͊Ň͔̮̘͚͙̎͗̇̄Ȃ̧̱̩͌̓M̰̙̰̿̉͡Ȩ̗̅͛ ̗̒O̡̡̟̜͛̄̃̽NE̗͉͇̿̎͌ ̩̲͛̆̽͟M̹̬͖̔̕̕O̮͖͍̝͑̈̓͆̽͢Ṟ̢̙̊̔̃E ̨̘͆̍T͇͐Ḭ͎̼͛̅̂M̻̠̩̾̆̈́E, ͔̥̭̜̎̽̄͡I͉͎̟̒̅̎͞ͅ ̛̛͉̼̪͇̎͡D̨̩̋̀A̼̒R̺͠E̬͎̓́ ͓̰̭͓͛͋͊͡Ÿ̙̭̱̐̊Ò͖͚̞͑̊̕ͅỦ̙̻̌!"

("So you have a a crush on a homicidal mystery man who is also a magical boy?")

(Roman just glared at his brother.)

"I DID IT TO PROTECT YOU FROM HIM!"

The turn of a necks in synchrony shattered the waves of the river bed they were on. Time was an illusion and two seconds could of passed and no one could tell the difference.

Zenith decided to break the peace.

"LOOK, I CARE ABOUT YOU, I ACTUALLY DO AND I'M NOT GONNA YOU FALL FOR A HEARTBREAKER ON MY WATCH!"

Virgil likes me back. VIRGIL ACTUALLY LIKES ME BACK!?

Lunapuer eyebrow lowered in concentration almost.

"N͙̤̹͚͂͌͐̕O͍͡ M̧͍̲̓̍̇Ą̠̻̤́̈̿́T͔̣̾͐T͓̙͉̈́̀̍Ę̥̠̻͚̏̍̓͊͝R̙̺̠̯̾̑̾̕ ̥̱̋̂Ẅ̨̞̜̉̊HAT̡̥͇͂́̈́̕͜ ̮͖͙̼̻̓̑̕̕͝R̨͓̾̓Ã͔͔̰̻̫͆̃͐̂ME̫͔̻̻͗̑́͡N͈̱̒͑ ̲̗̣̓́̌̆͜Ḋ̠ID ͍̻̣͕̎̍͂͡T̬̙̩̓̀͑O̙̘̻̓̍͂ ͙̺͈͈̀̃̀̑̽͟Y̺̖̖̻̍͛̋͛Ǒ̦͖̀̂͢U̱͊,̤͓͂̉ ̘̳̄̊Í̥̺̕T̠͂ ͔͚͋̑D̲̀̑͢OĚ̝̝̣̏̊S̖̆N̲͕̕͞'̛͙̝̜̎͐T̨̲̲͉͒͆̂̍ ̝̭̬͕̾̈́̌͡Ģ̊I̢̢͍͊͐̊VE̥͕̾͛ ̝͌Ỹ̨̪͕͕̒̋̿OŮ̩͕̯̆̍ ̧̩̗̙̒̑͋̚A̘̜̙͊͝͝Ņ͉̽͆̈́͟Ý̞̣͔̩̂̄͠ ̯̀RI̲͚͔͔̔͆̃́Ģ̲̫̈̔̕HṬ̓ ͙̼͚̫̱͆̒͐͠͡Ţ͈͇͗͑̈O ̹̹̹͂̀͂D̛̠̖̍̅͟O̧͔͗͠ ̛̦W̖͇̹̮͊̌̊͆H͎̉A̩̫͇̽̅͊͜͠T̬̙͔̞̑͛͑̈́͗͢ ̖͖͉͂̆̈Y̯͚͓̜̣̆̈̀͊͊O̡̅Ṳ̜͕̈́̔͆ ̢̤̞͆̕͝D̢̡͈͙̤͗͊̃̽̍I̛͕̱̾D̯̃̓͟!"

The gripping got tighter.

"Plea-se, pleas-e, I am fully aware I am a cunt pile and don't even deserve redemption in the slightest, but let me live and maybe I can make it up to you."

For a single second, it looked like Virgil was genuinely going to finish off the job that Rem and Jan failed to do. But me showed mercy.

His eyes died down.

"Get in the back, use your powers to make today seem like one long ass fever dream, help us break Re and Jay out of prison and maybe you'll see the sunrise."

Remington picked up his shades and went to the back seat.

'Ramen' was shocked.

"Why exactly did you let him go?"

"As long as the moon is out, He will be the one worrying."

******

"Psst, Janus!"

No response.

"La Snits!"

"Remus had spiked my drink and I was high off my ass, wait why are you here?"

Janus turned his head to be met with Roman who was currently picking the lock on his cell.

"I'm getting really sick and tired of people asking that."

The lock mechanisms chimed open.

"Okay, listen: Virgil and Remy have powers that I don't even think they know how to control and are using them to put the whole town asleep. Your hypnotism made me have a 'veil' and made me hate Virgil for about two months. I'm back to normal now. Remy has apologised for blackmailing me and has promised to destroy you-know-what. And- What what happened to your face?"

Xia just noticed Vales face that a scar the look creepily akin to snake scales. It covered about half of it and it was still bleeding, not even looking like it would scab over.

"There is more than one reason why I am Zeneith's body should be at that bottom of the ocean currently."

How strong is Remy exactly?

"Kayyyy, lets get to your-"

"Jan!"

"Rem!"

Remus skidded against the floor, just in his socks to his partner.

"Look, my older brother is stopping me from deforming Starbuck slut's body because that's immoral or some shit and I really , really am sorry that we got caught. How was I supposed to know the fucker could respawn-"

"You're shaking."

And the hypnotist was right, Remus was practically vibrating.

"I'm fine , I just want to have Remy's intestines in my hands, that's it."

"Look, I'm not getting sappy in public but I don't really want a repeat of Canada,"

("Canada?!")

"So can you please calm down for me?"

Remus pouted like a four year old.

"If I do this, I get to kill him later,"

"Of course you can."

Janus may of then talked to Remus about his lack of shoes and maybe given him a piggy back because he was kind of tired, Roman wouldn't know. He was just looking listening to their happiness and feeling happy for his brother.

The hell ,Thomas?

The more mature brother ( his father's words , not his) was floating with the sir, accompanied by the galaxy aura thing that Virgil had.

"So because I stopped Remus from literally murdering Remy Virgil gave me floaty shoes. And Remy kind of apologised to him for something, I don't really understand, but floaty shoes!"

Roman just stared as his elder fanboying in awe of his newly acquired footwear, wondering how the fuck is he older than him.

"Remy won't need to worry, Janus has gotten him to calm down a little. I would say that he has a week left to live though."

"Wow, this day could of gone to shit but it didn't, it's almost like some omnipotent voice is going to say 'And they lived happily after' "

And with every happily ever after ,you get your true love as well.

"The stars are aligning!"

"What?"

Virgil seemed to just materialize out of nowhere, and even in the prison grade lighting, he was still the most beautiful thing Roman had ever left his eyes on. Even in the crappy yellow coming from the ceiling, he still shone like a the stars laced in the sky.

Roman stepped forward and took his hand, holding it loose enough that he could pull back at any time given.

"You know, The boys everyone made up with each other, except me and you and today has almost been perfect I'm just waiting for...you..."

Virgil slipped his hand out of Roman to return it to his side.

"Princey," He took a long pause, trying to find those right words "Life isn't like a Disney movie, it doesn't have a structured plot and it doesn't move at the speed you need it to. Not everything and everyone is going to make you happy because that's just how life is, lots of people getting fucked over. Janus and Remus might of forgiven you and I might of forgiven Remy for what he did but I experienced hell from you and even if that veil made you do dumb shit, I am still recovering from it. And yes I did like you, you are cute and handsome and funny and just a great guy but I can't have a relationship with you after the shit you did to me. But I can agree to try and move pass that."

Lunapuer shook out his hand.

"Deal?"

Roman shook it.

******

"Turn to page 37 on your-"

The bell broker up the music theory teacher's instructions.

"Remember to memorise the sheet for the 18th of .."

Roman didn't get the last of what he said, he rushed out the classroom to meet Virgil at his locker near Homeroom.

"Umm, here you go."

The sound of hard plastic hit the public school quality(shit) metal.

"Why did you buy these for me exactly?"

"Well, you're always listening to Starchild-"

"Starkid, It's Starkid."

How could you mess that up, dumbass.

"Yep, anyway, and I decided to buy you a a latest pair of headphones to try out. I even paid extra for it in purple and black."

The emo picked up the the case and looked at it and eyes widen when he saw the price of it.

"God, Princey, I don't know really what to say-"

"You don't have to say a single thing, this was a gift out of the kindness of my own-"

"But I can I have the receipt?"

"WHAT!"

He picked up the case and gave it back to the giver.

"These are so fucking amazing and just really nice and cool but I can't do these, I use earphones 'cause I like to fiddle with the wires, they ground me when I have my weekly existential crisis/panic attack and slow down the spiralling a little."

Roman just stood there stunned.

"You spent a lot of money on this and I am just putting it to waste but giving it back to you but I just feel more comfortable with wires, I guess."

Taking his artbook out of his locker for the period right after Lunch, he gave Xia a two finger salute and made the journey to the food hall.

A still stunned Roman concocted a solution to the problem of the gift he had bought.

******

Virgil walked into class the next day wearing purple earphones instead of white and hugged Roman.

The class promptly checked Lunaper for a fever.

******

"Kiddo, why are you up so late?"

"You don't really have a right to talk, you're the one whose up as well."

Roman's Dad reaches for the shelf.

"Wanna cookie?"

"Nah, I'm already had my 2am snack."

A little snort filled the still kitchen.

"You know, that reminds me of those weird dreams your father's been having since we were a king."

"What dreams?"

Roman scooted forward on his stool not to miss out of any of the tail.

