#one time he snapped at me for having my glasses hang on my coat... ...... and i was like... these are my Glasses | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

macfrog · 7 months

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hanging on the telephone a sex on fire one shot

pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader

summary: your boss picks a convenient time to ask for a favor.

warnings: age gap eat my fuckin shorts (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), workplace relationship, imbalance of power dynamic, joel likes (semi) public sex again!, softdom!joel, fingering, unprotected piv, daddy kink, praise kink, cursing. takes place somewhere between state-of-the-art and mile high.

word count: 2.9k

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“Sh– Fuck – Shit –”

“So goddamn tight, baby, she’s so –” he pinches your hip with his left hand, presses harder on your clit with his right thumb, “– she’s so fuckin’ tight for me.”

“Daddy, I’m…I’m gonna c…Oh, shit, I'm...”

Joel tips his head back, two beats of cocky laughter pushing from his chest. Even with your vision quickly blurring, your eyes rolling shut, you can still see the way his jaw flexes with it, the way his Adam’s apple bobs. Can hear the curve of the words, shaped by the smirk on his lips.

“You gonna come, baby? That what you’re tryna tell me?”

Your hips circle, body clenching around three thick fingers. “M-hm,” you force through gritted teeth.

“Fuck, pretty girl,” he growls, feeling your little cunt squeezing down to his knuckles. “That two now, or three?”

“Th-three.”

“Three,” he whispers, though you know he already fucking knew. He just wanted you to admit it. Wanted to watch as your lips twisted around an answer, struggled through your orgasm quickly approaching. “’n how long have we been alone?”

Your head tilts onto your shoulder, hands reaching down to clutch around his big wrist. You grip onto the strap of his watch, the cold glass face shocking your burning skin.

Joel laughs again, a hot breath of air across your lips, but he doesn’t slow the snap of his fingers, the circles of his thumb. He takes your jaw in his free hand and turns your ear to his lips, whispering, “Asked you a question, baby girl.”

“F-uh-ck,” you whine, hips beginning to give. “I don’t know, Daddy, I don’t –”

His teeth nip at your lobe, lips press into the skin under your ear. A low rumble, wet on your skin when he murmurs, “Ain’t even been ten minutes.”

There had been no recovery time between your first two orgasms. The first bled straight into the next – Joel and his fingers had drawn them from your body before the elevator had even delivered Martha to the lobby, you’re willing to bet.

She’d buttoned her coat, announced that she needed some fresh air – offered for you to join her, and then shook her head when you called back from Joel’s office that you were fine, thanks, Martha.

Maybe she’s onto the two of you. Maybe she knows all the signs of a secret work romance. Hell, maybe Joel’s done this before. You don’t fucking know.

Reason (and perhaps a smidge of desperate hope) convinces you otherwise. Still – you can’t remember the last time the woman left for lunch alone. Can’t remember the last time she gave you two peace in Joel’s office for more than ten minutes, without popping her head in to gossip or roll her eyes at the pair of you.

You hadn’t been up to anything when she was here, anyways – but it didn’t take long after hearing that sharp ding and the signature rattle of the doors announcing her departure, for Joel’s hands to find your waist.

He made some quip, like, Maybe she’s got her own secret man she’s off to see, and you hadn’t the time to come up with anything worth half a laugh before he pulled you into his lap and slipped his fingers up the inside of your thigh.

When did this become what you do, anyway, you wonder? Sneaking around behind your colleagues’ backs; feeling brave enough to slip a palm down your boss’s front and cup his fucking dick through his pants anytime he looks at you a heartbeat too long. Letting the guy spread your legs on the desk you’ve worked at for three years now; letting him kiss and lick and feast between your thighs.

When did this become normal?

He’s intoxicating. He’s all you fucking think about these days. I’m bored, tell me something funny. Can I sit here while you’re on that meeting? When can we fuck next? No one ever fucked me like you do.

“Fuck,” Joel grunts, wrist slowing as the edges of your vision blur. “Like that, baby girl?”

“Just – just like that,” you beg, hands gripping around his shoulders.

“She likes that, doesn’t she?” Joel utters, pulling you closer. “Come on, baby, give me one more.”

The world halts for a second, splits in two, and crashes back together, throwing you over the edge. You come with a pathetic whimper, folding over Joel’s body and rocking uncontrollably, gripping onto his hair to steady yourself.

His arm wraps around the small of your back, holding you down on his hand until you loosen again – his fingers soaked, glistening. He slips them out, rubbing your clit slowly with his middle finger.

“Fuck,” you breathe, reaching for his hand.

His fingers knot around yours, your release slippery and warm on his knuckles. He takes your jaw in his other hand, pulls you in, and slips his tongue across yours. Something wet and needy, something as meaningless as it is meaningful.

Something which beckons your hands to his belt, your fingers slipping behind the thick leather.

The moment is interrupted by an annoying ping from Joel’s phone discarded to the opposite side of the desk.

Blindly, still with his lips attached to yours, he reaches over and swipes it with one hand. He breaks apart the kiss to look down, blinking at the screen. “Oh, shit,” he says, flatly.

You lean over, one hand still lazily playing with his, squinting at the upside-down text thread. “What?” you ask, fiddling with the undone buttons of his shirt.

“Shit,” again, hissed and now…irritated. “Did you–? I didn’t ask you to book a table at Ricci’s, did I?”

“The Italian place?”

Joel nods, hurriedly.

You shake your head, slowly. A little confused. “Why? What’s…?”

“I’m meeting a client there this afternoon,” he mutters, shifting in his chair. The movement rocks you back and forth, but Joel keeps a hand on your hip to hold you.

A weight you know all too well brushes the inside of your thigh. You both clock it. And then you both ignore it.

“Goddamn it,” Joel groans. “There ain’t no chance that Martha…?”

Your head tilts. “You know damn well you don’t trust anyone with that shit but me. No, it’s not booked. You never asked. But it’s fine, just call ‘em. These places can always make room, Mr. Miller.”

Joel squints, jaw lifting when you drag your nose along it to kiss his neck. His rough beard scratches your nose and chin.

But he’s squinting, when you pull back. Half-turning away from you, one eye closed; mouth twisted in a dumb smirk.

“What?” you ask, frowning.

“You can’t do it for me?”

Your eyes roll. “You fucked up,” you fix the tousled strands of his hair back into place, “fix it. You’re a big boy.”

“Willing to pay you a little extra,” he offers, pulling your hips down against his crotch. “Generous amount.”

“Generous,” you echo, letting him drag your slick mess all over his black pants. Your fingers slip beneath his belt, loosening the fly of his pants.

He’s hard already – solid and heavy when your hand dips below his boxer shorts and wraps around his warm cock. Turned on just by the feeling of you around his fingers, the sight and sound of you unraveling in his lap.

He hisses quietly when you pull him free; smearing wet onto your fingers as you drag your fist up and down. And when you look back up, he’s not watching his cock in your hands. Not looking at the skin exposed by your tangled underwear, your skirt sitting almost as high as your waist.

He’s looking straight at you. Your fluttering eyelashes, your tongue dabbing at the wet forming along your bottom lip. His eyes shoot quick as lightning from one to the other. “Like playing with it, huh?” he asks quietly. “’s your favorite thing in the world.”

You grin. “Like it better when it’s…” you push yourself up, running his wide tip along the seam of your cunt, separating your folds and pausing right below your vagina, “…here.”

Joel’s hands push heavier on your hips – lowering you slowly and gently enough that you could stop him, but sure and steady enough that he knows you won’t dare to. He breaches your opening, intrusion enough to stop your breathing, and slips in.

It glides in so smoothly, so easily that you barely feel the stretch at first. Still soft and soaked from your third release, your body pulls him in – until it starts to hurt.

A tiny gasp from your lips and Joel holds his arms out, letting you clutch onto the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt. “Easy, easy,” he says, holding your elbows.

It’s only been a couple times. And as good as they were, you’re still not used to him. He’s still bigger than anyone you’ve ever had before; it still hurts just a little, anytime he pushes in.

But still, you smile bracing yourself now with two palms on his chest – his hair damp with sweat in little swirls on the skin below his clavicle. “Still not – callin’ them,” you pant, taking him halfway.

Joel clicks his teeth, studying your cheeky expression. “Be a big girl ‘n do it,” he whispers, eyes following the round trail of your fingers on his sticky chest. “Do it for your daddy.”

You look up at him, smirk tugging on the corners of your lips. “’n what if Daddy doesn’t deserve it? You – shit – you fucked up,” you repeat.

Joel’s hips lift from the chair, cock slipping deeper, painfully slow as it fills you all the way. When the coarse hair at his base meets your clit, your nails digging little curved marks into his skin, he smirks. “He feel like he don’t deserve it to you?”

“No,” you gasp suddenly, eyes screwing shut, “feels – feels so good, Daddy.”

“Uhuh. You gonna call the restaurant for him?”

Another splintered breath. He’s so fucking big, so uncomfortable when you’re sat on him like this. “Yeah,” you whine, “I’ll call ‘em, Daddy, please just…please…”

His chin lifts, lids flickering over inky eyes. “Ah,” he clips, still holding you up on his cock, “no begging. Not ‘til you call.”

And he drops his hips, holding you off his length as you shakily stand. He helps tug your skirt back into place, watches as you lean over him to reach for the phone.

You do your best to sound annoyed, covering the scratch marks of desperation in your voice when you ask, “What’s the number?”

Joel reads it out, standing up, too, and you rest your elbows on the desk, cracking your neck.

Some chipper voice answers the phone, belting down the line to thank you for your call and ask what he can do for you today. He’s too fucking enthusiastic, too distracting, and only when he pauses to check the system for any free tables do you notice the weight at your ass.

The cold of his belt buckle kissing the underside of your thigh, the peeling of your skirt up, up, up. Hands massaging your ass cheeks; then one cupping between your legs to nudge your clit gently.

You jolt forward, a warped sound crying from your lips. The guy says, Pardon me, ma’am? and you stutter your way through a sentence in reply as Joel hooks your panties to the side.

“We’ve got…let’s see…” The host hums some stupid fucking tune, clicks his tongue against his teeth while you tug on the phone cord – unable to stop from stealing a glance over your shoulder and yet unwilling to give your boss the satisfaction of knowing you’re watching.

Joel pulls the belt free from its loops, drops it to the seat of his chair with a thud, and lines up right behind you.

You cover the microphone. “This what you wanted?” you hiss.

He hums. “You’re the one who bent over, darlin’.”

“Asshole.”

“Way to speak to your boss,” he grumbles, and shoves in.

“Christ,” you yelp, and the host pauses again.

“Um…We have one o’clock?” he asks, keyboard clicking in the background.

Your voice catches, body bouncing against the desk rhythmically. The wooden edge shunts roughly against your pelvis, bruises likely blooming already with the rate Joel’s going.

He bends forward, his right ear lining with the phone. “Say again?” he whispers.

“One,” you repeat.

Joel shakes his head. “Too soon. Ain’t hungry yet.”

“It’s twelve,” you mutter, teeth gritted, “you might be hungry in an hour.”

“Hm,” he considers, leaning back upright. “Maybe, long as I keep myself busy.”

He thrusts forward again, pulling you by the waist until you’re flush against his chest. His hands slip around to cup your breasts, squeezing and pinching and holding you still.

“Anything – later?” you ask down the line, switching the phone to the opposite ear to let Joel in at your neck. His teeth graze the skin, sharp pain when the blood vessels splatter streaks of crimson.

The host offers up a table at two-fifteen, which Joel seems to like the sound of, given the moan he lets free when you ask.

“Two-fifteen’s good,” you say, dropping the phone to the desk when your boss’s hand sneaks around your hip. “Joel,” you gasp, holding your voice at as low a volume as you can, “Joel, I swear to – Jesus Christ, you’re gonna –”

He’s laughing, playing with your clit as he fucks you, lips buried into the crook of your shoulder. “You my good girl?” he asks, bending your bodies forward. “Then book the goddamn table.”

“Ma’am?” the host’s asking, when you lift the phone to your ear again. “You still there?”

“Still – still here,” you breathe, flattening the whine in your voice. Joel’s starting to falter, starting to lose his rhythm. You can feel yourself beginning to tighten around him, give in to the pressure between your hips.

“What’s the name, ma’am?”

“Huh?”

Joel laughs, lips against your ear again. “Tell ‘im, pretty girl. Tell him who your daddy is.”

“My – fuck – M-Miller,” you reply, knees buckling. “Miller.”

“Alright, a table for two for…Miller…And that’s M-I-L-L–”

“–E-R, yep. Miller.”

“Good girl,” Joel pants against your temple, bristles of his beard grazing your cheek. He wraps one arm tight around your waist, clamping you against his body, the other still toying with your clit. Hips snapping roughly into yours, he whispers sharp in your ear, “I’m gonna come, darlin’, gonna fill you up real good, alright?”

“Can you wai–?”

“Alright, that’s you booked in, ma’am! We can’t wait to –”

“Great,” you choke back, falling forward with Joel at your back, “thanks. Thank you, we’ll see you – see you –”

Joel reaches over your shoulder and jams a thumb into the hook of the phone. “Fuck,” he groans, holding you steady as his cock throbs and a wet heat floods somewhere deep inside you.

The handset slips from your grasp, clattering against the desk as your body falls limp, your pussy jolting around him. His hands are the only thing keeping you steady, keeping you from melting into a puddle at his feet. A love-drunk sigh, the word Daddy spilling out into the room – the last thing before your breath cuts and he’s dragging you back down into the chair with him again.

Joel sinks back into the leather, sighing as he settles you again in his broad lap. He kisses you until you stir – lips soft against your temple, your cheek, your neck, to bring you back to him. His cock’s still stiff, half-limp and shining at the bottom of his stomach.

“’s a good girl,” he coos, letting you collapse against his chest.

Your cunt pulses, clenching around nothing; Joel’s come and yours trickling into your underwear.

“I hate you,” you whisper, playing with his hands.