"He always had these.. lucid dreams of a reality where we all lived together in Thomas' head."

"You're joking!"

"No I'm not, It's actually the reason why we picked Thomas from the orphanage, he had had fantasies of us looking after him and guiding him through life. We all had his face as well, I don't really understand it either."

He promptly shoved a cookie in his mouth.

"Anything else?"

The father figure paused his snacking.

"Look, If you are telling me a fable of us protecting Thomas, you better deliver on it."

"It's not really a fable, it's just Logie's imagination running wild. Anyway in the world we all had jobs, like your Dad was logic and a teacher, I was morality and a dad, you and your brother were a prince and a duke respectively and were both creativity."

Roman snorted the milk he was drinking.

"Oh, God these are so weird. I know me and Remus used to make believe play a lot as a kid but like that's so far fetched!"

His father joined in the cackling.

After a few moments of them calming down, Roman queried his Dad.

"If in some weird fever dream Pa has , I can be a prince, do you think I can get my happily ever after as well?"

The ran had started to splash against the window, making a faint tapping noise in the distance.

"Life won't always give you strict fairy-tale endings, but you can try and sculpt your ending so it makes you happy. "

******

"Princey, !"

"Why are you whispering?"

"Just come here you Disney reject."

"So I can't call you nicknames/insults but you can?"

"Life's not fair, get used to it."

Virgil passed him a note with some numbers on them.

"Can you god to my locker and get the book out of it?"

Roman obeyed said instructions and returned with a copy of Moby Dick.

"You never struck me as the type to read the 'Classics'."

"Yeah, 'cause I'm not." Virgil proceeded to open the book inside to find it was a shell that had-

Are those drugs?

"No they're not, fuuc.."

Lunapuer started to rub his temples akin to how you would if you had a headache or a brain freeze.

Xia knitted his eyebrows together, trying to plan his next step.

Can you hear my thoughts?

"Wow, I wonder why I responded when you said the pills were drugs."

"Woe is me for asking that apparently!"

"Look Ramen, the eclipse is coming in like three hours and I have the worst headache of the century. I use sass and sarcasm as a coping mechanism when I don't know what to say, so bare with me for the time being."

Roman scorched up next to his friend/crush/he didn't even know at this point.

"It would be nice if you enlighten me to how you can suddenly read my mind, but you don't have to."

"I can't really describe it, my brain almost starts cheat coding reality and I can hear voices suddenly that usually I can't. And if I use any of powers, they are so destructive that I could probably shatter the school by just touching the floor."

Xia just listened patiently, taking in his little pupils which were currently flickering from space mode and back to normal.

"So I'm guessing that Remy wears shades all the time because someone is always dreaming or something.."

"Yeah kinda...Ramen can I ask you for another favour?"

It's not even sure I could say no to you. I'm pretty sure the fabric of my being would be ripped apart.

(The emo may or not have looked away with a red tint in his cheeks)

"Yeah, what do you want?"

"I don't even think that I can make it back to class-I'll probably pass out anyway-can you get me to my bag and get me too the office?"

Before Virgil had even finished the sentence, Roman was already carrying him bridal style.

"Hey ,what the fuck?"

"You said you needed to get to the office, the quickest way is for me to get you there."

"What about my bag?"

"You're more important and I'll get it later."

Lunapuer didn't respond.

******

"Why did your dad introduce himself to me by giving a compliment wrapped in a insult?"

"It's just a thing he does, I don't think I've ever seen him introduce himself to anyone normal."

******

"What are you doing here, you should be out there, channeling your inner thespian or whatever.."

Just the muffled calamity of the drama hall could be heard. Also the pitter patter of Roman's tears.

"Shit, you're crying, why the fuck are you crying, did I do something wrong, God I knew I am a piece of shit, should I-

“No, It’s not your fault.”

Even if Roman’s face was currently leaking like a broken faucet, he still managed to have a steady voice by some miracle.

Virgil scooted over to the to the wall where Ramen’s back was on, looking above him to see the poster for the end of year play of Beauty and the Beast.

“You think you flopped it, don’t you?”

“Wow, I must be so easy to read, the queer theatre kid who never was able to make that part in the school play they always wanted. Next thing you know I’ll go insane and sell my soul to for something symbolic like a crown.”

“You’re queer?”

(The splashes of Roman’s tears just got more intense.)

“Yeah, I don’t really want to put a label on myself yet.”

(Some screamed ‘Next’. It was most likely a student trying to fuck with the drama teacher.)

“Well, I’m questioning still, I kind of like almost anyone. It’s confusing.”

Almost on cue with the end of Virgil’s statement, Roman started to ugly cry.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck why are you even here?”

“I was looking for you actually, Princey. I kind of got into a big fight with Remus over something and I came to you so we could vibe together.”

Even though Xia’s tears looked strong enough to break a dam, his mouth seemed to curl upwards.

“Look, that’s really nice but I don’t deserve you here, I fucked up a basic ass song and now I’m going to be casted as grass #4.”

“Ramen, I’m not leaving until you agree to brood with me.”

“I would really prefer if you didn’t refer me as a food stuff.”

“Roman!” And the tears stopped flowing. And the crude acting in the background stopped moving . And the clock stopped moving and life and death themselves had seemed to pause. Roman didn’t care if this was Virgil’s powers at work or someone had spiked his water bottle because the fact that he was so closed to his face and now he could see the condensed universe in his eyes made all the pain just drain away. The atmosphere was tense like almost the way that his ..better dreams with the boy dressed in stars would start.

“Roman I don’t like seeing you sad, but I know emotions don’t work like that.. And I’m pissed at your brother and I don’t know how to deal with that...”

Roman’s face and Virgil were a little bit close for comfort

“You said you wanted us to brood together., let’s do it.”

Virgil was the one to pull Roman’s shirt and claim his lips.

#moonboy au #logicality #qpr dukeceit #prinxiety #i hate this so much #i spent so fucking long on this bitchy chapter #roman sanders #virgil sanders #janus sanders #remus sanders #i

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jane-the-zombie · 4 years

Text

Beached Zombie || Morgan & Jane

TIMING: Present! PARTIES: @mor-beck-more-problems + @jane-the-zombie SUMMARY: “i just want you guys know Meri has spent at least half of this jane chatzy going ‘mOrGANN’” - Kat. OR Jane finds an undead body on the beach. Discoveries were made.

Morgan didn’t sleep. The heavy, cotton-covered oblivion she was used to falling into when she reached her lowest lows no longer came for her at night, no matter how still she lay or how long she kept her eyes shut against the dark. There was only so long she could try to make her dead chest match Deirdre’s breathing, only so many times she could lay down at the bottom of the pool and reach for that memory in Karen’s backyard of being still in a way that was okay. And the grass, sometimes, was too prickly--or at least, Morgan remembered the grass being prickly too well to rest in it. And so she would walk elsewhere, at night to pass the time, or the hours during the day that had to be marked somehow. So sometimes, Morgan went out. Sometimes just to the streets around Deirdre’s neighborhood. Today, the beach. With her body plastered to the cooling sand as evening came, and the tide barely kissing her at all as it withdrew. She remembered how she’d been held here the last time she’d visited: their first date to see the sunrise, and the stories she’d read aloud and the sand in her hair when they rolled to the ground kissing like they had just invented it. She remembered Galveston and the pungent smell of the salty sea, the brine on her skin. She’d fallen asleep like that so often, cradled and contentedly nowhere. If she was still enough for long enough, would she find her way back to that? Could something stick to her long enough to take her there, or somewhere else.

Morgan spotted a runner out of her dead, unblinking eye and thought about sighing as they came to a stop, looming over her. She waited, drooping inside with disappointment, and waited until their hand was hovering just over her body. “Boo!” She deadpanned.

Jane almost fell flat on her face when she saw the body during her evening run. She was too hungover for this. Days where she wasn’t working or practicing some “new extreme sport” were usually spent bar hopping and having fun that way. She was too old to bar hop - god she missed it when bartenders didn’t recognize all their customers. Really, she was missing not being in a small town. Portland was the farthest thing from the largest city in the world, but there were more things to do, at least. The only thing keeping her from trying to transfer again was the fact she just signed her lease and cases here were interesting. Jane almost felt a little bad lamenting her own situation while approaching a goddamn dead body. Clearly other people had it worse. Other people actually died when something happened to them. Jane cursed as she skidded to a stop near the body, quickly doing once over. Definitely dead, or close to it. Damn. She was going to be here all day processing the scene. Who dumped a fucking body on the beach? The woman didn't look like she had washed up. She had already sank to her knees, one hand reaching for her phone, the other going to check the pulse - “Boo.” Jane let out a noise somewhere between a shriek and a loud expletive, falling backward onto her ass. Her eyes narrowed. Her first thought went to public disturbance, but she wasn’t really in the mood to work in the first place. “What the hell is wrong with you?” Jane snapped. “Get up.”

Morgan stayed death still as the woman toppled. She was curious in some new, morbid way whether or not the woman would think she had imagined the whole thing. One of those ooo-woo coincidences/hallucinations/hypotheticals that just couldn’t be anything so stupid and sad as, woops this girl died but she’s still here and kinda broken. This bitter thought gave Morgan a new idea. She waited a few more moments, just in case doubt would set in, then she flopped up to a sit and reached out for the woman’s arm for an assist. As she staggered to her feet, pulling herself up, Morgan twisted as hard as she could until her shoulder came loose. It wasn’t hard. All she had to do was forget the shoulder was hers and forget the idea of hurt. There was a dull ache in the spot where the bones had come loose, she didn’t feel nothing, but if she were herself, if she were alive, she would have been screaming. “Oh, gee…” she deadpanned. “Ow.”

Despite herself, Jane reached to help the woman up. “Honestly, I was about four seconds away from calling in a dead - What are you doing?!” Jane’s voice raised in half panic and exasperation as she let the woman go. “Are you insane?!” There was a time when Jane dislocated her shoulder at a rock climbing gym, and even in all her adrenaline filled bullshit, that still hurt like hell and she had a half a fit about it while getting loaded into the ambulance. “Are you - Are you not in any pain?” Her face twisted in confusion, staring at the woman like she had three heads. The deadpanned ow… Was she on something? Drugs? No, she showed no signs of that. Her eyes narrowed and she had half a mind to twist her arm back herself. “We need to put your arm back.” Unless she was driving yet another person to the emergency room.

“What do you think I am?” Morgan asked. She shook her arm free of the woman’s grap and looked at it dangling from its socket. She poked it until it swung like a pendulum at her side. Her muscles strained at being pushed in this way and the ache was so close to sharp it was almost pleasant. Morgan approximated how her shoulder ought to belong and pulled it back in place, tested her work with a stretch, and waggled her fingers in front of the woman as if to prove everything was fine now. “Guess that's the problem solved,” she said, a forced hollow cheer in her voice. “Do you need something to feel good about this, or are we done here?”

There was a sort of morbid curiosity in watching the woman work her shoulder. Jane almost winced sympathetically, but the words what do you think I am were lodged directly in her brain. “What do I think you are?” Jane repeated, raising an eyebrow. Memories of Jason showing her how his bones didn’t break and how things like chopping off a wrist or two didn’t hurt. Actually, she was fairly certain Jason never felt pain - not really, anyhow. She was hesitant to bring that up though, until her shoulder was properly - oh. Jane was going to offer to set it herself. “Are we done here?” Jane repeated, pinching the bridge of her nose. “No, we’re not done here. First of all, do you think it’s funny laying there pretending to be dead? Because it isn’t. And second… Can I check your pulse, please?”

“Who says I was pretending?” Morgan replied darkly. “And who are you supposed to be, exactly? I’m pretty sure I don’t owe anything to some woman off the street. I didn’t ask for your help with anything. You interrupted my nap.” She grimaced at the thought. If only she could nap. If she could take a break from everything for even just an hour, no haze, no hunger, no death blanket. She deflated, tired, in her own way, and ready to be home. Whatever she had wanted to find here, it wasn’t going to turn up today. “And it was kind of funny,” she added sheepishly.

“What do you mean?” Jane said, quickly. Jason had insisted that he was dead even though she couldn’t really see how. He was a functioning human, and suddenly his diet made way more sense than it had during the time they had been together. “You were the one playing a bad joke, and I could very well -” What, arrest her? Public disturbance. Get a slap on the wrist and she’d be out by dinner time. That was an abuse of power and way too much fucking work though. And more importantly, Jane tilted her head slightly. “ - anyway. Are you dead, then? A zombie? Is that what you’re saying?”

“You’re avoiding my question, and I don’t think there’s anything against laying on the sand before dark,” Morgan said with a huff. She backed away from the woman, arms folded over her chest. “I’m--I’m a what now?” She laughed, shrill and nervous in a way that she really, really hoped sounded more incredulous. Ha-ha-ha-the-very-IDEA and l-o-l-that’s not REAL! “I’m sorry, what now? You--obviously watch way too many movies. Where would you even come up with something like that, huh?” It was a good thing, at least, that the dead didn’t sweat, because as she scrutinized the jogger, she couldn’t help but feel like she had pushed too hard to seem convincing now.

“Jane Wu. New in town. Police detective.” Jane said, folding her arms over her chest as she stared at Morgan as she started laughing that unconvincing laugh. The kind of laugh that screamed hahahaha I’m definitely not guilty!!! Don’t look at me!!! That kind of laugh. She was now more certain that she was right. That she just found someone else that wasn’t her shitty ex that was like this. Jane held up her hands, defensively. “Whoa, it’s alright, you can save the song and dance.” She reached up moving her hair to show the bite scar on her neck. “See? I’ve uh, met others like you. Clearly. That can do that thing with your arm. And I bet you have no pulse too. Am I correct?”

Oh, stars. A cop. Morgan grimaced and stepped further away again. This was the last person she needed looking into her life. Between the dead magic and living with Deirdre, and toppling into undeath thanks to her best friend, Morgan had plenty to hide. But that, as it turned out, was not her main concern. Jane moved back her hair and revealed a wide scar in the blurry shape of a mouth on her neck. Morgan’s facade fell and she slowly lifted the cuff on her wrist. Their scars weren’t the same, exactly, but there were mottled impressions of human-like teeth, the same hungry shape. “But you’re…” Acting pretty normal. Breathing. She grabbed Jane’s wrist and pressed down hard, searching for a pulse of her own. “A-are you breathing just for the fun of it or what? Are you--not dead yet? How do you know all this then?”

Jane curiously peered at Morgan’s wris. Sure enough, there was the bite mark scarred onto her skin. Jason’s had been on his leg. He never did tell her how he was turned or how he died. HE didn’t tell her a lot of things. Morgan snatched her wrist, pressing down hard on her wrist to find a pulse. “Ouch!” Jane hissed, trying to yank her hand back. “Hey, easy! Use my neck if you want to feel my pulse it’s easier. No, I’m not dead yet. The person that bit me didn’t mean too.” She said, backing up slightly. “He freaked out and told me about it. And showed me.” And then she dumped his ass for good, but that seemed a little too personal. “What’s your name? How long have you been… like this?”

Morgan let go and folded her arms again, guilty for real now. She hadn’t thought she was pressing hard enough to hurt, but there was a red mark on Jane’s skin where her thumb had been, and for all she knew it would be bruising up by the end of the day. “Didn’t--didn’t mean to? What do you mean he didn’t mean to? How do you ‘accidentally’ do this?” Even Remmy who ‘hadn’t meant to’ had still very much meant to. Teeth breaking skin was no joke on the effort-meter. “I’m...Morgan,” she said quietly. “Were you called onto the scene of that crash on Main Street? Some of the debris…” She touched her stomach, remembering the pain. “Someone was with me and they...did this.” She went stiff. Remmy wasn’t something she wanted to think about right now. “I’m sorry about your wrist. I don’t...feel right. I didn’t mean for it to hurt. I...couldn’t tell.”

Jane ran a hand down her face, shaking her head. “It’s - we were - he lost control, for a second, I guess. We were in a relationship.” Jane tried not to think about it, really, it was easier not too. Focusing on living forever and knowing that she could enjoy every ounce of the adrenaline without the fear of death was easier. She wanted that far more than she wanted to be bitter over some spilt relationship. She shook the thoughts off, listening to Morgan, and her heart sank. “No, I wasn’t called to that crash.” That awful crash on Main Street had turned Morgan into this at the last moment. Morgan wasn’t taking it well at all. Jane pressed her lips together in a thin line before waving it off her wrist. “Don’t worry about my wrist, I’ve certainly had worse. You… don’t sound happy. I’m sorry that… this happened to you. If it wasn’t what you wanted.”

“You mean during sex,” Morgan said, her face falling. She hadn’t even thought about that. She’d been too depressed and afraid of Deirdre realizing how different she was to worry about sex. But if Deirdre did somehow want her still or if she did dig up the rest of herself and come back, there was going to be sex. Sex where she might somehow bite her, hurt her with something worse than a bruise that healed in a matter of hours. “Oh-my-god, he bit you during sex, didn’t he. Had he not eaten? Were you doing--I don’t know, other biting type things? Or--” Morgan stopped herself before she got carried away and covered her face, mortified. This was probably not something Jane wanted to talk about. She could only imagine how frightening it must have been. But-- “No,” she said, lowering her hands to look at Jane with disgust. “No I am not happy. And what do you mean ‘if’? Did your boyfriend not explain everything to you? Who would want this? No one should want this!”

“He didn’t exactly explain that bit, it’s a bit of a story,” Jane said, rubbing the spot on her neck. She didn’t get a chance to tell Morgan that everything had been fine until there was blood everywhere, but that was a whole long story. Jane hadn’t even been that bothered, other than trying to stop the bleeding. She’d been laughing at him because he was freaking out. But Morgan’s face turned to disgust, and she realized that she had said the wrong thing to Morgan. Crap. She held her hands up slightly, taking a step back to give her enough space. “He explained everything. I made him. Explain it to me, I mean,” Jane said. She needed to be careful not to upset Morgan - after all, she just died. And she clearly hadn’t wanted to become a zombie to begin with, nor did she have the time to process it like she did. “I’ve accepted what’s going to happen to me when I inevitably die. I -” Jane lowered her hands, cutting herself off with a slight shrug. “I’m going to live forever.”

Morgan stepped away from Jane. She didn’t know if she was insulted or outraged or afraid for her. It was the most feeling she’d had since she died and she didn’t know what to do with it. “I hope you dumped his ass because that is not what this is,” she said. “What, you think this is Twilight for the Walking Dead? This isn’t about forever, Jane. This is death! Have you seen a dead body? That is what we are! I hurt you, Jane, because I can’t feel anything! My death is so thick around me, it’s like I’m being smothered by a goddamn comforter. I can’t even find half the person I used to be right now and I haven’t slept since a fucking rod went through my abdomen and impaled me on the ground. Can you seriously tell me you’ve thought about what it might take to miss something that awful? You don’t know anything. I hope you’re a lot older than me when you do.” She turned away and started up the shore.

Jane wasn’t sure if she should follow Morgan, she seemed fairly angry about the whole thing. Understandable, because this wasn’t what she wanted. She didn’t have the time to decide if that’s what she wanted. After a moment's hesitation, Jane followed up the shore. “I’m sorry,” she said. “That it happened to you.” That’s all there really was to say, though she was certain Morgan didn’t want to hear it. Most didn’t after something bad happened to them. “And you’re right to be angry. You should be. It’s just that I’ve - I’ve done my grieving over what’s to come. It’s been a while since this happened to me.” Hell, if living forever - being around to see how everything changed? That took sacrifice. And it was a sacrifice she was willing to make - well, it was a sacrifice she had no choice in making anymore. Why bother denying the inevitable? Jane patted her pockets for a second. “Hey, wait a second.” Jane asked, catching up. She found one of her cards, and held it out. “It’s my card. If you want to talk more about this... not on a beach after you’ve played a prank on me. Or anything else.”