“I know,” he mumbles into your skull, “bad boss.”

You breathe a laugh. “Who’s the client?”

“Mm,” Joel muses, adjusting in the chair, “nobody. Canceled on me last minute.”

He grins when you snap upright, head cocking. “Are you fucking kidding me? You just put me through all that for no goddamn reason?”

“Naw,” he protests, frowning, “I thought the two of us could go.”

There’s a softness to his face which dampens the fire in your belly as quickly as it ignited. Something genuine, something honest. You know him well enough by now to tell when he’s asking something of you, and not expecting it.

You feel your cheeks heat. “To lunch? Together?”

He shrugs. “Why the hell not? We’re going to Paris together.”

You blink at him, considering it. He’s not fucking wrong, is he? That same fire strikes again – only, a little further north, a little harder to control. It tickles your lungs, shaking the breath as you suck it in. You cover yourself with a blunt, “Martha’s gonna be pissed,” laced through as easy-going a sigh as you can manage.

Joel laughs, nodding. “I am sure she’ll get over it. Quiet office for the afternoon. Paradise.”

You smile, looking down at your hands clasped around one of his. You give his knuckles a small squeeze, and mutter, “You’re paying, Miller. And I’m ordering big.”

If not for the dark beard on his cheeks, and the sudden protective movement of his hand over them – if not for the fact that you’ve never in all your time here seen it happen…you’d swear the man was blushing.

“Okay,” Joel says, cheeks lifting. “Anything you want.”

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #ceo!joel miller #ceo!joel #sugardaddy!joel miller #the last of us #the last of us fic #tlou #joel miller smut #fic: sex on fire

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magnolia-among-the-stars · 1 month

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the last bit of us (chapter one)

Plot: Tyler Owens hasn’t been home in a year. He’s survived all the storm chasing and motel living with his new partners as they try to save lives. But with all the damage they’ve taken from driving high beams first into monster storms, it’s time to pay the piper and bring the truck in for repairs. And the only person who can fix them is the best mechanical engineer he’s ever met. Eleanor Harding, his estranged wife.

Pairing: Tyler Owens x Estranged Wife OC (Harding Daughter)

Word Count: 2441

Playlist Song: Snap by Rosa Linn

A/N: This is a hefty intro to Eleanor but really wanted to establish her before we get angsty!

prologue / one / two / three

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The sky was still dark when my alarm clock went off. My hand slides along the mattress, slapping the snooze button. It can’t be time already. There’s no way. I snuggle deeper into the mattress and peel one eye open to squint at the cracked window. The big moon is lower in the horizon but the sun hasn’t made its known yet.

My phone starts to go off, across the room atop my bureau. “Fuck.”

I try to get the kink out of my neck when I get up. The wooden floorboards of the farmhouse creak as I shuffle past the bureau into the bathroom and shut off the alarm. The bulbs above the mirror are too bright and I have to shut my eyes for a minute to adjust. I wash my face, toss my hair into a quick braid and pull up the weather app on my phone before heading downstairs.

The coffeemaker in the kitchen is ancient but after a few taps and fiddling with the cord of the plug, it starts to gurgle. It’s a satisfying sound. While it brews, I check the living room through the archway for Carter. He’s still curled up under a small crocheted blanket on her couch where I left him last night. He’s too tall and most of his calves dangle over the arm of the couch.

“Carter, time to get up,” I call and pull my thermostat off the drying rack to fill with fresh coffee. He doesn’t move. I sigh and look down at my watch. The long spider web of cracks in the glass doesn’t distract from the face. It’s 3:19 AM. We gotta get on the road. The wind chimes are loud out on the porch. The rain should be starting soon.

“Carter,” I say again. I walk through the archway and grab the closest thing I can find and chuck the pillow at his face.

Carter startles immediately, shouting “I’m up,” in the process. He grabs for his glasses, dropped onto the coffee table.

“No you weren’t,” I say, stepping back into the kitchen to fill his thermostat. “We gotta go, the storm should be rolling in any time now and Birdie will murder us if we’re late.” When I turn to look at him, he’s sliding his rain boots back on.

“I’m so sorry, I forgot. I thought you were Birdie’s boss,” he says, hand on his chest to fey surprise.

“It’s too early for your sarcasm. C’mon.” The entryway into the house is cluttered with a few pairs of boots and sneakers, my raincoat and denim jacket along with a variety of hats hanging from the hooks. I stare at the wooden loveseat under the coat hooks while sliding on my boots. I can only see the bottom half of the painted heart on the backing.

“El, anytime you want to get moving,” Carter says, slinging his backpack over his shoulder.

I blink a little, standing up and grabbing my own backpack. “Fuck you.”

The farmhouse sits out in the middle of an open field in Guthrie, Oklahoma. The barn doors shudder a little from the wind and I can see my dad’s red beat up Dodge Ram on the lawn. I smile a little, pushing the screen door open. It squeals as I unlock the door to my truck and slide in. The engine stutters a little when it comes to life and we whip out onto the road.

“Did you sleep at all last night?” he asks me, taking a sip of his coffee. A bump in the road causes the truck to jump and a little splatters on him. “Ah jeez.” He tries to wipe at it and I can’t help but chuckle.

“Not really,” I shake my head. I reach for the radio, turning the dial so I can hear the morning station. There’s a new Luke Combs song playing and I tap my fingers a little to the beat. “Too much on the brain with this project.”

“I don’t know if you’re aware El but you always have too much on the brain,” he says.

“Well someone has to do work on this team,” I joke, smirking at him.

It’s not a lie. Ever since Charlie and I had gotten our first big contract with FEMA, I had been in nonstop work mode. Throwing myself into each project a little deeper than the last. It was probably worrisome how much time I spent at the warehouse, elbow deep in some new tech but I couldn’t help myself. It was a safe and mindless space, fixing and tinkering.

We drive down the long stretch of dirt through the fields and I peer up at the sky again. There’s a loud ringing in the cab of the truck and I glance over at Carter, peering down at his phone. “It’s Birdie,” he says. “She says we’re late.”

I grin a little, shaking my head as the warehouse comes into view. The freshly painted sign on the building reads TempestEdge Innovations. I push the button on the callbox and the military grade barrier raises to allow me to drive through. I swing around the side of the building to the open garage door. It’s just about 3:46 AM.

I slide out of the truck as the door to the garage closes behind me. “You’re late,” Birdie’s voice echoes across the warehouse.

“Birdie, give me a break, I had to make four repairs last night before we left,” I say, walking toward the tall blonde woman. Her hair is pulled snug up into a ballerina bun, a clipboard held to the fleece of her vest. “Not all of us go for a run a 2 AM to start our day.”

She scoffs and shoves me playfully. “Maybe you should give it a try.”

We grin, making our way deeper into the warehouse where all of our desks are crowded together with a few computers. Tables of spare parts, design blueprints and drawings and our small kitchen are scattered throughout the space. Beyond that, my engineering floor houses large models and mock ups that sit large and wide.

I drop my bag at my desk and smile at the photo frame on the corner. It’s from graduation at OSU. We’re all making funny faces at the camera, hugging each other tightly. I tap on my keyboard to wake the screen, noticing my phone buzzing in my pocket. I ignore it and look up, “How’s everyone doing this morning?” I ask.

“Morning E,” Palmer, our Meteorologist says when she looks up over her computer screen. She gnaws on her lip, auburn brows raised. “I don’t think this classifies as morning quite yet.”

“I mean, dawn, maybe?” Sean says, walking up from behind me with a coffee mug in hand. It’s white with rope lettering that spells out This ain’t my first rodeo! Sean walks over to Birdie who is looking over her clipboard, comparing it to the large chalkboard we wheeled over to her corner of the office. She’s talking to herself as he kisses her head on the way to his desk.

“Dawn is defined by a sun rising in the sky,” Carter remarks, tapping away on his computer. “Definitely not dawn yet.”

We’re interrupted by Charlie, stepping into the office space with her phone pressed to her ear. “Alright, yes. I can definitely get out there next week. Thank you so much, have a wonderful day,” Charlie says. She smiles at everyone. “Alright team, let’s get this test going.”

Everyone slides up from their desk chairs, grabs their tablets and walkies and heads to the back of the warehouse. We slide on our swanky mesh neon vests, easily identifiable out in the storm. Sean slides the back door open and we step out onto the ramp. The rain has started and it’s coming down sideways, like a thick curtain across the landscape. A few hundred feet from the warehouse, a row of buildings line up on either side.

“Alright, we all remember safety procedures?” Birdie asks, looking over her clipboard. There’s a chorus of noise and Birdie grumbles. “C’mon people, we’re all about to bunker separately for the tornado. Do we all remember safety procedures?”

“Birdie, we’ve done these bunkering tests a few times now, c’mon,” I say.

With our current contact, we started trying to build new infrastructures on different buildings to withstand a tornado in the hopes to help families and businesses not fall into a pit of financial burden from having to rebuild. It was the biggest project yet and took us nearly six months just to build the fake town with different materials and different methods. The only way to collect data around the structural integrity of the buildings was to bunker into each of the different variations.

Palmer had tracked cells moving toward the area and we were certain an EF2 was heading straight for us. Which was a perfect opportunity to split up again and see how well the buildings held up. It would be our third test trial. It’s not the smartest move but growing up with two crazy famous storm chasers? Kind of breeds crazy.

The winds start to pick up and I look up at the debris and dust kicking up in the air. “Alright guys, let’s head out,” I say, turning on my radio. We take off in different directions, saying goodbyes and waving each other off through the harsh winds. While Charlie stays safe inside the warehouse, Birdie takes to the gas station, Sean the grocery store. Palmer heads to the farm house tucked behind everything and Carter yells “Stay safe” as he turns into the doctor’s office. I head the furthest down the road to the bar & grille.

I look up the doors behind me, moving to the safety corner where all the monitors are. I slide into my space and settle in, logging into our tracking system on the tablet to type in my notes. I can barely hear the wind outside and pull my walkie talkie from my waist. “Alright, I am settled and am clear. See you guys on the other side.”

I wait, anxiously tapping my foot as I watch the footage off the street for the incoming destruction. But ten minutes passed with no noise whatsoever. I glance up and toward the door, confused. I tap the storm tracker, noticing the pattern of movement for the storm diminishing. I click the button of the walkie with my thumb. “P, am I reading right that the storm choked itself out? Over,” I say, watching the monitor again.

“The winds are dying down, I think it missed us,” Palmer calls back.

“Let’s hold for another five minutes to be cautious,” Birdie’s voice crackles. But five minutes pass with no movement. Birdie calls that we’re clear and I head out of the building. The sun is starting to rise, illuminating the fields with a golden glow as if there hadn’t been 40 to 60 mile an hour winds and rain only a little while ago.

“We woke up at the ass crack of dawn for this?” Carter groans.

“Not dawn,” Palmer corrects, walking in step with us back to the warehouse. Birdie wraps her arm around Sean’s waist as they step ahead of us.

“The conditions seemed perfect,” Birdie says, shrugging. “All we can really hope for.”

The door slides open to the warehouse to reveal Charlie. She’s got this fixed look on her face as if she just stepped in dog shit. “We’ll get the next one Charlie, no need to fuss. They know that we can’t control the conditions of the storms,” I point to the sky and pat her on the shoulder.

“That’s not what soured my mood,” she says. She crosses her arms over her chest and huffs.

My eyebrows knit together in confusion as the team steps passed us, back to our desks. “What is it?”

“Someone’s out at the gate,” she says, nodding to the opposite end of the warehouse. “Someone’s here? No one comes here.”

“Oh, if only,” Charlie says. She turns on her heel, heading to the door on the other side of the building. I rack my brain for people who know the warehouse. We had some rich investors who would stop by trying to buy us out, our clients and FEMA reps that would come our way to see new tech and some family but, Mom and Dad would’ve called me before showing up. Curiosity kills the team and I hear their chairs scrap against the floor. Loud footsteps follow us as Charlie shoves the door open with a knowing look.

I step around her and peer out at the gated entrance to see a suped up red Dodge rumbling idle. The engine turns off after a moment and the driver side door swings open. I see his cowboy boots before I see him. He’s wearing a stupid flannel and his stupid backwards baseball cap. Tyler. He takes off his sunglasses, expression is hard to read. He’s not showing his normally beaming pearl whites that I caught a few times while passing Carter’s viewing of their YouTube videos. His face is stiff, uncomfortable as he rests his hands on his hips. What takes me by surprise is the young woman who steps out of the passenger side.

I don’t notice my feet are moving until I realize how far away Birdie’s “Son of a bitch” is. I don’t even realize how fast I’m moving or how close Tyler is. “What the hell are you doing here?” I ask when I’m close enough that I could throw a rock if I wanted to. And I wanted to.

He looks down, trying to collect his thoughts. I can see the gears turning in his brain, trying to figure out what to say to me. He rubs at his jaw, nearly smiling and leaning up against the door of the truck. His eyes sparkled a little. “Hi El.” Bold to go with charm.

“That’s all you have to say? Hi El?” I cross my arms across my chest, staring him down. He’s insane.

Tyler purses his lips, gaze softening as he takes me in. He turns to look at the woman, now having moved in front of the hood of the car. “Kate,” his drawl is still thick with an enthusiasm that can’t be rivaled. “Meet Eleanor. Eleanor Owens.”

“I prefer to go by Harding these days,” I retort.

“Owens…you mean–,” the woman – Kate – stutters a little.

“Wife,” I state, turning to look at her. “He means wife.”

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#twisters #tyler owens #tyler owens imagine #tyler owens imagines #tyler owens x reader #tyler owens x oc #twisters movie #twisters 2024 #the last bit of us fic

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uplatterme · 2 years

Text

Sit Still, Look Pretty.

a/n: i don’t think the doll fetish is a joke anymore *cries*

cw: sub!albedo, dom!reader, amab!reader (gender-neutral terms and pronouns | dollification, mirror sex, slight feminization, orgasm delay/denial

The alchemist stands there, observing his surroundings as he waits for you to get your things. Your room is like any other, quite simplistic besides the few paintings that decorated the walls, paintings that he’d given you as presents.