Morgan stopped at Jane’s call and turned over her shoulder. She took the card and squeezed it between her fingers. She didn’t know if she wanted anything from her or if talking to someone who thought this was all somehow going to be okay would help her feel any better. But she could bring herself to turn the offer away. And-- “Okay, I know I just yelled, but what about the sex thing?” She mumbled, embarrassed at how callous the fixation sounded out loud. “Can we talk about that later too?”

She gave her card to a lot of people - particularly those she knew were going to need more help later. Victims of assault, robberies, etc… This was a little different, but Jane could at least recognize that someone was struggling. “It’s alright that you yelled,” Jane said, shrugging slightly as she stuffed her hands into her pockets. Her eyebrow furrowed slightly. Sex? She wanted to talk about sex? Like in general or to her specific incident. Dear lord. “I - Yes. Of course we can talk about the sex thing,” Jane said carefully. “Contact me any time, I always have my phone on me and I’ll always make time.” She paused for a moment, before adding.” And for the record, I did. Break up with him.”

#para #para morgan #morgan #Beached Zombie #wickedswriting

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irwinkitten · 5 years

Text

knockout round | a.i

(gif credit to @asht0ns-world )

pairing: reader x boxer!ashton notes: so the who do you love video lowkey inspired this. even tho the majority of the video is lowkey pointless, the looks that ashton was giving the camera gave me such a boxer!ash vibe and lets be real i’m a hoe for possessive and jealous ash. thank u to @asht0ns-world @singledadharrington, @gorgeouslygrace, @sugarcoated-pain and @5sosnsfw for letting me throw out my ideas of this and killing you all with the potential plot ideas. also thank u christa for being the best cheerleader, i love u angel. and massive thank u to lena for finding the gif bc my laptop has issues warnings: violence, smut word count: 3.1k!!

---

Boxing had always been apart of Ashton’s life. He’d never really known a part of his life without it.

As a child, his temperament was always short. Teachers called him the problem child and people never wanted to be his friend. But he still managed to find three friends and forge a tight bond with them that people often called them brothers without even realising there was no familial resemblance to the quartet.

When his mother had enrolled him into boxing classes, after expressing an interest in the programs that he watched with his parents, they soon realised that with the lessons that he went to, his anger simmered down and his fuse seemed to get longer with each passing year.

By the time that Ashton had reached his late teens, he was the lightweight champion of the area. As he continued to grow, put on the muscle, and move up in the divisions, he was making a name for himself. He was one that wasn’t to be messed with.

As his name gained traction with the media, so did stories of his childhood, his anger. And he was a lot more honest about his childhood than most boxers.

“I had a good environment. But I have anger issues and I know that I have them. It’s taken years of hard work to get to where I am today, but I know that the driving force has always been my anger. It’s both a blessing and a curse.”

His competitors could never find his achilles heel. His love life was never a subject that he talked or posted about, and despite a few competitors going below the belt and making remarks about his mother that would’ve angered any man, he’d held his cool and then thoroughly beaten them the next day.

When she came into his life, it was steady. She’d just come from a bad relationship, her heart in tatters and the two of them shopping late night. He’d been running for last minute prep and she’d decided to drown her sorrows in alcohol and ice cream. She knew his name, knew his title that he held in the boxing world.

But she didn’t care. All she cared about was he’d picked up the last tub of her favourite ice cream and just at her absolutely defeated look, it prompted him to offer her a deal.

“Let me at least take you out somewhere for the day where we can be kids again. I’ve got some days off coming up anyway.”

His words had prompted the smallest of smiles as she accepted his offer as he handed her the ice cream and she gave him her number, under the stipulation that he wouldn’t be creepy about it.

And despite giving her a mock offended look, he understood her wariness of giving her number to someone who was essentially a complete stranger.

From then on, she became a rock in his life who seemed to have his back regardless. His three friends from childhood who’d all become apart of his management team as he gained status with his boxing, noticed how he was always in better moods, he stuck to the plans before fights and before long the friendship blossomed into a relationship that he was protective of.

But of course, whilst in the media spotlight, he knew that keeping such a relationship quiet was always going to be impossible.

But the day that it’d been announced that he was against her ex, the very one who left her a broken woman in the ice cream aisle, he knew that this fight was going to be important, whether she acknowledged it or not, this was payback for hurting the beautiful woman he was resolutely in love with.

He’d never been so revved for a match before.

Ashton knew that she was worried, that her bottom lip would be shredded beyond belief from her teeth. But he wasn’t.

Dean Martin has gone the wrong way to rile him up, to use his girl as verbal bait. And hearing the derogatory terms, Ashton wasn’t too sure if he was grateful that Calum’s hand on his bicep reminded him where he was, or if he was still annoyed over it.

He was certainly annoyed that the hand turned into a restraining arm when Martin had made a comment of bedding his girl, with or without her permission. He’d seen red and as rage flooded his body, his muscles locked up, ready to pound the fucker down.

Calum had hastily pulled Ashton away from his opponent, opting to keep the distance between them so that Ashton wouldn’t be tempted to knock Martin out before the match.

The headlines went wild with those shots and the look of undiluted rage on Ashton’s features. People were very quickly realising that even he has his limits and Dean Martin had managed to break those limits clean.

Being with her before the match, his hands were firmly around her waist as she stood between his legs. Despite his trainer telling him no distractions, she was never a distraction. Only an anchor. And right now he needed to ground himself because the last thing he wanted to do was lose this fight to someone like Dean Martin.

“Baby, you’ve got this fight in the bag.” She hummed softly, her lips ghosting across his cheek. Ashton sighed.

“I hate the fact that it’s your ex I’m fighting.” He finally admitted and she sighed, her fingers running through his hair. His eyes fell shut of their own accord, her touch soothing the rage that was bubbling under the surface. Martin’s comments still rang in his ears.

“He wasn’t a good man. You’re the better man, better partner.” The words were soft, almost caressing his soul and he felt reassured.

“Only because of you, sweet girl. I’m better because of you.” Her lips curved up into a wry grin as she leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

“I’m proud of you Ash. You’ve got this fight in the bag, and if that boy tries what he did for the weigh in, I won’t be angry or upset. Lord knows you’ve told me time and again that anyone disrespecting me within earshot of you will earn them either a verbal lashing or a physical one depending on their words.” Her tone was teasing, reminding him that she wouldn’t be angry with him.

It’d been an issue at first, his verbal and physical responses to people being either disrespectful or derogatory about his girl. But only when he told her his reasons, how he was raised to respect a woman, regardless of any kinds of relationship, she understood that it was something that he could tone down but not necessarily control.

And they compromised on it. He tried to keep it to verbal smackdowns, and only if someone threw the first punch, did he defend himself. His reputation grew within months and soon when they’d been together for two years, he was at the top of his career.

“Irwin, ten minutes. Your girl needs to go.” Calum had re-entered the locker room, giving her a brief smile. “Seats for you are close to ringside. He’s on the blue corner.” She nodded, pressing another gentle kiss to his forehead before making her way, ruffling Calum’s hair as she did.

Ashton laughed at the disgruntled look on Calum’s face and he could feel his body begin to gear as he did the last minute stretches.

“Martin’s going to hit hard and fast. You need to be swift. Don’t use everything you have until he starts to wear down.” Ashton nodded, focusing on the aspect of the fight, rather than who he was fighting. He couldn’t let his anger cloud his judgement or moves, not so early on into the match.

Calum was soon hustling him to the entrance corner, both of them knocking fists together before he rushed ahead to prep his area. As the music began playing, he pulled the silk robe on, the hood falling just over his eyes as he made his way out, loud screams causing a smirk to slip on his features as he began the walk through, Luke and Michael following behind at this point and keeping people on the floor seats from mobbing him.

Martin was stood scowling, doing a last minute stretch as his gloves were being put on. Once Ashton was in the ring, Calum was there, pulling the robe off and getting the gloves onto his wrapped up hands.

“Remember, you might be fucking angry with him, but I swear to god Irwin, if you let this fucker beat you, I’ll kick your ass myself.” This caused Ashton to crack a smile before Calum put the mouth guard in and Ashton went and met the ref in the middle. He and Martin touched gloves before the bell went and the first swing came from Martin, aiming for the jaw, causing Ashton to bend backwards to avoid getting clocked.

The noise was deafening and Ashton knew his focus was slipping as Martin landed in some good punches. It was getting close and he could feel himself dropping as he lost the round, his lip bloody and a cut on his cheek, half staggering back to Calum who seemed to be trying his best not to berate him.

But then she was there beside Calum, her hands on his cheeks once he’d been checked over.

“Do me proud, Ashton Fletcher. I know you can beat him.” And his second wind came as the next round got ready.

“Gonna let your bitch lean over for me later when I win? It’s all she ever really was good for.” The comment was crass, but the fuse was lit.

“Irwin, don’t let anger cloud your judgement here.” Calum snapped harshly. The last thing they needed was his focus to be lost, but if anything, his focus was sharpening. And he could feel the anger bubble under his skin.

“C’mon Irwin. Make sure to share the spoils. I mean, she’s second hand goods, surely you’re not still with her?” Ashton’s eyes caught hers and he could see she’d heard his calls. His fuse seemingly got shorter as he gave her a reassuring smile, taking the offered water and taking a few seconds to calm his racing heart.