He’s been here multiple times and usually, everything remains the same. The stack of books on your desk, the mint flower you keep by the window, your sword which always rested laying on your chair.

Usually, is the keyword here.

Now, he finds himself gazing up on one of the shelves, where a doll sits elegantly on a tiny chair.

It’s oddly…human-like.

“I found last week’s reports that you were looking for.” You return to the room, the notebook in your hands.

He takes it from you and checks, it’s just what he needs.

And while he doesn’t really require anything else, his thoughts are captivated by the expensive-looking doll. So, he asks.

Your face turns into worry, although it soon is replaced by a gleeful smile. He wonders what the reason for this is.

“That, right.” He hears you chuckle.

“I happened to get it from a traveling merchant. It’s quite pretty, isn’t it?”

He feels as if there is something else you aren’t telling him.

“How much was it?” Albedo questions.

“Including the clothes? Well, it’s about…”

Once Albedo hears of the amount, he can’t help but furrow his eyebrows from your purchase.

He hears you laugh again, your eyes looking as bright as they can.

“Don’t you find them appealing, Albedo? Lifeless forms whose purpose is nothing but to sit pretty.”

“I suppose.” The alchemist answers.

He really doesn’t.

“I just think it’s neat. Having no other choice but to obey their owners, wear dresses whether they like it or not, pose in whichever way they’re directed to…” You describe freely, grabbing the doll and placing it in his hands.

“And you know what the best part of it is?” Albedo sees your face lighten up.

He maintains his expressionless face, even if he’s taken aback by how close your face is to him, gazing into your spellbinding eyes.

“What?”

“They do it all with a smile.”

Needless to say, Albedo’s thoughts had become occupied since then.

He tells himself that he shouldn’t bother with it this much.

Your liking of dolls is just like any other hobby, isn’t it? It’s like how Lisa is with her books, obsessive when they aren’t handled properly or returned within the given time.

Still, he sighs. He does receive your tender touch from time to time, but there’s something else that Albedo wants…or needs.

“Which do you think suits her better?”

Albedo snaps out of his thinking to see you holding two dresses right in front of his face.

He absent-mindedly chose the one on the left, and you smile at his choice.

“Cute.” You say.

He feels flustered despite knowing that the compliment wasn’t for him. It was for that doll.

The only thing he can do is watch you pamper it, brushing its hair and using those fingers of yours to undress it and change it into a new outfit.

He sits there, an uncomfortable emotion in his chest as he hears you utter praises for something that doesn’t even move.

“I’m sorry, I must excuse myself.” Albedo stands up from his seat to leave, unable to bear your fondness for the doll.

He needs to do something.

The door to your house creaks in as you unlock it. You hum a tune, stretching your arms, a bit tired from today’s schedule.

You take off your coat, hanging it on the wall. You rethink if there’s something else you have to do before going to bed.

“Ah, my mint flower. I haven’t watered it yet.” You say out loud.

With the glass of water in your hand, you step into your bedroom.

“Archons, you scared me!” You sigh, seeing the alchemist sitting on your bed.

While he’s the only other person who has a key to your house, he’s never been the one to visit of his own accord.

You await his response.

The alchemist stays still and unresponsive, staring past you as if there’s something that you’re not seeing.

“Albedo? Are you alright?” You question the man again, only to receive nothing.

Worried, you come up closer to him.

His eyes looked empty and his breathing was…quiet. There’s nothing wrong with him physically. No signs of any injuries that may hinder his talking nor any sign of trauma to his head.

He looks perfect, actually. And now that you take a look closer, you can see pink powder dusting his cheeks.

Albedo has always been that way. Beauty and brains, truly a perfect mix

You direct his face to yours, wanting him to look at you as you speak.

Albedo hasn’t blinked throughout this whole ordeal.

You get a hold of his chin and bring his lips to yours, wondering if that’ll execute a reaction.

Unfortunately, no results are to be seen.

He doesn’t open his mouth when you kiss him, confusing you since he usually does.

It’s as if Albedo has no sentience. A lifeless being, somewhat similar to that of a statue that served no other use but to be stared at.

…

No.

You deny your thoughts.

Surely, Albedo isn’t doing what you think he’s doing, right?

You trace your fingers on his thighs, its smoothness surprising you. Almost as if it were made from porcelain, you observe.

“Albedo, you cannot do this to me.” You scold him, each second passing by with him in this state is not good for your heart.

“You don’t know what I’m capable of,” You stare at him, wanting to see if he’ll say anything.

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to stop myself if things get too far.” You admit, caressing his emotionless face.

Extraordinary.

“To think you would be that jealous of a doll. It’s adorable, my love.” It’s too good to be true, you think. Albedo presents himself as if he is one too, just so he can garner your attention.

He’s always been smart and reckless like this. He knows this will work. Now, to see how far this ambitiousness will push him…

“Well, a new doll needs a new outfit.” You say to him.

Albedo tenses up at your words.

This is proving to be much more difficult than he expected. Your lingering touch makes him want to buckle to his knees. The kiss on his lips, that led to the core in his chest tightening up.

Has he always been that soft?

Only having a limited field of vision, he cannot see what you’re doing. But from what it sounded, you were likely looking for something to put him in.

“Ah! Here it is!” You bring the dress to his eyes and he immediately regrets playing this role. This is a bit…embarrassing.

“This was supposed to be a gift for Sucrose’s birthday, but I’m sure you’d do a better job modeling this than her.” You explain.

It was getting difficult to maintain his quiet breathing, especially when you ogled his body as you took off the clothes that he has now. He wants to tell you that you should look away, that he can do it in your stead.

However, he ignores it. He ignores the embarrassment and the warmth rushing up to his cheeks.

“Your white underwear suits you, Albedo. Although, don’t dolls have no need for undergarments?”

Your voice sends a chill to his spine. He sits there helpless under your fingers, awaiting what you’ll do next to him.

“You’re so perfect, my doll.” Albedo bites back the need to whine.

“Should I set up a mirror so you can see?”

He stares at himself through the mirror, the fluffy dress reaching just above his knee. It’s not of Monstadt creation, that’s for sure. Perhaps it’s a dress from Fontaine?

“Do you like it?” He watches you brush his hair.

“You know, I’ve always been amazed at how gorgeous you are. To think I’m this lucky to own you…I’ll make sure to take good care of you, dear.”

Albedo wants to bury himself underground. He’s enjoying this more than he should be.

It’s strange. He doesn’t get why he’s enjoying this at all. Isn’t his sole purpose to be that of living as a human? Why would he succumb to regressing himself like this?

Your arms envelop his body, your hands traveling on top of the fabric.

They’re warm.

Albedo seethes when he feels you tug his nipple. No talking, he has to remind himself, even if you fondle his body like this without warning.

His throat is itching for something, a word, or any kind of sound. He hasn’t said a single thing since he stepped into your abode.

He can do it, he reassures himself.

“My doll isn’t giving up this early, no?” You whisper directly to his ears.

Your fingers slip under the dress and he’s forced to be reminded that you’d taken off his underwear earlier. No! If you touch there, he’ll surely—

“Hmm…”

Panic settles on his face when the noise unconsciously slips out of him.

“Is my doll malfunctioning? That’s a shame. I thought you were perfect. Do I have to throw you out already?”

No, no… He stresses.

Give him one more chance! He pleads in his head.

Your thumb rubs the slit of his tip, playing with the already oozing precum. His thighs slightly tremble and he’s begging you to not notice it. He can’t —It’s physically impossible for him to stay still!

Your fingers now move to his shaft, stroking his cock slowly and giving him the right pace that he needs.

Albedo’s mind is getting hazy. It feels so damn good, he’s this close to moaning loudly if not for the fear that he’ll disappoint you.

He bites the inside of his cheek, his eyelids shutting close every now and then.

Your pace hastens, each stroke getting rougher and faster. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to hold in his scream when he cums.

“Mmgh–”

His breaths are getting heavier and deeper, his cock ready to burst at any second.

And then he feels your grip tighten.

You stop your movement, letting his worry go to waste. It’s painful, being stopped when you’re so close to reaching your high. Still, this is better. He can’t imagine what he would do if he actually did crumble beneath your hands.

Albedo shivers when he feels you touch his tip again, replicating the same movements you had done earlier. His thighs are sticky, the insides of the dress damp and warm.

The alchemist breathes. Coming to a conclusion that he’ll make less of a noise this way. He hears the way it squelches with each stroke, the noise leaving him greatly humiliated.

His cock aches for a release, the emotionless facade that he wears slowly shattering as he gets closer to an orgasm.

He bit down on his lip, ready to contain the noise, when you immediately stopped. His cock twitching from being suddenly released from the friction.

This happens five more times.

Albedo can feel his sanity going away. He needs to cum. Let him, please. He’s been doing so well, hasn’t he?

His legs have stopped shaking, already used to the same torture that you keep putting him under.

He wants it already, impatient at how long he thinks you’ll keep doing this. Albedo wants it to be all over, he’ll do anything. He’ll suck you off with his mouth if you want, no matter if it ends up with him choking at the end.

How long will he have to bear this?

“You really don’t get it, do you?” You ask the worn-out alchemist.

“You’re already perfect, Albedo. But isn’t there something you’re forgetting?”

What?

“I’ve given you so many chances to guess, and yet you still won’t remember?”

Your fingers cup his chin, and his mind relishes at the fact that he could forget about the one thing you told him that you enjoyed the most.

“Smile for me, doll.”

Albedo’s a wreck as he gets his insides wrecked with your length. His body every now and then writhes as he lets you handle his body even if you push inside him so far that he can feel it inside his guts.

He’s not allowed to move. He’s a doll, he keeps repeating to himself.

The smile on his face looks whorish instead of being elegant.

He doesn’t know whether it’s because of the mirror but seeing you penetrate him, his hole opening up graciously for you has the poor alchemist wanting to scream. But since he can’t, his emotions overwhelm him and tears start flowing down his cheeks.

Being used like this, as if he’s just some object to be thrown around sends a thrill in his head. Perhaps it’s because of the fact that he would have been, if things didn’t go his way.

Albedo ejaculates on the bed, the dress sticky with his cum.

You don’t stop, his walls being mercilessly pounded through, wanting to see how far his limit is until he finally begs of you to stop.

Well, you did warn him before, didn’t you?

His body is weightless in your arms, using his body as if it’s your personal sex doll, you grab him by the sides of his waist, thrusting and hitting his sensitive spot each time.

He loves it.

He’s yours and you have every right to decide what he can and cannot do.

He won’t mind.

Not at all.

#sub albedo #dom reader #sub genshin impact #sub genshin #dom!reader #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x reader #albedo x reader #sub!albedo #plattered writings

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turtletaubwrites · 4 months

Text

Numbers Game ~ Part 17

Let Me Help You With That

Pairings: Cross Guild x Fem!Reader x Shanks

Numbers Game Masterlist

Word Count: 3930

Ao3 Link

Ongoing Series Playlist: Youtube Music Link | Youtube Link

Summary: Crocodile isn't happy with your charming guest, and you might agree.

Author's Note: I am WAAYYY too excited for y'all to read this one 😭

Alternate POV Symbols:

!!! SPOILER WARNING !!! Fic contains spoilers for the end of the Wano arc

Rating/Warnings: Author has Chosen to Exclude some Smut Warnings for this Chapter to Avoid Spoilers, Explicit Sexual Content, 18+ ONLY, MDNI, AFAB!Reader, She/Her Pronouns for Reader, Reader-Insert, Dark Content, Blood & Violence, Swearing, Alcohol, Cigars, Smut, Fluff, Manipulation, Humiliation, Pet Names, Power Imbalance, Cross Guild boys are VILLAINS, Possessive Behavior, Teasing, Threats, Size Difference, Daddy Kink, Degradation, Hair-Pulling, Rough Oral Sex, Comeplay, Shameless Shameless Smut, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

~🐊🗡️🐊🗡️~

“I don’t like this.”

“Really,” Mihawk teased, pouring Crocodile a glass of scotch before topping off his wine. “ You hide it so well.”

“Fuck off,” Crocodile grumbled, more annoyance than anger coating his rough voice. He continued pacing after accepting the scotch, taking too large a sip, too quickly. He hissed lightly at the burn, then sent those silver eyes to tear into the man hanging his fancy coat on its fancy hanger. “Tell me what they’re doing.”

The swordsman smirked, touching his arm to guide him to one of the loveseats.

The loveseat that was against the connecting wall to the middle suite.

“They already went in there,” Crocodile huffed, taking up a large space on the small sofa.

“You didn’t hear the doors? You really are bothered, aren’t you?”

“Of course I’m fucking bothered,” he snapped, although his voice was a bit hushed so close to that wall. “You invited some freak to come fuck our girl, and our– and you didn’t think to tell me? I don’t care if he’s your ex, he’s a fucking Emperor. This is not a good time for variables. Or do you not care about our plans?”

Mihawk was still standing, his head cocked after the slew of words that had just left the typically stoic man’s lips. Crocodile’s jaw clenched tighter with each passing moment of silence, until confusion took over his features, his lips parting as Mihawk sat down beside him.

Tapping his ear, Mihawk shifted in his seat, facing Crocodile as he tilted his ear toward the wall. This left the golden eyed man with nowhere to place his long legs except for across the larger man’s lap, leaning back against the cushioned armrest as he met his gaze.

“I apologize for not telling you about Shanks,” Mihawk began, taking a large swig of wine while Crocodile processed his words, and the weight Mihawk had so casually stretched over his lap. Silver eyes narrowed, searching for lies on the swordsman's face as he continued his apology. “You’re right. We’re partners, and I shouldn’t have let my personal feelings keep me from respecting our professional arrangement. It won’t happen again.”