“How about this, I share her with some buddies and drop her back to you. She might be in reasonable condition if she doesn’t fight like she used to. Always feisty until I got her to see sense, if you catch my drift.” The smirk on Martin’s lips as the words left his mouth snapped something inside of Ashton and the anger that had been bubbling, flooded.

And he was furious.

The bell went and Ashton immediately had Martin on his back foot, unable to even get close for a hit as Ashton’s fists repeatedly went for him, reminding himself to not murder his opponent.

It didn’t take long before there became a real look of fear in Martin’s eyes and Ashton felt no ounce of sympathy as he landed a knockout and the crowd roared in approval. It didn’t take long before the last round was won and his arm was being raised, a bruised rib protesting as he was handed the belt and his lips curved into the widest smirk.

Martin was lucky to get away with the injuries that he got. Two visible black eyes, a few cuts and Ashton was almost certain he managed to at least fracture a rib with the force of his hit at one point. Part of him wished that he broke something clean but he’d take what he could get in this fight. Knowing that he’d gotten what he deserved, settled the anger to a simmer, the adrenaline still flooding his body.

As he exited the ring, he couldn’t stop himself from pulling his girl into his side, his lips meeting hers in a soft, sweet kiss, ignoring the disappointed noises. Once he pulled away, his gaze moved to Martin, staring at him out, his grip only getting marginally tighter until he left the opposite side.

Ashton retreated back to his side, his arms still firmly around her as the medic double checked the rib to make sure it was only bruised and not broken, before clearing him to go and get cleaned up.

She didn’t protest as he pulled her with, her back pressed against the cold tiles as his lips met her neck, the hot water beating down on his back.

“All mine to care for, to love on.” He murmured against her skin, lips and teeth gently pulling at the skin. Her fingers lifted up to run through his hair, gripping the damp strands gently.

“All yours.” She whispered in return, a sharp gasp escaping as his lips had moved to her breasts, his teeth pulling on one nipple carefully as his hand worked the other. She was whining softly, his name escaping occasionally.

His lips moved from her breasts, trailing down as he got to his knees, a whine escaping her lips.

“Shouldn’t it be me rewarding you, handsome?” He shook his head at her words, moving her fingers back to his hair.

“All about you tonight, doll.” She was about to argue, but his tongue licked a stripe up her folds, a startled noise escaping her instead as she gripped his hair, his lips attaching to her clit. He worked two fingers inside of her as he nipped and sucked on her clit, the noises were somewhat beautiful sounds to his ears as she got closer to her orgasm.

Her fingers got tighter around his hair as she called out his name, his lips immediately beginning a journey back up her body slowly sliding his fingers out as he stood up, lifting his fingers to her lips, tapping them gently.

They parted under his touch and her tongue swirled around his digits, a groan escaping his lips as she cleaned them. He wasted no time as he pulled them free, his lips meeting hers as he lined up against her entrance.

“You’re far too good to me, princess.” He groaned as he slid in, her legs lifting off the ground to wrap around his waist. His hands immediately moved to cup her ass as his hips began to move against hers, moans escaping the both of them.

He knew that he wasn’t going to last too long, not with the protesting rib, so one hand slid from her ass, moving to her clit as he picked up his pace. Her words were half begging, incoherent as he brought her closer and closer to the edge.

As she came, her eyes falling shut, his head dropped to her shoulder as he reached his own orgasm, her name tumbling from his lips like a prayer, her fingers still working through his hair, their breathing heavy as he pressed gentle kisses on the marks he’d left on her skin.

“I love it when you mark me like that. I know I’m always yours, but seeing them, just sets my insides on fire.” She murmured as he pulled out from her, finally allowing her under the stream of hot water. She kept her hair from the stream of the water as she allowed it to hit her skin.

“Just as I’m yours, sweet girl. I’m sorry if I hurt you though.” His fingers ghosted across the red marks left by his fingers, and she shook her head at him.

“You of all people know that I love seeing them.” She murmured as she reached over, taking the shampoo and working it into his hair. His eyes fell shut at her ministrations and didn’t argue with her. She always told him she loved seeing the marks, but sometimes it didn’t stop the guilt flooding him.

He worked the shower gel along her body as she conditioned his hair. They worked in silence until she’d gotten the suds of the shower gel off his body. His hands switched the water off as her lips slowly moved across from his shoulder, along his collarbone before finding the junction of his neck and shoulder, trailing her lips along the column of his throat.

A soft noise escaped his lips as she reached his jaw, before her lips reached his once more, her hands taking a hold of his head, her palms firmly planted against his cheeks. He knew better than to look away from her when she was this determined.

“I love you, Ashton Irwin, and that won’t ever change. We have words for a reason, and you know I use them. Please don’t beat yourself up, sweetheart.” His lips met hers briefly before a sigh escaped.

“Sorry angel.”

“Your forgiven. Now, we need to get ready and head back home. I know that the boys will want to at least spend a quiet night in celebrating with you.” Her voice held amusement, knowing that despite her want for the two of them to continue their own celebrations, the other three would deliberately ruin that.

Ashton laughed.

“They’re too frightened to cross you, y’know. If you said that you were taking me home, they wouldn’t argue.” He commented as the two stepped from the shower and dried off. She lifted her shoulders into a shrug as she got re-dressed.

“I know, but I don't want them bitching at me, because I want days with you, not just a few hours. So they get the few hours and then I get days. And they know better than to show up unannounced after a match.” The grin that she wore made him laugh as he got dressed.

Once they were ready, his hand slid into hers, fingers interlacing as they headed out back to the waiting cars to get the two of them home. Michael was the first to throw his arm across Ashton’s shoulders as they trio caught up with the two.

“So, we’re drinking at yours then?” She raised an eyebrow pointedly at Ashton, Michael’s words simply proving her point. He rolled his eyes before grinning.

“Of course. M’lookin’ forward to the headlines that are gonna come out from this fight.” Calum laughed as he threw his own arm around her shoulders.

“They’re gonna point out how no one can seemingly knock you down. You’re like a rock.” Luke teased and Ashton rolled his eye as Michael moved his arm from his friends shoulders.

Once they reached his place, the other three didn’t protest as she helped check him over before all but ordering him to put his feet up. The others were about to make a comment, but one look stopped the thoughts dead in their tracks and she received sheepish smiles in return as she finally settled into his good side.

It was worth it all in her eyes.

---

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365daysofsasuhina · 5 years

Text

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Three Hundred Forty-Nine: He Walked Past ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: A Light Amongst Shadows ] [ AO3 Link ]

Every day, without fail, Uchiha Sasuke walks to the training grounds on the outskirts of Konoha to practice the shinobi arts. He’s done so since his release from the hospital, and even before the massacre, his habitual training was intense for one his age. But as the years have passed, and his graduation date grows ever nearer, his hours at the dusty, well-worn swathes of ground have been growing.

...but he’s not the only one.

Since the loss of her title, Hinata has also called the training fields home more often than not. Her clan, of course, has several of the nicest dojos in the village, thanks entirely to their rather hefty coffers. The Hyūga want for very little, and their pride means investing in having the grandest of any comparable object.

But there’s a few reasons why Hinata prefers the training grounds of the village itself. Mostly is the privacy. No risk of being walked in on, and no feeling of being constantly watched: hard to avoid within the Hyūga compound...especially given that judgemental gazes have only increased upon her over the years since her defeat by Hanabi.

Partially, however, it’s a feeling of being...unremarkable. She’s hardly actually here alone, after all - plenty of shinobi come and go through the multitudes of training spaces day by day. But here, she isn’t just the disgraced Hyūga ex-heiress. No...she’s just another Academy student here to practice her taijutsu, maybe some bukijutsu if she feels up to it. No one’s eyes linger on her, judging and sneering. Here, she’s unnoticed. Just how she wants it.

Sasuke, on the other hand...doesn’t have that respite. Instead, it’s here, among the rest of the village’s population, that he’s the most recognized.

The last of the Uchiha.

Even Hinata can’t help timid glances when he walks by, pausing in her routine to subtly follow him with her eyes. Unlike most of the girls in their class, she isn’t as charmed by his appearance or cold exterior. She’s never really understood why they seem to romanticise it. After all, she can still remember when they first met, when the Academy began that April several years ago. He’d been a bright, if not slightly shy boy eager to learn, and full of hope for a future as a shinobi like his brother and father.

...but now, his only drive is vengeance born of a loss so monumental, Hinata doesn’t even dare pretend to comprehend it.

...why the other girls suddenly found him so alluring once he’d suffered so much...she just can’t understand.

Of course, she has her own fallacies in logic: like trailing after a boy who wants nothing to do with her. But she can’t help but find Naruto’s resistance inspiring. While she only knows bits and pieces of why he’s so alone...she also knows that - in spite of it all - he keeps his head up. And with her own challenges to face, and her own insecurities to overcome...she can’t help but idolize him.

Him. Not his losses. It’s about his perseverance, his tenacity, his refusal to let what ails him drag him down into their depths...as she’s so often felt tempted to do.

But that’s not how the girls see Sasuke. They don’t offer sympathy, or empathy. They all want something from him. Attention, affection...neither of which he seems in any way wanting to give. Their shallow vying for his time grates on her...but she’s never had the courage to say anything. Sakura, Ino...they’re popular. Loud. Assured. If they were to turn on her...well, it wouldn’t be pretty. And Hinata already has the weight of her clan’s disappointment resting on her shoulders. She’s not sure she can bear much more.

All of this goes through her head as he goes by, her stance losing its rigidity and instead just...wilting loosely, somberly. It’s all so unfair, isn’t it…?

...but what can she do? What can any of them do? Children with burdens beyond their means tied to their ankles as they try to stay afloat. Those like Ino...those like Sakura...they don’t know that weight. And though Hinata finds herself frustrated with them...she could never wish that knowing upon them.

It would be cruel.

“Oi.”

Startled from her thoughts, Hinata actually staggers back half a step, heart leaping up her throat with a gasp. Wide, pearly eyes stare openly at her addresser.

It’s...Sasuke?

“S...Sasuke-kun…?”

“You have the Byakugan, right?”

“Um...y-yes…?” Why does her reply sound more like a question? He’s never really spoken to her directly before.

“I need your help.”

Blinking, she watches him turn around and start walking, not even giving her a chance to acquiesce. Not...that she has any reason not to, but he seems to just assume she’ll help.

After a brief pause...she follows.

He leads her to a training ground several over from her own. Like her typical spot, it’s partially nestled in the treeline, hidden from most angles (and other training nin). It’s a spot with several targets set into the trees for kunai and shuriken training. “I was trying a new technique that got out of hand. Several of my knives went off-course, and I’m having trouble finding them in the underbrush. Can you see them?”

There’s a moment to take in his words. They’re so...blunt and to the point. It reminds her of her father’s speech, wasting no time and inflected with little to no emotion. “...um...I-I should be able to…” Taking a steadying breath, she lets chakra build, rushing to the pathways leading to her eyes, which swell with energy as her dōjutsu activates.

Immediately, the world is shifted into an inverted black and white, images and energies outlined and layered. Without moving her eyes in her sockets, Hinata scans the area.

There’s...actually a lot of random gear out here. Kunai, shuriken, senbon...even a sai blade lost and abandoned in the overgrowth. Hinata can’t help but blink in surprise.

“...well?”

“Um...there’s q-quite a few. I...I’m not sure which are yours? There’s...weapons everywhere…”

That gets him to frown. “...really?”

“Yes, a-all sorts. Um...I guess I’ll just...s-show you the kunai…”

“Wait.”

She pauses.

“...we can pick it all up. Someone might get hurt.”

Shock holds her in place for a long moment. He...he wants to…? But it’ll take much longer than just finding what he’s lost.

Understanding then gets her to soften.

...maybe parts of him are still the same.

“...all right.”

With Hinata’s eyes and both of their hands, they scavenge up every piece of equipment in the area, ending up with a rather impressive pile. Some has been here so long, it’s all rusted over. The pair bend over their hoard curiously before glancing to each other.

“...w-what should we do with all of this…?”

Sasuke seems to mull it over. “...dunno.” He reaches in, taking up a few senbon, having already claimed the kunai he recognized. “Is there someone we can tell about all this? People might be looking for their gear...or at least someone might be able to use most of this if no one claims it.”

“T-that’s true. Um…” Reaching into her leg pouch, Hinata withdraws a scroll gifted by one of Neji’s teammates. “We could seal it in here, and t-take it to the administration building.”

“You know about seals?”

“Just...just a little bit.” Tenten hasn’t exactly given her private lessons, given the strained relationship between the cousins. “It’ll be easier than carrying it all by hand.”

After a short while sealing up all the blades, needles, and stars, Hinata stands awkwardly for a moment. Is she...supposed to take it by herself? Or is he going to invite himself along? There isn’t much left to do but turn it in, and...surely he wants to get back to training.

“I don’t know what department to take it to…”

“M-me neither. Is there...a lost and found?”

“No idea...guess we can ask.”

‘We’. Not ‘you’, implying she won’t be going alone. Well...all right then. Scroll in hand, Hinata just...makes her way back toward the village and into the administration building. An obliging chūnin listens to their story, and he points them to a desk for missing items.

“So, this is all unsorted weaponry?”

“Y-yes. We, um...we found it all in the training grounds. Some might not be...worth anything. But we didn’t want it to injure anyone unaware.”

The attendant tucks it away after giving the scroll a label. “Good thinking, you two. We try to do sweeps for lost or forgotten supplies, but things always get missed. Guess we might have to start relying on some Hyūga to help!”

At that, Hinata goes a bit pink, bowing sheepishly as they retreat, deed done.

“Thanks for the help.”

“Y...you’re welcome. I’m glad we found them, and...all that other stuff.”

“Least the lady seemed happy about it. And no students will fall and hurt themselves on a dropped blade.”

“That, um…” Hinata pauses, seeing him glance to her. “...that was a g-good idea.”

“Just trying to think ahead.”

...an awkward silence blooms.

“W...well, you probably want to get back to training, so…”

“Not heading back?”

“It, um...it’s getting a little late. I don’t want to get in trouble.” She avoids directly mentioning her father, conscious of how it might make Sasuke feel. “I can always go back tomorrow.”

“Mm…” He hums in response before adding, “...I’ll probably see you there.”

“Y...yeah.”

“Maybe one of these days we could spar.”

“...eh?”

“Never gone up against someone who can use Jūken,” he replies, a hint of a grin on his face. “Might be...interesting.”

At that, Hinata can’t help but go a little pink. “I...I’m not the b-best at it…”

“Then consider it practice. If you want.”

She hesitates...but then nods. “...a-all right.”

“Cool. See you then, Hyūga.”

“Y...you can call me Hinata!” she calls after him, earning nothing but a wave over his shoulder.

...well, that wasn’t how she expected today to go.

.oOo.

I keep telling myself to make these a little shorter to make it a little easier...and yet I keep overshooting my word count goal xD Anyway, some canon verse stuff! Genin era (or...right before it) cuz I love writing them as kiddos. This'd probably be in my team seven!Hinata AU. I just...I'm thirsty for Sasuke and Hinata interacting in canon. Like at all. YOU LEFT ME HANGING, KISHI. ...*sighs* Anywho, I gotta get to bed, so...that's all for now - thanks for reading!

#sasuhina #uchiha sasuke #hyūga hinata #a light amongst shadows [ canon verse ]#365daysofsasuhina

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poisxnyouth · 6 years

Text

neighbors. chapter three. (d.d)

A/N: Okay so hi!!! This is part 3. Not much to say about it except I hope you like it and my inbox is always open for criticism. love u thank u queenies lmk what u think xoxo -hailey (ps thank you to @alrightinbed-betterwithapen for always proofreading my shit I love u bitch)

Warnings: liiiiggghhhtttt smut, cursing, that’s about it?

WC: 3.1k!

Natalie is the one who opens the door, searching you and David’s eyes for any idea of how well the date went. His hand finds the small of your back, gently leading you inside for a quick second before removing it. It was small and quick, but enough to catch Natalie’s eyes and tell her it went better than he had planned it to. He watches as you greet your friends, introducing him to Tessa and Sienna through overwhelming hugs and tear-filled eyes.

Natalie seizes the opportunity to speak to him as you, Tessa, Francine, and Sienna have a quick catch up.

“It went well, then?” He nods quickly, trying to brush it off, not really wanting to speak on the topic.

“What did you guys do?”

“Dinner, milkshakes, she showed me around, some shopping. You know, the regular.”

“Did you guys kiss?”

“Natalie, I don’t want to talk about it. Not right now, anyway.” Natalie knows him well enough to take it as a yes.

“Why? You just said it went well.”

“I just – not with them here, I guess. It just feels weird,” he feels like he’s imposing on you and your friends, and it’s obvious. For a moment, he wishes there was another guy around, even with how close he is with Natalie. David keeps fidgeting with his hands, rubbing them together or fiddling with the rings on his fingers, standing awkwardly while whispering to her. He seems misplaced.

Your friends are tearing into you about him, asking nearly the same questions as Natalie. They’re whispering, all four of you huddled together, ‘Did he pay? Did you kiss? Is that what the thud was? It was so loud! We need details, Y/N!’

“Yes, he paid. Yes, we kissed. Yes. I’ll tell you later when he leaves,” You hurriedly make an effort to answer them, not wanting to draw attention to the gossiping taking place as you cut your eyes between David and them.

You attempt to compose yourself, pushing your hair out of your face and turning back to Natalie and David, inviting them to sit down and talk.

“Actually, I think I’m okay, Y/N. I’m really tired, I haven’t slept in like, two days, I think I might just go to the room,” he replies as you nod.

“Oh, okay! No worries. You should sleep,” it’s awkward among the 4 other girls witnessing the conversation, their eyes flickering between the faces of the other girls, looking for reactions, and you and David’s eyes.

“Yeah, um, Natalie, you coming with?” Natalie shakes her head no, promising she’ll most likely be at the room later. He nods.

“Here, I’ll um, I’ll walk you – “

“You really don’t have to, I can find it – “

“It’s fine, Dave, it’s dark,” you respond, not thinking about the nickname as you pull your coat back on. You’d caught on to the name quickly, hearing Natalie saying it countless times over the past couple days. He doesn’t think twice about it, either.

“I’ll be back in a little bit,” you insist, David following you through the door and out of the apartment. The door clicks shut and his fingers are immediately finding yours, not tangling them together entirely before he pulls his hand away.

“Why are you so awkward around them?” you question, trying not to think about the move he just pulled. He just shrugs in response, muttering something about not knowing them so he doesn’t know how to act. You keep casual conversation with him the entire walk out of Francine’s apartment building, down the few blocks to his hotel, and up to his room. He continues to do the same thing the entire walk: intertwining your fingers for a few seconds before pulling away, only to repeat the action in thirty seconds. Their dancing almost makes you anxious.

“Do you wanna come in?” he questions as you reach his door.

“I don’t know, David…They’re waiting on me.” You want to, you just wanted to make an excuse.

“10 minutes?” He’s turned to you now, hands finding his wallet as he searches for the key. You nod, feeling stupid. You’re a grown, educated woman and he’s making you feel like a teenager. Not necessarily in the stupidly in love aspect, more so in the I literally don’t know how to act around him aspect. The feeling is odd to you; your job is to, practically, be able to adequately communicate with an audience, just like his, so for him to make you speechless outside of his hotel room is staggering. You can’t tell what it says about yourself.