“Didn’t know you were capable of apologies, Hawk Eyes,” Crocodile sighed after a long pause. He downed his glass, which the other man grabbed to set down for him, as those long, leather clad legs were still restricting his movement.

“I am capable of many things that you aren’t aware of,” he replied, just a hint of that teasing edge in his words.

“Just tell me what they’re saying,” Crocodile groaned, rubbing his palm over his face. “If he hurts her, your apology is fucking null.”

Mihawk laughed as he extricated himself from the sofa, fetching the bottles of scotch and wine before resuming his position. He looked as pleased as a cat with cream as he stretched across Crocodile’s lap again, body going loose before he started to share what their girl was up to.

“Don’t worry, Crocodile. Our little rabbit is far more interested in our clown than touching the handsome stranger. In fact, she’s giving him a rather hard time.”

He chuckled at that, his eyes looking up a bit as he focused on the laughter in the other room.

“What do you mean,” grumbled the scarred man, frowning deeper than usual as he waited for more.

“Well, Y/N insulted Shanks’… manhood for one thing,” Mihawk laughed as Crocodile choked on his liquor, trying to speak through his coughs until Mihawk took pity on him. “Don’t worry, it was just a joke. They seem to be having a lighthearted time in there.”

“How does your ex handle being the butt of jokes?”

“He’s not my ex, you know,” Mihawk insisted, stretching his neck before elaborating. “He was a rival. Then a friend. Then a close friend.”

“Do you consider all your close friends to be ‘phenomenal fucks?”

Golden eyes widened, showing a hint of shock, even a surprised lift to the corner of his lips before he shook his head with a laugh. Crocodile flexed his jaw before taking another burning sip, looking away from that pleased face.

“I can’t imagine you have many close friends either, sandman, and it’s not easy to find lovers worthy of respect out on the seas,” Mihawk started, his teasing voice turning sharper as he went on. “What about you, Crocodile? Do you have any long lost loves out there somewhere? Did you keep a little harem of sweet girls when you had your hook in that kingdom? Maybe there’s even a few baby crocs crawling around some–”

“Enough.”

Blood and scotch mixed in Crocodile’s palm, most of the shards of glass still held or embedded in his hand after he’d crushed it. Mihawk’s eyes looked even less human than usual, assessing the other man like a predator deciding whether to leave this catch alone or not.

“Let me help you with that,” Mihawk rasped, slowly reaching for that clenched fist. Crocodile nodded, the veins in his reddened neck starting to shrink. He followed the swordsman to the bathroom, the only sounds being his slowing breaths, Mihawk’s little hums, and the tapping sound of each piece of glass as they were carefully removed from his palm to fall into the bin.

“It’s not bad,” Mihawk noted after cleaning and wrapping the collection of small wounds. “I’d hate to have to buy you another hook. This one looks rather expensive.”

Crocodile huffed a laugh, the tension in the room starting to ease while he sat against the marble counter. He let out a sigh, tilting his head toward the ceiling before diving back in.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Oh, Shanks? I think he can take a joke better than you can,” Mihawk laughed, holding his hands up at Crocodile’s scathing look. “Sorry, sorry. No more jokes. Not tonight, anyway.”

“Just tell me what’s happening.”

Mihawk agreed, but led the scowling man out to the bedroom before frowning at the loveseat, mumbling about that “peaty stench.” Instead, they sat on the edge of the bed, Crocodile’s rough voice starting until Mihawk cut him off.

“Your sweet girl was brattier than I’ve ever heard her, and Shanks is handling her well.”

“Are you fu–”

“She’s having a lovely time,” he assured, smoothing his hand over a large thigh before Crocodile could get to his feet. “I wouldn’t let him hurt her any more than she wants. Besides, our clown is taking good care of her. Shanks is giving our pets a night to remember.”

“I don’t fucking trust him,” he growled, shaking his hand loose after clenching it around the bandages. He paused, waiting for Mihawk’s snarky reply, but they shared another long, empty moment.

Another moment that neither man used to bring up the elephant in the room.

“I should have told you,” Mihawk rasped as he stood, touching Crocodile’s shoulder as he moved to stand between those long legs. “In the spirit of honoring our professional agreement, why don’t I make it up to you?”

The air shifted, hot and thick, while Crocodile’s eyes narrowed yet again as he studied the man that was too close.

That he’d let get too close.

“How do you mean,” he asked, although the answer was clear in those golden eyes, a tiny gleam of fire building within them.

“Since it’s my fault that you’re without your sweet girl, or your only hand tonight,” Mihawk purred, taking his time running his fingers down Crocodile’s arms, “I believe I owe my business partner some assistance with relieving the stress I’ve caused. Don’t you?”

Crocodile wet his lips, eyes pouring down that wicked face, that bare chest, those ridiculously low, leather pants, to the hands that traveled back up his arms to his shoulders. He didn’t stop the swordsman when those arms wrapped around his neck.

The man was so close.

“What do you say, sandman?”

“Business partners,” Crocodile urged, unable to look away from the other man’s smirking lips.

“Of course,” Mihawk hummed as he leaned even closer. “I’m just helping out my business partner. Can’t have you so stressed before the big event. Let me take care of you.”

That offer, that request, was left as a tempting breath along Crocodile’s lips, and his silver eyes went dark before he closed that fraction of space. The kiss was almost angry, as if there was too much energy in their bodies, so they forced it into each other's hungry mouths. Soft grunts, little gasps, and heavy breaths filled the air as their tongues explored each other.

Mihawk’s lips managed a smirk, a laugh almost breaking through, until Crocodile’s bandaged hand forced him deeper into the kiss. Fingers twisting into soft black hair brought pretty noises from the swordsman’s throat, which only made those fingers tighter.

“Fuck,” Crocodile broke the kiss with a groan, pushing Mihawk back after the swordsman had pressed a leg against the hard length already growing in his dress slacks. Before either could say a word, Mihawk was on his knees, trailing hands along Crocodile's inner thighs, devilish satisfaction clear on his face.

“Take these–”

“Shut up,” Crocodile growled, cutting Mihawk off with the tip of that golden hook, pressing into his neck. “You wanna suck my cock so fucking bad, you don’t get to tell me what to do. You gonna ask nicely?”

Mihawk’s eyes went heavy, fluttering as the hook dug in, his mouth slack as he tried to look up at the man who had him.

“Please, Croc, take your pants off. Please, let me suck that perfect cock of yours.”

Mihawk gasped when Crocodile grabbed his jaw, hard, scraping the hook down his neck to his shoulder. Crocodile finally had his own pleased smile as he stared down at the twitching man in his grasp, those leather pants straining as Mihawk moaned from the pain.

“If you want this, you know what my fucking name is,” he taunted, leaning down to whisper in Mihawk’s ear as he kept dragging that sharp point down his skin. “What’s it gonna be, little bird? Still want what I can give you?”

“Yes,” Mihawk gasped before scraping his bottom lip through his teeth.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, daddy,” Mihawk moaned, his eyes rolling white as the words left his lips.

“Good boy,” Crocodile purred, releasing him before standing up. He towered over the man on his knees, smirking down at the unexpected sight of Dracule Mihawk begging for his cock. “Now get to work.”

Mihawk gazed up at the man he’d just called, ‘daddy,’ and obeyed instantly, his mouth hanging open with need as he reached for Crocodile’s belt.

“Yours too,” the scarred man ordered after Mihawk helped him out of his clothes. Crocodile had started to undo his vest and shirt slowly, but Mihawk’s skilled fingers flew up to free him. Now Crocodile sat nude on the edge of the bed, watching as those leather pants were undone, and set aside so carefully that he laughed. “You’re so precious about your fucking clothes.”

“Of course, they’re one of a kind,” Mihawk huffed, frowning a bit before going to his knees again.

“I’ll make sure you get all the fancy clothes you like, swordsman. Want me to hunt down a personal tailor for you?”

Mihawk paused, cocking his head as his hands reached for the larger man's thighs. It was his turn to narrow his eyes, before laughing at the sincere look on that frightening face.

“I would never say no to such an offer, but I made those myself.”

He started to smooth his palms along Crocodile’s thighs, looking away from the face above, missing the grin that beamed down at him. Fingers dug into that black hair again, and he moaned softly as he was forced to meet Crocodile’s gaze.

“So, my scary little bird likes to garden, treats cats like fucking children, collects the prettiest toys, and even makes his own fancy clothes,” he teased, though his voice was filled with enough heat to keep Mihawk from retorting. “Do you want daddy to help his little prince build a new castle?”

Mihawk gasped softly, eyes still guarded as he melted into the rough touch.

“I like that song you hum when you’re happy,” Crocodile whispered, almost releasing Mihawk when he realized what he’d confessed, but he charged on, pretending it hadn’t happened. He brought his hook down along Mihawk's back, trying to distract him with pain that had the man’s cock twitching.

“You know I can give you what you want, don’t you?”

“I know you can, daddy,” Mihawk agreed, a bit of himself coming back as he let that tasty word float between them. “All I have to do is tell you what I want.”

Crocodile sat back, satisfaction warming his features as he flicked his eyes down.

“Show me how much you’ve been wanting to suck my cock, you twisted, little prince.”

A needy sound left Mihawk’s throat. He stared too long, etching that moment into his memory before giving in to that desire and demand.

Long fingers danced down his thighs, and Crocodile caught himself holding his breath as those shining eyes got closer. Mihawk let himself admire that cock the way it deserved, looking it over as if trying to decide which bite of cake to enjoy first. Those heavy balls hung down over the edge of the mattress, and he couldn’t resist reaching for them first, enjoying the little gasp Crocodile let out. He traced his fingers up the shaft, taking in every new sound from his lover’s lips.

Mihawk brought both hands down, wrapping around that thick cock before leaning in. He looked up from his work with a wicked smile, feeling precum drip down his own length from how desperately he’d been wanting to do this.

“You’ve made a lot of promises, daddy,” he teased, hands still playing while a stern face stared down.

“And?”

“And I hope you keep them,” he purred, licking over that swollen tip. The taste made him moan, Crocodile taking in a sharp breath at the feel of that sweet, dangerous tongue.

Mihawk swirled that tongue, spreading the taste around until Crocodile shuddered, reaching for Mihawk’s hair to hurry him up. Mihawk moved before those fingers could push him, taking as much of that massive cock down his throat as he could in the first go.

“Gods, yes. Good boy, use that filthy fucking mouth of yours.”

Strangled, desperate moans vibrated over Crocodile’s veiny shaft as Mihawk let spit drip down for his hands to play in while he kept opening his throat.

“One hand, little prince,” Crocodile chuckled, dragging his hook along Mihawk's forearm. “You can make us both come, can’t you? You talk such a big–”

That hungry throat relaxed further, even as the man on his knees reacted to the challenge. Muffled grunts forced through as one of his hands left Crocodile’s base to wrap around his own, throbbing length. His other hand shifted down to those heavy balls, squeezing and stretching as he swallowed as much of that fat cock as he could, shoving deeper and deeper.

“Fuck yes. Fucking knew my cock would fit your throat, you dirty, little prince. Be a good boy, and spill all over your hand before you swallow my come. You want daddy's come so fucking bad, don’t you?”

Golden eyes burned with tears as Mihawk looked up, unable to respond except for the choked moans and nods that were lost while he fucked his face onto that cock. But Mihawk obeyed, eyes rolling back as he brought himself, his come shooting high enough to coat his own chest, and the bottoms of Crocodile’s thighs.

“Ju–ust like that– fuck,” Crocodile praised, fisting Mihawks hair to guide the last few strokes. The bandage on his palm had soaked through, but neither man noticed while Crocodile forced that willing throat to take everything he had to give.

Mihawk lost himself in the pain and bliss of being used, drinking in his lover's pleasure as that delicious cock pulsed along his tongue, and so fucking deep down his throat.

After a pause, Crocodile yanked the man up by his hair, Mihawk letting out a filthy moan from the force.

“Fuck…”

Silver eyes poured over the masterpiece that was Mihawk’s body. His own pleasure dripped down his chest and stomach, while the blood from Crocodile’s palm trailed down from the back of his neck, his shoulder, gathering over his collarbone before it fell down his chest in a few thin, bright lines.

“Pretty prince,” Crocodile rasped while Mihawk still twitched from his attention. He released that black hair, frowning at the blood pooling in his palm. Mihawk leaned forward as he grabbed the bleeding hand, either not noticing, or not caring as he placed it against his chest, adding to the mess on his skin.

“So, did I please you, daddy,” he asked, his normal, teasing voice rough from the abuse his throat had just taken.

“Need more praise, huh? Such a spoiled little prince,” Crocodile laughed, tracing one of his thick, jeweled rings over Mihawk's pouting lips before he could retort. “You were soo good for daddy.”

The swordsman's eyes fluttered closed, a relaxed smile touching those devious lips. He swayed a bit, a rare look of exhaustion washing over his features.

“Shower first, bright eyes. You look like a fucking crime scene.”

~~~

“Come here,” Crocodile urged, frowning at Mihawk when he laid down in his normal spot, with no one between them. Mihawk raised a brow, but kept his mouth shut, moving to let the larger man curl around his back.

“Are they okay in there?”

“Of course,” Mihawk laughed softly as sleep pulled the two ex warlords under, “Buggy’s already snoring.”

~🐊🗡️🐊🗡️~

It hadn’t made a difference when Shanks released you, his hand no longer covering your lips. You weren’t sure you’d be able to make a sound ever again, to speak any words after the weight of change that Shanks had dropped onto your life.

Buggy’s silly snores gave you bittersweet smiles, yet you still couldn’t sleep.

Every sweet thought of Buggy led to the grief of him being gone. Every sad thought of losing Buggy led to guilt, the need to never hold someone back, to never force someone to be with you.

Selfish. What have I done, anyway? I betrayed him, used him, now we’re both just playthings. He needs to leave. He deserves better than me.

Eventually, Shanks drifted off with his arm still wrapped around you to touch Buggy’s waist. The connection between them was so heavy and ringing that it made your teeth hurt. Time became torture, caught between these sleeping men, and your hurtful thoughts. The prick of tears came, and you longed to sneak out of this bed to be held in the massive one next door. Convincing yourself that you’d be able to sneak away from these powerful pirates undetected was pointless, as the thought of leaving Buggy alone with Shanks made your stomach turn.

Out of pure exhaustion, you were finally forced into sleep. Stormy seas met you again, but this time the ship was cast in red light, and it was Buggy’s voice calling your name.