You had thought the mixed signals were on their way out, but he’s began to confuse you again. Between his awkward presence in the middle of Francine’s carefully picked carpet to his unwillingness to fully hold your hand. You feel stupid, again, as you pick up on these clues.

He fumbles with the door lock and key, holding it open for you.

You wish you were surprised as the door clicks shut and his hands find your waist, lips pressing against yours. You allow it to occur, but you set the mental boundary as your fingers tangle in his hair that this is as far as you’re going to go tonight. He pushes it further, not quite enough to initiate sex, but enough to allow his hands to wander.

“David,” you say against his lips, “what’s up with you?” He pulls away, hands still on you as he gives you a surprised look.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean – I just – you must love mixed signals,” you watch as his eyebrows continue to scrunch together, head cocking to the side, “You’re like, holding my hand and kissing me one second and unable to keep your hands off of me and the next you’re acting all weird and staying on the opposite side of the room.” He pulls you closer again, eyes flickering between your eyes and lips.

“Maybe I just want this to be between us,” he continues, voice low as he begins to lean in. You roll your eyes.

“David, be honest,” you’re pushing your hand against his chest lightly, “Are you just trying to get laid? That’d be fine, just say it.” He fully steps away now, plopping himself on the bed.

“What?” he scoffs, “No! I mean. I like you, it’s just confusing ‘cause we just met yesterday. I mean, like, if we fucked right now, I wouldn’t be upset or anything, but I’d definitely be bummed out if it ruined any chance of me going on more dates with you.”

“But?”

“But…I just got out of a pretty nasty break up. Well, not just, but still. Still hurts, I guess.” You place yourself down next to him.

“How long ago?”

“A year.”

“Jesus. How long were you together?”

“Two years.” You want to touch him, to hold his hand, but you don’t. It doesn’t seem like your place, especially on the first date. You still barely know the guy.

“You don’t have to feel guilty about moving on, you know?” you gently remind him, pushing your shoulder against his playfully.

“I think it’s just cause of how we broke up. Like, we broke up because she says she needed to focus on herself. And I respect that, but that thought is in my head, like, I guess this is selfish, but it wasn’t me that was the issue, you know? Like, if she wants to come back to me, she will.”

“Okay, Dave,” you stand, not wanting to be a therapist for a heartbroken boy you’re on a date with, “you need to get your shit together. I mean it. I won’t go on another date with you until you do.”

“What? Why?”

“Seriously?” you deadpan, “I mean this in the best way possible: I don’t want to continue dating someone who is still not over their ex. I won’t let myself. It’s a disservice to both me and you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he nods in agreement, hand over his mouth, but it seems as though he’s trying to convince himself that you’re right. David stands now as you head for the door, opening it to let yourself out, getting right outside the door as he grabs your wrist.

“Hey,” he’s leaning against the door frame, arm above his head as he runs his fingers through his hair, other hand still clasped around your wrist. You wish you could see it forever. “One more kiss? Just for keepsies? And get-my-shit-togethersies?”

You lean in, giving him a peck before turning to leave once more.

“That doesn’t count! You know what I mean.” He tugs on your wrist once more. You roll your eyes at his desperation, turning and leaning in again as he moves his palm from your wrist to your face, cold Cartier rings pressing against the side of your neck. He reeks of young money and it makes you melt against him. You wish you knew why, you’d been surrounded by young money your entire life. New York was young money, you were young money, your parents were young money when you had been born. But he wasn’t born into it. He earned every cent he has to his name. The thought of him continuing to spend it on you drives you crazy.

“Y/N,” he pulls away, saying, almost too loudly, “If I fuck you right now, and then I get my shit together, can we still go on more dates?” David pulls away slightly, eyes following the thumb rubbing against your lips, sliding against your tongue as you look up at him, nodding. You know you should object, you should push him away and tell him, again, to get his shit together but you physically can’t. He looks too nonchalant, too beautiful, to be making out with you in the hallway of his hotel.

These situations always brought problems into your life. You should be accustomed to them by now.

“Cool,” he says lamely, pulling you inside the room as he closes the door, pressing you against it.

“You’re such a fucking pussy,” you’re laughing at him as he starts to leave desperate wet kisses down your throat, decidedly ignoring your comment.

“Tell me if you don’t want me to-“

“I got it, David. I know.”

“I’m just saying…You never know,” He mumbles into your neck before he leans up and kisses you again, chasing the taste of his own lips. He tugs your coat off, mouth still on yours as his fingertips start running over the intricate beading on the waist of your dress. He had bought it for you, giving you and Francine one of his cards before you went your separate ways. You had planned to just switch out his card with your own, but he pulled up to the Saks register just as you did, hovering over you two to ensure you used it. You had felt bad about it at the time, but as you feel his fingers find the zipper and tug down, you never want to feel anything else.

He pulls the shoulders of your dress down, warm hands pushing down the lengths of your arms as he continues kissing you. You hear yourself make a noise from the back of your throat, and he immediately becomes cocky, pulling your hips to his, off the door entirely. You feel a hand leave you, other remaining on your waist. You whine as he pulls away, head leaning over your shoulder as you hear him double lock the door.

“Daviiiiiid,” you hate how desperate you sound, “off, off, off…” you mutter, tugging at his jacket and shirt.

“Slow down,” he says, oddly cool, “Let me get this off first.” He unzips the rest of your dress as you kick your heels off, making you substantially shorter than him.

“What happened to ‘being tired’?” you question, threading your fingers through his hair, tugging slightly as he works on the buttons.

“Stop talking,” he orders, “Why’d you have to get such a hard fucking dress? How long did it take you to get into this damn thing? Zippers and buttons?”

You open your mouth to answer before he cuts you off, “Don’t answer that.” His fingers finally get it, allowing you to step out of the dress as he leads you to the bed.

He takes his jacket off now as you perch yourself on the edge of the bed. He doesn’t seem angry, or even turned on. You feel small, still like a teenager as you wait for him. He’s emptying his pockets on the hotel desk, back turned to you. You hear a small fuck escape his lips as he turns to you.

“I don’t have a condom,” he admits. “It’s fine. I’m not fucking you without one, though.”

“I mean, I’m clean but I don’t want to do that either.” He goes to sit next to you on the bed before you get up to locate your purse, digging through it to maybe find the damned thing that would continue your night with him.

“You really want me to fuck you, huh?” He laughs at your disgruntled ‘shut up’ and your groan of frustration when you have no luck in your search.

“It’s fine,” he promises, “We’ll get some tomorrow. Come here. I’ll eat you out.”

“You don’t have to,” you say, despite it being the very opposite of what you mean. His comment about the next day throws you off; since he couldn’t fuck you now, was he promising he would make sure to before you leave New York? Or maybe after that, in LA? You throw your purse to the floor before making your way to him. He looks too pure as he pulls you onto his lap, attaching your mouths again, allowing his hands to roam. You feel his fingertips graze your spine, and he smiles into your kiss as you shiver. David begins his trek down your neck, fiddling with your bra clasp.

“Fuck, I’m so bad at these.”

“Okay, casanova. Slow down,” you bend your arms to help him, quickly unfastening the hooks and eyes. You manage to throw your bra on the floor as he turns you over, fingers lacing with yours as he makes his way down, eyes looking up at you. He’s going painfully slow, hands slowly leaving yours, taking his time.

He eventually meets your thighs, arms wrapped around your legs with his hands resting on your stomach. David dots kisses up and down the inside of both of your thighs, beginning at the knee.

“David, I swear to God, if you don’t-“

“Slow down, casanova,” he retorts, fingers reaching for the waistband of your underwear.

“I’m buying you new underwear,” he promises.

“Hey!” you swat at his head as he smiles up at you, “What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing, I just wanna buy you some,” David pulls it down your legs, allowing them to drop to the floor, “For later.” He pushes your legs further apart, wrapping one arm around your thighs.

“You have to get your shit together first before we-“ He inserts a finger into you without warning, looking up to you for permission, just to be safe. You give him a soft go ahead.

“Fuck, hold on, sorry,” he takes his finger out, and you begin to wonder how often he gets laid if he always stops and starts like this. You then see him forcing his rings off his fingers, taking your hands in his as he slides them on yours instead. They’re too big. You might have to buy yourself some.

“Safe keeping,” he promises, returning to settle between your parted thighs and inserting two fingers inside of you now. You don’t look at him as you feel his tongue push against you, his free hand reaching to grab at your breast. He sucks your clit into his mouth every few moments, fingers leaving you briefly to gather your wetness before returning.

“Hooooly fuck,” he breathes, marveling at how wet you are, your hands now tangled into his hair.

“Daviiiiid, David, fuck.”

He continues his actions until you come, pushing repeatedly against your bundle of nerves as you buck your hips against him. It forces him to push your hips down with his entire forearm, attempting to keep you steady.

“Are they, like, okay?” Natalie, Francine, Sienna, and Tessa are now pushing the elevator button of Nat and David’s hotel.

“Neither of them are responding to their texts, I’m worried,” Nat says. Most of her believes you’re still together, hanging out in the room, but it’s eating at her. It’d been almost 2 hours since you’d bid your goodbyes.

“They’re not fucking, right? Y/N doesn’t really do that, though,” Tessa asks, looking for confirmation from the other girls.

“Oh, absolutely not. David would never fuck on the first date,” Natalie responds, inspecting her key card to press the elevator button with the corresponding floor. The rest of the girls pile in after her, making small talk.

They reach the floor and pile out once more, reading signs directing them to her room.

The girls round the corner, before shooing each other and peeking their heads around the corner.

You and David are stood in his doorframe, full-fledged making out. They see him pull you closer by your head before he leans out.

“Y/N, if I fuck you right now, and then I get my shit together, can we still go on more dates?” He says it too loudly, the girls are able to hear it from down the hallway as Natalie gasps.