~~~

“Y/N? Pretty star? You hungry, baby?”

Foggy eyes opened to a smiling face, that red nose seeming redder without fresh makeup to distract from it. Buggy was propped up on an elbow, holding an orange slice to your lips.

“I’m hungry,” Shanks purred, making you jolt as your sleepy brain remembered whose warm body you were pressed against.

“Get your own food, shithead,” Buggy grumbled, eating the slice himself before you had a chance to think.

“Didn’t know this was a buffet,” Shanks chuckled as he nuzzled his face into the side of your neck, humming at the twitches and moans you let out from the sensation. He breathed his next words against your ear, the heat and promise in them making your body tighten, already dripping for him. “I’d love to eat a little bunny for breakfast. I bet you taste so fuckin’ sweet, huh Y/N?”

Too tired and tingling to care that this charming man was here to steal your love, your head fell back against him with a desperate whine. Shanks let out a satisfied sigh as your body loosened, kissing and nibbling down your neck. Buggy placed an orange slice on your tongue, his crystal eyes feasting on the sight of Shanks’ hand and lips on your body before he kissed you, sharing that sweet, yet sharp taste.

“Mm, such a needy little bunny. Gonna tell me how she likes it, Bugs? Tell me how to–”

“Time for work,” Crocodile ordered, the heavy clang of his hook beating against the door.

~~~

You were in a daze.

It didn’t make sense that you had already gotten used to a routine that was so new, and so dangerous, so likely to change at any moment.

Yet, adding Shanks to the mix threw you off. You found yourself spacing out, and you weren’t the only one affected. Crocodile’s displeasure radiated off of him like simmering heat when Shanks charged into the shared suite to get ready with the group.

His frown only let up when it was his turn for the shower, smirking at Mihawk’s daily complaint about needing to install multiple shower heads.

“I need a hand, sweetheart. Wanna help daddy out?”

Crocodile rested his arm against the shower wall away from the water, his soft eyes leading you to his bandaged palm.

“What happened?”

Your question was drowned out by two other voices, Mihawk’s lazy drawl, and Buggy’s excited yell.

“None of us can reach that—“

“I can lend two hands!”

Buggy had already dried off, dropping his towel to the floor as his hands flew back into the shower. Giggles burst out of you when the animated hands started scrubbing Crocodile’s chest and shoulders, the massively tall man’s lips parting while he gawked at Buggy’s smiling face.

Mihawk turned to grab the shampoo, tossing it up for Buggy to massage through that black hair. Your attention was dragged away from the show at the sight of the vicious, red lines trailing from Mihawk’s neck down to his lower back.

Your golden eyed lover caught your expression, making your mind buzz white with a subtle wink before stepping toward Crocodile.

“I’ll get your lower half. You’re too large for one person to handle alone.”

Deep, pleased laughter drifted through the steamy air as Mihawk started scrubbing those powerful thighs, a small, but wicked smirk pulling at his lips.

Buggy’s nose was pressed lightly against the glass, an adorable grin on his giddy face, as he focused on washing that frightening man, but over his shoulder, another face ripped you from the moment.

Shanks.

His red hair was still dark with water, rivulets pouring down the muscles of his chest and stomach. He stared at the scene, nothing in his pretty eyes that you could read, except for the lack of that playful glint.

Shanks noticed your gaze, and as much as you wanted to look away, to pretend you hadn’t seen it, you were trapped.

Trapped by the curiosity that filled those eyes as they poured over your skin, seeming to take in all that you were. The depth of his scrutiny stole your breath, but he broke the spell with a slow, crooked grin.

Your lips obeyed you, returning that friendly smile, but the feeling of being studied didn't fully fade.

What did he see?

Likes, comments, and reblogs bring me much ✨dopamine✨ thank you!!

a/n: I have made myself FERALLLLLL. Can't think about anything else 😩

Part 18

Operation Olive Branch has compiled a working spreadsheet of ways to help families fleeing from the genocide in Palestine. If you enjoyed this fic, and are able, please click the link to find a list of GoFundMe's, as well as other ways to help.

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l0akkzz · 3 months

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— DARK SIGNS chapter one

𖤐 vessel (sleep token) x fem!oc

𖤐 — in which Vessel takes his chance to come through the mirror.

𖤐 read the prologue before reading ahead for a better understanding! this chapter will contain themes of stalkerish behavior, witchcraft, demons, a few ( about 2 ) heavily implied sexual comments, power play. read with caution.

Hecate eventually forgot about the strange mirror, how it harbors the same symbol as her tattoo. She had also forgotten how her Grandmother was. Having forgotten to cover the mirror to close the gates to another world. As strange as Hecate was, she never believed anything like it, even if it contained her fascination.

But here she was, laying in her bed, nodding off to sleep…expecting nothing, knowing nothing. Yet, there was something watching her through the mirror, eyeing her as she fell into a deeper sleep. A man, skin painted black…a sign known for its connection to witchcraft, a connection to death. His hand reaching out. His fingers grazing the glass from his side, the way it broke as he pushed it out, his very own being craving to be let out.

Sadly enough though, Hecate woke up. Her neck swiveling around as if she had a nightmare, rubbing her eyes before she got out of her bed and looked at the mirror before looking almost uncomfortable. She stood up and grabbed her covers and left for her living room. Muttering to herself useless prayers before she laid to rest.

Yet, those prayers wouldn’t save her. The tainted man pushing a full hand onto the uncovered glass, it cracking and pushing forward as he walked through. The cracked glass like water and snapping back together as he stood, turning to look at himself. He took in his appearance, something he’s seen a million times. His skin was painted a deep black, only sign of something human being his palms, where the paint rubbed off. He wore no shirt, only a draping coat…his pants hanging low and held by a belt.

He couldn’t help but look around, before looking back to the mirror, his face masked…adorning a symbol painted in red. He crept forward, his steps heavy on the wood as he left the room, his eyes dragging across the hall as his hands reached out on both sides, touching the walls.

With slow steps, he stood at the end of the hallway, his body tall as he glanced over the couch where she slept, her black hair veiling her face. His cold, lifeless lips curling into a smirk as he walked over, leaning to see Hecate. His necklaces dangled close to her face, grazing the skin on her shoulder with a cold sting. She twisted, waking up in a jolt to the feeling.

He stood straight, watching her, gripping onto his necklaces as she looked at him before screaming, falling off the couch and throwing the nearest thing she could. “Get the fuck out!” She screamed as he stalked closer, walking her into the kitchen as she grabbed a knife. “What an odd thing you are..” He mumbled, his head tilting to the side. “Get the fuck out of my apartment.” She warned, holding the knife ready.

“I was in here already, Darling” He shrugged, still watching her like she was prey. “Okay, get the fuck out!” She shouted, swinging the knife as he dodged it. His eyes tracing down her form. For a someone who has seen a lot, he’s never seen a body he wanted to fuck so bad.

“I’ll leave soon, when the first light hits.” He spoke, voice sultry, like silk on a curved body, wrapping her mind in honey, dulling her senses. “No, you’ll leave now.” She snapped back, hitting against the counter as the man crept closer.

“Poor little pathetic thing, a knife won’t scare me” He spoke up, reaching forward and grabbing it from Hecate, her face twisting in fear. “Get the fuck out!” She screamed again, looking over and throwing a plate at him, missing him by a hair. “Get out! Leave!” She shouted again but it only pushed him more. “You left the mirror uncovered…” He laughed. “You’re freaky mask isn’t scaring me you fucking perv” Hecate hissed. He only shrugged, “You won’t remember a single thing, just go back to sleep…” He said softly, getting close to her. His hand snaked up to her shirt and pulled the side up.

All Hecate could hear was his voice echoing in her head. Was this just a bad nightmare? It couldn’t be if she could feel his cold finger tips touching her tattoo, and it definitely couldn’t be if she could hear the way he was breathing, how he loudly inhaled like he was smelling something. “This isn’t real, you’re not fucking real” She said, shoving him off.

“You don’t think I’m real?” He laughed, white teeth on display in contrast to his painted skin, producing an eerie look. “No, now get the fuck out!” She shouted again, her eyes scanning over any possible weapons. “Then the mirror wouldn’t have his mark” He laughed, backing up slowly from Hecate. “And your mark wouldn’t have that smell…” He seethed.

“You’re one sick motherfucker.” She bit back, “I can prove to you I’m real Darling, I can make you feel really good, really good really fast” He teased as I stared at him. “Even smelling you from here could get another demon off” He added, his fingers tracing his abdomen as he eyed the tall girl. “A fucking demon? You think I’m some cokehead or something?” She snarled.

“No but I’m sure you could give, how do the new age people call it? good head?” He laughed. “You’re not fucking real” She snapped and he shrugged, “Then so be it” He said flatly, taking quick steps and placing a hand over her eyes and everything grew black, her body falling limp on him as he dragged her back to the living room, laying her on the floor but not before smudging his hand print over her tattoo, claiming her, his touch simmering into her skin, into her soul.

note: i hope you enjoyed part one, im sorry if i wrote a bunch😭 but i hope you enjoy and leave comments cuz i love comments, they’re so fun

#dark aesthetic #dark romance #sleep token smut #sleep token #vessel sleep token #iii sleep token #iv sleep token #ii sleep token #smut #fanfic #metal #music #x reader #fem oc #angels and demons #pepper speaks #l0akkzz #witchcraft

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anonymousewrites · 1 year

Text

One Hell of a Love (Book 1) Chapter Six

Sebastian Michaelis x Demon! Reader

Chapter Six: One Hell of a Ripper

Summary: Jack the Ripper's identity is revealed, and a battle of supernatural beings begins.

“How is it?” said Ciel, sitting on his bed in his nightshirt as (Y/N) and Sebastian reread the case papers.

“No matter how many times we reexamine it, the answer remains the same,” said Sebastian.

“The Viscount couldn’t have been involved in yesterday’s case,” said (Y/N). “It would have been impossible for him or anyone in his household.”

Sebastian nodded. “Of those with proficiency in the medical arts, connections to black magic or cults, and who lack an alibi at the time of the incidents, Viscount Druitt is the only one who fits the profile. But it would be impossible for him to have committed the last murder.”

“Does that mean the investigation was just a farce, then?” said Ciel angrily.

Sebastian smiled impishly. “I am one hell of a butler, so I am faithful only to that which my master has ordered and asked of me.” He threw the papers up in the air. “Under one of your orders, I am to be your pawn and your sword. So, please, Young Master, move me into check.”

“What lead do you have?” snapped Ciel.

(Y/N) grinned, sharp canines flashing. “We have a link between victims.”

“And we know who will be next,” said Sebastian.

“He’ll come if we hang out here, won’t he?” questioned Ciel, dressed in a pauper’s clothes. They stood at a street corner under the cover of darkness, awaiting their murderer’s arrival.

“Yes,” said Sebastian, a long coat on to disguise his butler’s suit.

“It is true that among the prostitutes that were killed, there were other similarities apart from their organs having been removed,” said Ciel.

(Y/N) nodded, wearing just a plain black dress instead of a maid’s uniform.

“Beautiful, shimmering black hair,” said Sebastian.

“But why did he need to kill them?” murmured Ciel.

“That allure which could even be called sinful,” said Sebastian.

“And I—”

“That wonderful softness,” sighed Sebastian. “Ah, that wonderful softness.”

“Listen when someone is talking to you!” shouted Ciel, glaring at Sebastian as he cuddled one of the street cats that had flocked to (Y/N).

“I apologize.” Sebastian held the black cat close. “I was simply so taken with its rare beauty that…soft.”

(Y/N) crouched by Sebastian and scratched under the cat’s chin, smiling at it. The cat purred and relaxed in Sebastian’s arms as (Y/N) pet it.

“You still like cats,” said (Y/N) as the cat pressed its forehead into their arm.

“Yes,” said Sebastian, looking at them.

(Y/N) blinked, and they paused in petting the cat. Before they could say anything, a scream pierced the air. The cat bolted away, and Sebastian and (Y/N) stood.

“There shouldn’t have been any way for someone to go through!” said Ciel.

“Let us go,” said Sebastian, and the three rounding the corner to the dead-end street.

Ciel threw open the door of the house at the end, and a fleck of blood hit his cheek as his eyes widened. Sebastian put a hand over his eyes and pulled him back as the moonlight illuminated the torn apart body of the prostitute within.

Sebastian smirked as a figure emerged from the house, hand still over Ciel’s eyes. (Y/N) cocked their head, ready for a fight. “You’ve splattered it about in a rather lavish way, have you not, Jack the Ripper?” remarked Sebastian. “No. Grell Sutcliffe.”

�� Grell, glasses and clothes covered in blood, stammered, “N-no, this isn’t…I rushed here after the scream, and it was already too…”

“Do you really think you can act innocent looking like that, Grell? Death follows you like a cloud,” said (Y/N), eyes flashing.

“This is the first time we’ve met someone like you in the human world,” said Sebastian.

“You played your part splendidly,” said (Y/N). “But we know what you are.”

“ ‘Splendidly…’ ” repeated Grell. A grin split his features, and his teeth were sharp as knives. “Really?” He pulled the bow from his hair. “I’m an actress.” She removed her glasses. “Quite an exceptional one at that.” She pulled a comb through her brown hair, and it turned a vibrant red. “But you aren’t just a normal Sebastian or (Y/N), either, are you?” She removed her contacts to reveal green and yellow fluorescent eyes and placed on false eyelashes.

“It’s the name I was given by the Young Master, so I am Sebastian. For now,” said Sebastian.

“I’ve grown fond of the name ‘(Y/N),’ ” said his demon counterpart.

“My, that’s quite the subservient personality you have, Sebastian,” said Grell, putting on red glasses. “However, I suppose that’s also splendid in a handsome man such as yourself. And (Y/N)…such independence! Lovely for a person such as yourself. Well, then, Sebastian, (Y/N) —No…Bassy and (Nickname)! I will introduce myself anew! I am the Barnett family butler Grell Sutcliffe. As a fellow servant, please treat me kindly.” She blew a kiss to (Y/N) and Sebastian.

The demons bristled in awkward disgust. They were not expecting this from a supernatural being, that was for sure.

“My, I finally get to meat you without a disguise,” sighed Grell. “I was quite surprised to begin with as it was the first time I’d seen a demon act as a maid or butler, let alone two demons work together.”

“I think that’s our line,” said (Y/N), putting a hand on their hip. “We perform any job required of us. Your kind…You’re supposed to act as a neutral being between gods and humans. But here you are, acting as a butler. Strange job for a grim reaper.”

“Indeed. Shall we say for now that I fell in love with a woman?” said Grell with a smile.

Ciel tensed in Sebastian’s arms. “And that woman is?” asked Sebastian gravely.

“You know that without even asking, don’t you?” said a new voice.

Ciel pushed Sebastian’s hand away from his eyes as all three watched Madame Red step out from within the house.

“Madame,” greeted Sebastian.

“This was beyond my expectations,” said Madame Red. “To think that there would be people able to see Grell’s true nature…”

“You were on the preliminary suspect list, of course, Madame Red,” said Ciel. “However, your alibi was perfect.”

“You even suspected me? Your own aunt?” Madame Red’s eyes softened slightly.

“If the individual was capable of becoming ‘Jack,’ blood relations had no bearing,” declared Ciel. “It was impossible for any human on that list to be involved in all the incidents. However, if the accomplice were inhuman, then that would change everything. If they were able to get into a room within a split second without us noticing and move from the Viscount’s home to the East End in an instant, then ‘Jack the Ripper’ could be none other than Madame Red and Grell Sutcliffe.

“Among the victims of Jack the Ripper, there were other connecting factors,” continued Ciel. “They all underwent specific surgery at the Central London hospital where you work. Among the list of patients we compiled, the only one who had not been killed was the one living in that room, Mary Kelly. We knew that if we loitered around, you’d be sure to show up. Though we could not save her…”

“This is so unfortunate, Ciel, my adorable nephew,” sighed Madame Red. “If you hadn’t noticed, we would have been able to play chess again. However…this time, I won’t give anything up!”

A roar echoed through the alley as Grell revealed a strange metallic weapon that spun a blade. She slammed it down at Ciel’s head. Sebastian was between them in a moment and grabbed the metal slab the blades spun around, bracing against the attack. (Y/N) kicked Grell and sent her backwards before she could get closer.

“What is that?” questioned Ciel.

“Reapers have a tool they use to prey on people’s soul,” said Sebastian. “It is a Death Scythe.”

“Don’t give it a lame name! I took so much trouble to customize it! I call it a ‘chainsaw!’ ” said Grell excitedly. She smiled darkly. “It’s able to shred any substance that stands in its way. Only I am permitted this Death Scythe.” She pouted. “I was playing nice for so long that my skills have grown rusty. It’s been a while, so I want a good workout! Wi-th yo-u tw-o!” She blew a kiss at the demons.

“No, thank you,” said (Y/N), nose twitching in annoyance.

Sebastian’s eye twitched. “Can you refrain from making such repulsive comments?”

“Ah, how stoic!” squealed Grell. “You two really put me over the edge!” She sighed dramatically. “You know, I love the color red. Hair, clothes, even lipstick. Red is my favorite color. That’s why I gave those ugly tramps a makeover with their beautiful red blood. Sebastian, I’ll make you into an even more appealing man. I will carve you down to your inner depths, scattering that beautiful rose-color everything.” She winked.

“And darling (Nickname)!” Grell sighed dramatically. “I so wished to have seen you in a red gown at the ball! You were absolutely delicious in black, but I would kill to see you in red!” She grinned and winked at (Y/N). “And I suppose I will!”

(Y/N) furrowed their brow. “I’m—”

An irk mark appeared on Sebastian as Grell shamelessly (and strangely) flirted at (Y/N), and he interrupted, “Reapers are those who should peacefully hunt down souls heading for death.” He took off his coat and draped it around Ciel. “Butlers are those who should obey their masters like loyal shadows. Your poor taste, which violates both of those ideals, quite simply sickens me.” His gaze darkened.

Grell grinned. “Oh, my, Bassy! Even so, I am a deadly efficient butler!” She posed dramatically.

All supernatural beings have one thing in common—dramatics, thought (Y/N). They smirked. But that just means I get to have some fun.

“On behalf of Her Majesty and by my own sullied name, I order you,” said Ciel, pulling his eyepatch off to display his contract mark, “Dispose of them!”

Sebastian’s eyes flashed fuchsia. “Yes, my Lord.”

“With pleasure,” said (Y/N), smirking.

“Ah, splendid!” Grell jumped forward and swung her Death Scythe at them. The two demons dodged back as she attacked. “Yes! Flee more! This is terrific, Bassy, (Nickname)!”

Sebastian and (Y/N) dodged to the side as Grell swung at the wall, and Sebastian landed, but in a moment, Grell was behind him and swung down again. The slash forced his back into the wall as he grabbed the chainsaw to fight it back.

“See? If you don’t run fast, you’ll be shred—!” Grell yelped as (Y/N) kicked her away from Sebastian.

Grell pivoted and slashed at (Y/N), who ducked away. Grell stood between Sebastian and (Y/N) and Ciel and Madame Red. Behind her, Madame Red slashed a dagger at Ciel, who jerked back as his arm began bleeding. She had him pinned against the wall with her hand around her neck.

“You should have never been born!” cried Madame Red, raising her arm to stab down.

“Young Master!” shouted Sebastian.

He moved instantly, and Grell swung at him. He didn’t stop as the chainsaw ripped through his shoulder and blood flew through the air. Sebastian was behind Madame Red in a moment, ready to rip her to pieces while (Y/N) moved to engage Grell so she couldn’t go after Sebastian. Their eyes trailed to Sebastian’s injury in worry for a moment, but they focused enough to grab Grell’s chainsaw before she shredded (Y/N) as well.

“Stop, Sebastian, don’t kill her!” cried Ciel.

Sebastian’s hand stopped a few inches from Madame Red’s head. The dagger fell from her hand as she stumbled back.

“Sebastian…” said (Y/N) as they saw him pant and hold his injured shoulder.

“My, Bassy, you’re so daring!” chirped Grell even as she pressed his chainsaw down towards (Y/N). “Even at the cost of an arm, you went to save that kid. And (Nickname), darling, oh my! Your determination to keep me from both is so admirable! Such fire!” Grell forced the chainsaw closer, and (Y/N) pushed back, rolling to the side to avoid the blades, even as it tears at their skirts. “Look at yourself in comparison, Madame. Hurry up and get rid of that kid!”

Madame Red covered her face, crying. She gazed at Ciel mournfully. “My beloved sister…My beloved…Their beloved little…I can’t. I just can’t. I can’t kill this child.”

“What are you saying after having cut up all those women?” questioned Grell. “If you don’t get rid of that kid, you’ll be the one who’s disposed of.”

“But this child is my—!” Madame Red coughed as the chainsaw burst through her chest.

Ciel, Sebastian, and (Y/N)’s eyes widened. They hadn’t expected the betrayal.

“I am so disappointed, Madame Red,” said Grell. Madame Red coughed up blood as she fell back. “I have no interest in you if you’re just like all the other women!”

As Madame Red fell to the ground, her memories began to pour out of her body in strips. A faint memory appeared in (Y/N)’s mind.

“This is…” they said.

“The memories played back to be judged on the list of those who are scheduled to die by a higher power,” said Grell. “That is the job of us Reapers. What kind of human they were, what sort of life they led…”

“In other words, a flashback of their life?” said Sebastian.

“My, do stop it with all those horrible, old-fashioned names,” said Grell. “The Cinematic Record. This is the true power of the Reaper.”

The memories of Madame Red swirled around the group. They saw her grow up to love the former Earl Phantomhive and mourn his choice in his sister. They watched her marry a man and become pregnant. They saw her life crash to pieces once more in a carriage accident that lost Madame Red her husband and child. They watched Madame Red lose her sister and her sister’s family to flames. Madame Red lost her mind to grief over her own lost child as prostitutes requested abortions from her. Madame Red become Jack the Ripper to punish people in the same way she had been—with death and loss and pain and that deep red that stains all it touches.

Grell sighed as the memories finished. “I loved you covered in the blood of others, Madame Red.” She ripped off her grey coat and let it fly away. “To think you were such a ridiculous woman! I’m so disappointed. You have no right to wear red.” Grell pulled Madame Red’s scarlet coat off and pulled it on herself. “The cheap show is now over. Goodbye, Madame.” Grell sighed and turned away, clad in red.

Ciel reached out and closed Madame Red’s empty eyes. “Sebastian, what are you doing? I told you to hunt down Jack the Ripper. It’s not over yet. Don’t stand around. Get rid of Grell.”

Sebastian looked at Ciel in surprise before smirking. “Understood.” He turned to (Y/N). “Join me for some fun?”

(Y/N) grinned. “Why not?”

“I was going to spare you, but if it’s your wish, I’ll send you there, too,” said Grell. She turned on (Y/N) and Sebastian with her chainsaw roaring. “Both of you will go to Heaven together!”

Sebastian ducked, and (Y/N) flipped up. “Heaven?” chuckled Sebastian as he dodged behind Grell. “That has no hold over us.”

“I’m afraid we come from quite the opposite place,” said (Y/N), grinning as their eyes flashed fuchsia.

(Y/N) leapt at Grell from below, and Sebastian kicked at her from above. The reaper barely dodged and glared at the demons.

“You just aimed for a lady’s face, didn’t you?!” she cried.

“I am one hell of a butler,” said Sebastian, smirking.

“You’re the one who wants a real fight,” said (Y/N).

Grell scoffed and smirked. “Do you really think a demon can win against someone who is like unto God?”

“If the Young Master has told me to win, then I shall win,” said Sebastian.

“I love a good challenge. Sebastian can tell you I love nothing more than proving just how good at my job I am,” said (Y/N), smiling.

“Even if you are demons, if you get destroyed by a Death Scythe, you’ll be well and truly gone, you know?” remarked Grell. “Aren’t you scared?”

“Scared?” (Y/N) smirked. “Grell, I’ve been to Hell and back. What is there to be scared of from you?”

Sebastian grinned darkly beside them. He supposed there were some reasons to be attached to them.

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#one hell of a love #x reader #x gn reader #gn reader #x nb reader #nb reader #black butler sebastian #sebastian x demon!reader #sebastian x reader #sebastian michaelis #sebastian michaelis x reader #demon reader #demon!reader #black butler x reader #black butler fic #black butler ciel #black butler #kuroshitsuji x reader #kuroshitsuji

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closetnerd62 · 10 months

Text

Brotherly Advice

A Lautski + Spankoffski Bros Fic inspired by Writing Prompt #2504 from @promptsforthestrugglingauthor

Summary: after months of watching Pete fail to actually make a move with Steph, Ted refuses to let history repeat itself and offers some brotherly advice

“Bye!” Pete said shyly, holding the door for Steph.

“Bye!” She smiled.

“Bye!” He repeated dreamily.

“You already said that.” She giggled.

“Oh! My bad.” He rubbed his neck sheepishly with a blush.

“See you later Spankoffski!” Steph shook her head with a smile.

“Yea- yeah,” he stuttered as she descended the apartment stairs. “Definitely.”

As he shut the door, Pete pressed his forehead to the door with a groan.

“That. Was painful.” Ted cringed. “You two have been ‘hanging out’ for three months now without making a move. Look, if you ever wanna get with her you have to be smoother than that.”

“I’m not like you Ted,” Pete snapped. “I don’t just want to ‘get with her’ asshole. I really like her. But there’s no way she’d ever actually reciprocate.”

“You’ve gotta play the field pal.” Ted said, slapping Pete on the back. “Go find another girl and take her home with you. Then little Lauter here will get all jealous and when you play hard to get, she’ll be on her knees practically begging for you.”

“No-NO! She’s not like that,” Pete interjected defensively. “Sure, she acts like she doesn’t care but she can be so incredibly passionate and she makes me feel like I’m worth something for once! I know you wouldn’t understand but I would be willing to suffer if it meant that she got to be happy!”

Ted was hit with a wave of recognition. He was amazed. He himself had only ever experienced a feeling that strong once, for one girl… Jenny.

“Holy shit.” Ted softened. “Pete, are you in love with this girl?”

“What? No!” Pete hissed.

“Yes, the fuck you are.” Ted pressed. “I can see it!”

“Then maybe you need to get glasses too, dickhead!”

“Listen to what you just said jackass! You love her!”

“No I don’t!” Pete cried, “I can’t!”

A memory flashed in Ted’s mind. He could see himself in college, laying on his dorm room bed saying the same thing about Jenny.

“I shouldn’t.” Pete continued.

“Maybe.” Ted offered. “Maybe it is the worst thing you could possibly do. But I’m sorry buddy, you do. You love her. And there’s no moving forward until you admit that to yourself.”

The brothers sat in a heavy silence. Ted could see the gears moving in Peter’s head, the calculations being made. A look of defeat slowly crept across his face. Mournful of the bliss of willful ignorance.

“I love her.” Pete breathed, miserably.

“You gotta tell her Pete.” Ted sighed.

“See you don’t understand Ted!” Pete thundered. “I can’t!”

“You have to.”

“No!” Pete insisted. “It feels safer to love her from a distance.” His face twisted as if he was trying to work up the ability to face his worst fear. “I can’t lose her if she doesn’t know.”

He looked exhausted. As if the mere thought of her not being in his life had drained him. Ted stared at him, as if looking in a mirror to his past self. Spankoffski’s had a knack for making history repeat itself, but Ted refused to let that happen this time. This time he had been given the chance to go back and save his brother from everything he had done wrong.

“I’ve made that mistake before.” Ted admitted. “Don’t do it.” This was the most sincere that Peter had ever heard his brother speak. “Anyone worth loving should know the truth.”

Pete nodded.

“I’ve gotta tell her.” he confessed, rising from the couch and grabbing his coat. “I’ll be back in a bit Ted.”

“Go get her!” Ted called as Pete rushed out the door of their apartment and into the hall, heart pounding against his chest. He barreled down the stairs, tearing through the halls, fueled by intent and need and yearning. He yanked open the door, ready to race to the Lauter house, only to find his mark already at the door, about to press the button to be buzzed in. He stared at her in amazement.

“Oh Pete! I was just about to call up, I accidentally took your calculator with me.” Steph’s face was pink from the outside cold. Peter stared, soaking up everything that was the girl before him.

“Pete?” she repeated.

“I have something I need to tell you.” He said breathlessly.

“Okay?” she prompted, intrigued.

“I- um…” He stuttered. “Uh… we’ve been hanging out for so long and well… after everything we’ve been through together, I just- I-”

“Take your time.” Steph encouraged, placing a supportive hand on his arm.

“I think I’m in love with you.” he blurted.

Shock plastered itself across Steph’s face. She blinked, trying to process.