“Oh my fucking God! He’s such a whore!” Natalie whispers exasperatedly, all 4 girls’ eyes on you, waiting for your reaction.

They watch as you nod at him, narrating, “Jesus Christ! SHE’S a whore too?”

“Maybe the date went better than they let on?” Tessa offers.

“You think?” The 3 girls turn to her, looking at her as if she’s stupid. She throws her hands up in response, head still peeking over the corner.

“Cool,” he says, and Natalie scoffs, complaining about how lame he is. The door shuts and they hear a thud on the opposite side of the door.

“I mean, I guess we know where they are now?” Sienna suggests.

“Ugh, there’s one bed in that room! And they’re going to fuck in it! I have to sleep in that later!” Natalie complains, “Should we like, wait and see what happens?”

“That feels creepy, but I kind of want to,” Francine replies, shrugging her shoulders.

“Francine, you’re weird. Let’s just go, she’ll tell us what happened if he won’t,” Sienna responds, fixing the purse thrown over her shoulder.

They leave as they hear him double lock the door.

#david dobrik fic #david dobrik x y/n #david dobrik x reader #david dobrik x you #david dobrik #natalie mariduena #vlog squad fanfic #vlog squad imagine #vlog squad fic #vlog squad #david dobrik smut #PHEW #YAY #I HOPE U LIKE IT #IM KINDA PROUD OF IT

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lets-just-daydream · 6 years

Note

Alright I'm here to bring the angst. If you're up to it can we please see McCree with a crush on a reader but she already has a boyfriend, BUT he notices that boyfriend makes her cry and notices questionable marks (but can't prove them)? How does he handle it? Does he try to stay out of whats not his business, does he save the day? You're my favorite writer thanks so much for always writing for us! Sorry if it's too specific..I understand it may not be that interesting so whatever you want

You’re so kind! Thanks for requesting. I hope you enjoy! (I think I went a lil overboard with this but it was fun to write so I have no regrets)

You choked back tears as you applied an extra, heavier layer of makeup onto the bruise above your eyebrow. The discoloured marks were getting harder to mask, but you feared what would happen should anybody find out what your boyfriend did to you.

You gave yourself a quick once over in the mirror and wiped the tears away, lest they ruin your makeup. You crept past the still sleeping form of your boyfriend, fear overcoming your senses as he shifted and rolled onto his side.

Once you were safely outside, you let yourself breathe a sigh of relief and you made your way to work.

Most people hated going to work and longed for the clock to signal that it was time to go home. You on the other hand, work was your sanctuary. You longed for the time you could get to work and dreaded when the hour struck to go home. You had been told that you couldn’t continue doing so much over time, do you got in as early as possible without getting caught and leaving as late as you could. This was your life in the hands of an abusive monster.

But you loved him. He always swore that this was the last time and always showered you with praise and love after you finished crying and unlocking the bathroom. You were sure he didn’t mean it. He loved you, after all.

You arrived to work and went to your desk, setting up for the day.

“Hey there,” came the familiar voice of Jesse McCree, the funny cowboy who also came in early on occasion. He never questioned why you came in so early after the first time he asked. You had started crying and he freaked out, guilt racking him. You never explained why, and he never pressed the issue, but he knew something wasn’t right.

“Good morning, Mr. McCree,” you said, giving him a polite nod.

“Now, you know I hate it when you call me that. Please, just call me Jesse,” he chastised.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Mc- Jesse,” you stammered. “Sorry,” you concluded in a whisper. He looked at you, a frown etching his features.

“Are you alright? If ther-” his sentence was interrupted by your mobile ringing. You glanced down at the screen to see that your boyfriend was calling. Fear overtook your body and you stared at your phone, too scared to pick it up.

“You gonna get that?” McCree asked. Your gaze flickered up to him and you saw the concern on his face. You picked up the phone and gulped, pressing it to your ear.

“H-hello?” you answered.

“Good morning,” came the voice of your boyfriend. “You were gone when I woke up,” he said with a sad tone.

“Sorry, I - I was keen to get some work done today,” you said, trying to keep a straight face on in front of McCree. He played it cool, but he strained his ears to listen to the voice on the other end.

“That’s okay. I’ll see you after work, I’ll come pick you up,” he said.

“No, you don’t have to do that,” you said, voice quavering.

“I want to. I’ll see you after work. I love you, bye,” said and the call ended with a click.

“That your squeeze?” McCree asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah,” you responded with a small, sad smile.

“As I was sayin’,” McCree continued. “If there’s anything you need or you wanna talk, I’m a real good listener. In fact, let me go buy you a cup of co-”

“Thank you, but that really isn’t necessary,” you interrupted.

“Sorry I offended you,” McCree said, his face dropping.

“You didn’t offend me, it’s just not a good idea,” you responded.

“Why, your man don’t like you talking to other guys or somethin’?”

His words struck you where it hurt and you stood from your seat, tears spilling. You ran to the women’s bathroom and you locked yourself in a stall, sobbing and trying to get McCree’s words out of your head.

By the time you exited the bathroom, more people started arriving to work and you lowered your head, avoiding pitied looks and sorry glances in your direction. Your eyes were still puffy but you needed to start some actual work. A wave of relief washed over you when you saw that McCree was no longer by your desk. You couldn’t bear to face him after that embarrassing display.

“Good morning,” said your coworker.

“Morning,” you mumbled back.

“McCree was here a little while ago. He was asking about you.”

You sighed and shook your head. Why was he so obsessed with you? Couldn’t he just leave you alone? You blamed yourself for being too friendly toward him. It wasn’t his fault, he was a nice person but you knew what would happen if your boyfriend found out about your friendship.

“I’ll go find him,” you said to your coworker. “Thanks for letting me know.”

You wandered the building, looking for McCree. You needed to tell him that while you appreciated him and his friendship, you couldn’t let this continue.

“Jesse!” you called, entering the training room.

“Hey, there’s my favourite girl,” he said with a smile. Your face flushed at his words and you felt guilty at the heat that fluttered through your body. If your boyfriend had seen the exchange, he would never have stood for it.

“Can I speak to you for a moment?” you asked.

“Right now ain’t a good time, as much as I’d love to talk with you. I’ll come find you later, okay?”

“Okay, see you later.”

You spent most of the day glancing at the door every time it opened, hoping to see McCree walking through. But after four o'clock, you began to worry he wouldn’t make it. You figured it could wait until tomorrow, anyway and packed your things for the day.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you said to your coworker with a smile.

“See you,” came her reply.

You walked through the building and walked towards the car park to find your boyfriend’s car. You felt a gloved hand close around your arm and you froze. It wasn’t your boyfriend. He stood next to his car and you saw his sweet expression turn sour.

“Sorry I took so long to find you today,” McCree said.

“Jesse, let me go,” you whimpered, your eyes locked on your boyfriend’s. McCree let go of your arm and you turned to face him. “We can’t be friends anymore, Jesse. I’m sorry.”

“What?” he blurted. “Why not?”

You saw the hurt in his eyes and you blinked back tears, not wanting to make a scene in front of all of your coworkers. He pressed a hand to your cheek and you jumped away from the touch as if his hand was red hot.

“Don’t,” you said.

“I know he doesn’t treat you right. You think I don’t notice, but I do. I’m more perceptive than people give me credit for. Let me help you.”

“I don’t need your help,” you croaked. He brushed a thumb over the spot above your eyebrow. His eyebrows creased in displeasure as he wiped the concealer away revealing the discoloured bruise underneath.

“I knew it,” he growled through bared, gritted teeth.

“Is there a problem here?” came your boyfriend’s voice, causing you to jump.

“No-” you started, but you were interrupted.

“Yeah, there is,” McCree said, standing up to his full height and staring your boyfriend down. “The problem here is you.”

“Excuse me?” your boyfriend hissed, his nostrils flaring as he narrowed his eyes.

McCree said nothing, choosing to intimidate your boyfriend without words.

“Guys, please don’t do this right now,” you pleaded, stepping between the men.

“You stay out of this,” your boyfriend fumed, pushing you out of the way. “I’ll deal with you at home.”

You fell and hit the ground with a thud. You hurt your hand trying to break your fall and McCree rushed to your side, helping you up. You suddenly felt self-conscious as a small crowd had formed, watching the events unfold.

“Are you okay?” McCree asked, holding your head to his chest.

“You stay away from her,” your boyfriend spat, grabbing McCree by the scruff of his shirt.

“Big mistake,” McCree sneered, grabbing your boyfriend by the neck and punching him square in the face. Your boyfriend staggered back and held his bleeding nose between his fingers. “You leave. You leave right now and you don’t come back here, ever,” McCree threatened.

“I don’t think so,” your boyfriend growled, grabbing your arm and pulling you to him, dragging you to his car. You struggled against his grip. It was like a vice and you knew there would be more bruises left on your skin.

“Let me go!” you pleaded, pulling away from him, reaching for McCree.

“I need back-up, main car park,” McCree growled into his earpiece as he reached for you. Seconds later, several Blackwatch agents filtered through the crowd and tackled your boyfriend to the ground, restraining him and making sure he couldn’t run.

It seemed like you were finally safe. The police arrived moments after to arrest your now ex-boyfriend. Your heart ached as he tried to plead with you. He was a monster and he hurt you, but you couldn’t help the pang of sadness that tugged at you as he begged.

“Sweetheart, please. Tell them to let me go! We can forget this whole thing even happened. I forgive you already,” he cried desperately. McCree turned you away from him, telling the police to take him away.

“Are you okay?” McCree asked. You couldn’t find any words to describe how you were feeling. You couldn’t even open your mouth. You fell into McCree’s arms and he held you as you cried, stroking your hair and whispering that it was okay now. You were safe and he was going to take care of you.

#overwatch imagines #overwatch x reader #overwatch fanfic #overwatch fanfiction #mccree x reader #jesse mccree x reader #red writes

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