“I’m sorry,” Pete rambled. “I understand if you don’t feel the same way and I don’t expect anything from you, I just thought it’d only be fair to let you know and I understand if you don’t ever want to hangout again or talk or-”

“Pete!” She cut him off. “Don’t you dare fucking apologize.” And with that she grabbed the collar of his button up and pulled him into a kiss.

As Ted glanced through the window he was filled with pride. Even though he knew it was too late to go back and get it right himself, the satisfaction of knowing maybe eventually he could, if he could only be more like his kid brother, gave him a new hope. He meandered his way over to the phone in the kitchen, dialed a number, and listened as someone picked up on the other end.

“Hey Char,” He murmured, “I need to tell you something.”

#Ted is accidentally a good big brother and I will die on that hill #this bitch can monologue #spankoffski bros #lautski #lautski fic #pete spankoffski #ted spankoffski #steph lauter #hot chocolate boy #stephanie lauter #hatchetfield #starkid #npmd #nerdy prudes must die #starkid npmd #hatchetverse

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it-happened-one-fic · 1 year

Text

Play the Fool - Dottore (Part 5)

Author Notes: Last one! I've actually had a fair bit of fun playing with this series, but I can also say I'm glad to be completing it. Just like the previous parts, I listened to "Black Sea" by Natasha Blume while writing this. Reader is gender-neutral. I hope you enjoy!

Type: Mer-Dottore/ Merman AU/ gender-neutral reader/ I'm not gonna label this as fluff since that doesn't feel quite right, but know that it's NOT angst, yandere, or anything like that

Word Count: 2136

Trigger Warning: Discussion of past crimes including murder (Dottore), Fatui are generally shady

[Part One], [Part Two}, {Part Three}, {Part 4}, {Part Five: You're Here!}

EDIT: Entire series now available on AO3! (link deleted due to glitches)

“Here,” I spoke as soon as I entered the bathroom, pulling the vial from my pocket and holding it out to the merman, who merely gazed at me. Utterly unsurprised but obviously pleased.

Despite standing so close to his tank, in such easy reach of his grasp, I stood firm and watched him closely as his one arm slowly slid up from under the water and over the edge of the tank.

His long, webbed fingers wrapped around the top of the vial, slightly overlapping with my own hand as his gaze held mine in a way that almost made me feel transfixed and unable to look away.

It was as if the atmosphere was stretched taut between us in that brief moment, and time almost seemed to slow. It was something he was strangely capable of doing. Turning a moment into what felt like eternity without ever saying a word. Perhaps it was some hypnotic effect of now being a beast from fairy tales that was known to drown hapless victims.

But I pulled back, snapping the moment and causing his smile to spread ever so slightly as I quietly refused to be completely drawn in by him. I may have been playing the fool, but that didn’t mean I actually fit the role.

“I’ll lay some clothes outside the door for you,” I was surprised by how smooth my voice was, but this was the final step. After this, I would no longer have the threat of death hanging over my head. There was only one thing I had left to do.

“You’ve had Pantalone helping this entire time, haven’t you?” Dottore pulled his arm back as I spoke, uncorking the vial as he titled his head.

“You knew?” It was an offer to stay silent. To play dumb and stay the fool even if I didn’t suit that role. After all, sometimes the fool is a safer role to play.

But for reasons unknown, I didn’t make that choice. Instead, I crossed my arms as I continued to look down at him, “I surmised that to be the case. Things were going too smoothly, even for someone such as yourself to be doing the planning.”

He chuckled, a low, rich sound that rolled out and through the room. Seeming to coat the entire space with me in it.

“And so you truly are the only clever person left in the Fatui. Good.” His gaze shifted so that he was once more looking at me with that strangely mystifying stare of his, “Very good.”

That was the only answer I was getting. But it was enough and confirmed my suspicions. I turned, leaving the room and fetching the clothes just as I promised.

The next moments would be telling since I would soon be dealing with a Harbinger who was no longer separated from me by the glass walls of his tank. I would no longer have a protective barrier, raising the level of danger. But I’d been playing his game for a fair bit of time now, and I found that I wasn’t afraid. At least not anymore.

If he’d wanted me dead, he would have done so the very moment I’d given him that vial. But he hadn’t. He either had a final job for me or had decided it wouldn’t be necessary to kill me.

Odd for the Fatui, considering that most would want to cover up their time of vulnerability and make it so that it had never happened and no one could or would remember it. The fewer witnesses, the better, was typically the name of the game for such situations within their ranks. But then, Dottore always had been an odd one.

It wasn't long before he emerged, fully dressed and once more on legs. The picture of the harbinger he’d been before he’d fallen prey to his own experiments.

Experiments that I now questioned as to how mad they’d been exactly. After all, he’d apparently had a cure made for himself already, which told me something very simple.

He’d known what would happen.

“Was it all a scheme to get rid of the majority of the scientists?” I leaned against the door to my living space as I watched him adjust his gloves.

“If that’s what you wish to believe,” That was his only response before he looked up and strode forward, crossing the space to where I stood. It took everything in my power not to tense on reflex as he stopped in front of me.

It seemed that even as a human, he maintained that curious draw that made him come across as something fascinating. Something more.

“It is time we returned.” Despite the slight smile on his face, it wasn’t a request, but an order or perhaps a challenge. Either way, it had me crossing my arms in a subtle show of refusal.

“So you can get your position back? I won’t be necessary for that,” I asserted calmly, like I wasn’t refusing a command from a harbinger who’d already killed untold numbers of people.

But I'd never been blindly obedient, not even to him.

His lips curved up into an amused smile that spoke of great satisfaction. He was pleased that I wasn’t simply obeying.

But then I supposed Dottore had never been totally obedient either, one of his many oddities. Rather, it was more that the Tsaristsa’s orders had suited him thus far and that she’d given him access to the materials he needed.

“Perhaps not, but you will be necessary for what comes after, and it will be worthwhile for you.” He tilted his head slightly as he spoke, causing the longer chunk of his soft looking blue hair to sway slightly with the motion.

“Oh?” I maintained a disinterested tone, and he nodded, leaning down and into my personal space as he peered at me through his mask. And though I couldn’t see his eyes, I had a good idea of the sort of gleam they currently held.

“You’ll receive what you’ve been seeking. Safety.” I swallowed slightly, refusing to let him see exactly how much that promise affected me. I’d decided quite some time ago that I wasn’t going to be the first to crumple in these strange interactions, and that was why I hadn’t leaned away from him even though there was now very little space between us. A sharp contrast to when we’d been separated by the walls of his prison.

But I’d freed him from his shackles. It was time I escaped those that still held me.

“Alright, I’ll come,” My admission came out softly as I glanced away, as if that would increase the distance between us and put me in a more stable position.

I didn't trust my voice to not waver without at least that precaution. Not with the promise of escaping the threat of death that remained lurking over my head. And not with Dottore lingering quite as closely as he was.

In response, he smiled, maintaining our position of incredible closeness as he gazed at me. Measuring my reaction like it was of particular interest, before he at last leaned back.

It was a blessing that our trip didn’t take long, and I trailed after him silently the whole way. Pondering what awaited us and what was happening during my interactions with Dottore, which had slowly been gliding on the same path but were turning increasingly enigmatic even though I was taking part in them.

But I remained silent, watching as members of the Fatui, both those of high rank and those of lesser rank, parted for us. Whispering amongst themselves and sending darting, furtive glances our way. The exact same things that had always occurred around Dottore’s tank.

Then I’d been the only one to draw close to him, and now it was similar. With me being the only person close to him as I followed along behind him. In the eyes of the Fatui, I probably did appear to be a great fool. And in some ways, that point could be argued, what with the slippery slope I’d been on with Dottore ever since he’d first spoken to me.

But he hadn’t dragged me down, and something told me he wasn’t ready to do so yet. I was either a fool or someone who’d allied themselves with the most dangerous people present in the name of safety.

The massive doors swung open, and cold air blew out, causing me to shudder as I beheld the throne room of the Tsaritsa.

In the center of the room knelt none other than the head scientist, with all of the Harbingers fanned out around him. The Tsaritsa herself sat at the apex of the room behind gauzy curtains that made it impossible to tell anything about her features.

Heads turned as we entered, our own heads held high as I mimicked Dottore’s behavior, before dipping into a bow before the throne, even as the Harbinger just beside me remained standing tall even before the throne.

“Your Majesty,” Dottore’s rich voice filled the void that had been left behind by the chatter that had fallen silent the very moment we’d entered. “This man withheld the cure that would have returned me to your service.”

Murmurs broke out across the room, and Capitano sat forward, “Is this true?” There was condemnation into his tone that sent the previously stunned head scientist in a frenzy.

“I… No! This one!” He started, pointing at me and causing me to all but flinch away from him as he reached out to grasp my sleeve like a drowning man trying to fight his way to the surface.

He was going to frame me, in some way. He’d drag me down and sacrifice me all in the name of a last gulp of air before he too succumbed to the dangers of being a part of the Fatui.

“They are the one who gave me the cure,” Dottore spoke again, his compassionless voice still filled with unspoken, cold humor as he looked down at the head scientist, whom I now realized was the only one who remained of his betrayers.

I felt myself grow cold as this entire scenario suddenly became infinitely more clear. This was his final act of revenge.

Dottore would pull this man down from the throne he’d made for himself, and he’d do it all with one of the most unassuming people present, who also happened to be as near as physically possible.

The merman’s caretaker. Me.

I’d well and truly played my role and, in doing so, become a weapon for him to wield against one of his final enemies.

“The situation seems clear; we will handle him later. Dottore, do you accept your reinstatement?” A white-haired man spoke from what appeared to be the highest seat belonging to a Harbinger in the room.

“I do, but I have a request.” I looked towards Dottore, wondering if this was going to be when I was freed from my own shackles or when he got rid of me once and for all. I’d been confident before, but the recent revelation had thrown my understanding into a tumult of frenzied thoughts.

A pawn only had so many uses in the grand scheme of things, and Dottore’s plans were beyond unpredictable.

“Say it,” The man looked down at him from on high, his star-shaped pupil glistening oddly.

Dottore’s gloved hand landed on my shoulder, warm amid the otherwise frigid room. “I request that they become my assistant. There is no one else suitable for the position.”

I all but gaped at him, but then his previous words came back to me. Clever and efficient. Even back then, this had been his plan. This entire time, he’d intended to keep me by his side; it was an odd thought that once more brought back my previous questions about our interactions.

But it made sense in a strange sort of way. Once a pawn moves as far as it can, it gets promoted, and when an actor proves themselves, they move up to the next, harder role.

“Granted, now go. It is time you continue with that which the Tsaritsa demands of you.”

Dottore bowed, a smile curving across his face that spoke of a well-planned victory, “Gladly.”

I watched, still not sure what my new position entailed or meant. All I did know was that Dottore had seen through my playing the fool and intended to keep me close to him. Just where I’d been since the beginning of this entire ordeal. I was in the same place, but in a position.

And that meant that someday, at the very least, I would solve the mysteries of the second Harbinger and what my relationship with him truly was.

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neewtmas · 1 year

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Jealous // Part I

A/N: finally managed to write a part II to this

pairing: george karim x fem!reader

wordcount: 1.4k

masterlist

The only source of light that illuminates the kitchen are a couple of almost burned down candles on the table, their flickering light sending shadows dancing over the tablecloth and the kitchen cabinets. I stare at the indents my nail makes as I drag it over the cloth, again and again, in a never-ending circle. The quiet clanking of metal against porcelain tells me that George is still stirring his tea. It must be cold by now.

“When do you think they’ll be back?” I ask, not taking my eyes off the table. Silence. George has stopped stirring, and I know he’s rubbing his eyes behind his glasses like he does every time he’s tired and stressed. “I don’t know.”

I let my eyes wander over to the old clock that hangs on the wall right next to the door that leads into the hallway. The larger, slightly crooked hand has almost reached the top, telling me it’s nearing 4 am. Usually Lockwood and Lucy aren’t out that late, especially not when the case they had set out to solve was such a minor one. Or seemed like it on paper. George and I had been back since shortly after 1 am, the case we had to solve being simple in every sense of the word.

Since then, we had slowly run out of things to talk about, and I had given up on racking my brain for further conversation topics. That’s not usual at all for us, just a few weeks ago we would have never sat in silence for that long. Except when reading and researching in the library maybe. We had been what you could call a team from the day I started my employment at Lockwood & Co, mostly brought together by the fact that half the time, Lockwood and Lucy just had a dynamic that made one feel like they were intruding on something.

It took some time for George to warm up to me, but I thought he considered me his friend by now. Yet here we were, sitting in silence in the dimly lit kitchen, avoiding looking at each other. I wish I knew what had cause this shift between us, but I don’t have any time to ruminate over it. The sound of the front door opening and falling shut and boots on the creaky floorboards make me perk up. George’s eyes briefly meet mine before the kitchen door flies open and Lockwood steps into the room, followed closely by Lucy. They seem exhausted, but uninjured.

Lockwood plops down on a chair, still in his coat, and lets out a big sigh. “Tea”, is all he says, while Lucy scoots next to me on the bench. George gets up without a word, pours two cups from the kettle on the stove and comes back to the table to put them down in front of Lockwood and Lucy, much more forceful than needed. The cup leaves a stain on the cloth as Lockwood raises it to his lips to take a sip, and immediately spits it out again. “Now that’s actually disgusting”, he grimaces, putting down the cup. “Yes, because it’s been on the stove for three hours”, George snaps. “Where the hell have you been?!”. Lockwood raises his arms in defence, evidently surprised by George’s intense reaction. “Calm down, everything’s fine. We had an issue with the cab and couldn’t find a new one, so it took a little longer than usual.” He gives George one of his charming smiles that is sure to diffuse any tense situation, but George seems immune to it today. “Well thanks to you I had to sit here for three hours, wasting my time!” He rises from his seat, clearly agitated. “Don’t expect me to be up early tomorrow.” With that he leaves the room, not sparing any of us another glance. No one says a word, until somewhere in the house, a door shuts loudly. “Phew, someone’s in a bad mood”, Lockwood chuckles as he gets up to prepare a new kettle. “What’s gotten into him? Did your case go wrong?”

I shrug, feeling somewhat deflated. I wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but the fact that George just spent three hours with me only to leave and call it a waste of time stings pretty badly. “I don’t know”, I say weakly, “He hasn’t really talked to me at all today.” Lucy looks at me quizzically. “All week, actually”, I add, and cringe at how pathetically small my voice sounds. We stay silent for a while, until the tea was ready. “Do you know of anything that might have upset him?”, Lucy asks, smiling at Lockwood who hands her the first cup of tea he poured. He sets one down in front of me as well, before he resumes his place on the chair, his own steaming cup in hand.

I search my brain, for something, anything, but I come up empty. “I have no idea. Everything was fine a couple of days ago.” I stare at the cup in front of me. Lucy goes to drop in a sugar cube, stirs it a couple of times and hands it to me. “Since when exactly is he acting like that?”, she asks, and I take a sip. The hot tea burns my lips and tongue and my throat on the way down and distracts me as I try to recall the events of last week.

“I guess since the last time we were at the library, last Thursday”, I say. “What happened there?” Lucy asks again, and I continue. “That’s the thing, nothing. We were just at our usual table, doing our usual stuff, nothing special. Kipps and his crew stopped by for a few minutes and were annoying, but that’s really the most exciting thing that happened.” Lucy sits up straighter, clearly interested now. “Did Kipps do anything?”

“No. He just introduced the newest member of his team to us, but I don’t recall his name. Joe? Or Jonas?” Lockwood huffs, annoyed just like every time we talk about Kipps and his team. “Johnathan. I’ve seen him once, seems about as incompetent as the rest of them.”

I nod. “Right. Well, when I went to bring back a book, I ran into him, and he asked me out on a coffee date.” Lucy gasps, and Lockwood leans forward, waiting for me to continue. “Did you say yes?”, Lucy asks urgently, and I can’t tell what she wants the answer to be. I shake my head incredulously. “Obviously not. Well anyways, a while later we pack up our stuff, and on the way out, we walk past their table. And he yells after me ‘don’t forget our date, sweetheart!’. When we were outside, George asked me what that was about, and I just told him he asked me out earlier.”

Lucy covers her mouth with her hand and stares at me, wide-eyed. “Did you also tell him you said no?!”

I shake my head. “I kinda thought that was implied”, I say, twiddling with my fingers. Lockwood laughs, and I just look at him in confusion. “Nothing implied that”, he says, raising his eyebrows. “Poor Georgie thinks your going on a date, and that’s why his mood is so sour. He’s jealous!”

My face heats up, and I can just tell I’m scarlet right now. “Why would he be jealous?”, I mumble, embarrassed. “Well, that’s easy to answer”, Lucy chuckles. My cheeks burn at the implications of her words. George? Jealous? Never in a million years would I have come to that conclusion. “But then why would he just stop talking to me?”, I ask, exasperated because Lockwood and Lucy seem to enjoy my embarrassment a little too much.

“Because it’s George”, Lockwood simply says. “That’s what he does.” A smile tugs at his lips. “I suggest we go to sleep now. Maybe you’ll have a nice dream about your lover boy.” I think my head is about to explode, and I’m not sure which one he is talking about. I look over to Lucy for help, but she just bites her lip to keep from bursting out laughing. “Lockwood is right”, she manages to say, before she can’t hold her laughter anymore. I hurry out of the kitchen, face beet red.

#lockwood & co #lockwood and co #lockwood and co x reader #lockwood #george karim #george cubbins #lucy #anthony lockwood #lucy carlyle #george x reader #george karim x reader

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interpolanticssuperfan · 1 year

Text

nothing natural | ken x fem!reader | part 4 | 18+ only

hey everyone!!!! thanks so much for your patience in my getting out this next chapter, ive been incredibly busy with life stuff and finishing a different fic of mine on ao3. (if you're a fight club fan, i'm @snottys on there. LOL) thank you for the kind words and the messages, they mean SO much to me. i hope this chapter is alright, and i can promise some mounting sexual tension in the next one; im just hoping to build up successfully to it so it feels organic and fun. i love you all and thanks for reading <3

tags: @heyareyoulistening @itsametaphorbriansblog @alyeria

The tight snap of the glass sliding door jilted you, and you should’ve guessed that Ken wouldn’t leave you alone, even if it meant deliberately ignoring your request for some space. With a heaving sigh, you studied your hands, the lines of your knuckles to try and see if your skin could explain what was wrong with you. What could possibly be wrong with you.

Inward thoughts tapering off, you couldn’t ignore the way Ken’s presence was making you feel, searing butterflies in your stomach, which made your shame even more complex and frustrating. To be pinned by his gaze, it made you feel important, uninhibited. Flittery and excited like a child. It was invigorating.

It was nothing but a bad idea. A dead end. Done and dusted before you should have ever let it begin.

A breeze rolled through your hair, welcoming and cooling. Ken’s atomic aura lingered behind you. He didn’t bound right up, didn’t affix himself to your side emphatically like he’d been doing all day.

With a puff and a flick, you heaved yourself away from the curled metal railing, not meeting Ken’s eye.

You hid your waning cigarette like you were about to get in trouble for it, as if you were back in school, ducking administrators under the bleachers, wrapped in thick lined coats with your friends. How simple things had been back then.

The mention of school brought back countless unsavory memories and left a bad taste in your mouth, flashes of arguments and self-doubt, so you ignored it in favor of waiting for Ken to speak.

Back then, you weren’t afraid to approach any boy you wanted. It didn’t matter if he was the head of the football team or a shrinking, shy kid in the back of the study hall. Where this fearless bravado originated from, you couldn’t necessarily identify. All you knew was that it had eluded you into adulthood.

You reveled at how much you’ve changed since graduation.

“Willa’s in her green bed-thing,” Ken murmured a decent ways behind you, and you felt instant appreciation for him. After being such a freak and making a fool of yourself, he only kept choosing to help you, looking out for your belongings, the things you cared about. He had no reason to do them for you, but at this point, you didn’t want to question him.

“Thank you, Ken. You didn't have to do that.” You replied softly, picking at a fingernail absentmindedly.

“She got pretty antsy when you left. Ran in circles. Don't worry, (Y/N); once she gets to know me a little better, she’ll trust me in no time. What does she eat?”

Ken finally appeared at your elbow, voice still gentle, taking in the hanging potted plants, the other identical slim patios of your neighbors that lined the lower units. He seemed nervous to get too close, so he laid his hands down on the railing, blinking rapidly when the sun peeked out from the clouds and shone directly on him like he wasn't used to its intensity.

If you weren’t walking on eggshells, unable to trust yourself to talk with him normally, you might’ve tipped a warm, toothy smile up at him, allowed yourself to just… enjoy his presence. Express thankfulness for the change to your humdrum everyday life.

“Lettuce. Different kinds of vegetables. Um… these special pellets I have to order online that take weeks to get here.” And that cost double what they should… the things you do for Willa. If only you could tell her ‘you're welcome.’

“Can you show me how you feed her? When we go back inside?” So hopeful. So unaware. Ken’s request sent shockwaves of emotion through your body. Your heart couldn’t help but do cartwheels over his sweet comments, the uncomplicated way he interacted with you.

“I don't know what to do.”

Ken paused, cocked his head as he furrowed his brow at you. He'd buttoned his jacket back up and taken his boots off. Just standing out here in the real world like he wasn't worried about what would happen to him.

A vein worked in Ken’s throat when he swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing, gilding the beautiful slope of his neck, and you had to tear your eyes away from him, the sweat on your chest collecting rapidly. Too tight, too sweet, too painful to look at.

Of course he buttoned his jacket up, you scolded yourself. What else was he supposed to do after you humiliated him like that, reduced him to nothing but his looks? If he’d done the same to you, you’d have probably kicked him out.

(Or not.)

“Sure you do. You feed her every day, don't you? Actually, you should let me do it, that way we can build a rapport and –”

Exhaling through your nostrils, you took another long drag from your cigarette, and shook your head, still unable to meet Ken’s pleading eyes as the smoke tendril crept upwards and billowed away.

It didn't bring you enjoyment to cut him off before he could lose himself on a tangent, but the day’s events had left you no choice; and you had to own up to your behavior, your unwarranted comments that Ken didn't even register as irresponsible.

“That's not what I meant. I know how to feed Willa. This has been a very, very long and… strange day. And it's only three in the afternoon.”

“I wasn't keeping track of the time.” Ken offered kindly.

“I wasn't expecting you to.”

“That smells bad,” Ken upturned his nose at the cigarette as the cloud dissipated over his face, shifting his body away from the direction the smoke carried. “I saw people with those in Venice Beach, but they walked so fast that I didn't get a proper whiff, you know? I'm telling you, everyone in Venice Beach acts like they're late for something.”

“That sounds more like New York to me.” A sneer formed on your face, which Ken noticed immediately.

“They have those smoke sticks in New York, too?” He questioned innocently, side stepping every wave of tobacco residue that fanned out into the air, engaged in a bizarre dance of bob and weave.

“They have these everywhere.” You counter, lifting your eyebrows curiously.

Ken scowls. “Yuck. What are they for?”

You mulled over an explanation in your mind, a little grateful to be addressing anything besides your brazenly lustful comment that Ken seemed to have entirely forgotten about. That Ken had glossed right over, not even batting a significant (irresistible) eyelash at.

“When you breathe them in, it makes your head feel light for a few seconds. It's a pleasant feeling. But over time, they hurt your body and… essentially poison you.” Is this how you'd explain smoking to a child? It would have to do; you were no teacher, no professional, regardless of how hungrily Ken searched your eyes for answers and succinct explanations on everything.

This information horrifies Ken, who makes to grab the burning cigarette right out of your hand. Pinching it between his fingers like hazardous waste, he flings it as far as he possibly can off the balcony with a grunt of exertion, and you both watch it spin gymnastically before landing a very long distance on a far sidewalk, ashes snowing and dying on the ground.

It's impossible to delay meeting his gaze after that, so you look right up into his eyes, and Ken thaws under your attention, pupils still raging and wild and heavenly cerulean blue.

Good arm, you think to yourself moments before breaking into a grin.

“Sorry (Y/N), but that was for your own good. I can't possibly let you do something that's going to poison you. Not on my watch.” Smug, and a little bewildered, the smile that Ken gives you is flustered and determined.

“You're not even wearing a watch.”

“You don't know that.” Ken lulls, peeking at the sky, trying fastidiously to appear unbothered.

“I'm quite literally looking at both of your wrists.”

“Oh, (Y/N). You bemuse me. You see, a prepared man doesn't need to rely on worldly inventions such as watches. And numbers. He only needs his intuitions. Of which I have so many.” Ken taps intermittently at his temples, still avoiding your direct gaze. Calm and collected. Or, his best imitation of someone relaxed. And educated.

Had anyone else done this, especially on a frustrating and confusing day like today, you’d have probably kneed them in the groin. Maybe hurl a few expletives. Because where would you get off snatching a smoke straight out of someone’s hand? That you'd spent your own money on?

But all you could manage to do was laugh, fold over forwards a little bit with it, and the sound of it eased Ken’s nerves, eventually joining in with you to test the temperature of the conversation.

“So… are you done being mad at me now?” He scrubbed at the back of his neck.

“I was never mad at you, Ken. I just needed some air, I needed to… clear my head. I really meant it when I said you didn’t do anything wrong.” He leaned over the railing a bit, tapping his foot against the welcome mat you’d placed outside.

“What I said wasn’t – well, it wasn’t nice, and I realized that I haven’t been handling this situation appropriately. That’s what made me feel upset. I was mad at myself.” Confessing this had you feeling twenty pounds lighter.

“But it made me feel nice,” Ken affirmed, and you had to soldier yourself mentally not to grab him by the shoulders and kiss him or something equally as unwise. “I liked it. Is that so bad?”

In your peripheral you could make out the lines of his flawless blonde hair falling into his eyes as he watched the grass below, the bright orange “For Rent” sign, the pomeranian sunbathing on the second floor end unit. He seemed to be taken with every new sight that he laid his eyes on. So eager to learn, eager to please you, to help release your nerves.

You considered that you didn't deserve even an ounce of it. His newness. His charisma, the spark in his eyes when you smiled at him. Any of it, there was no reason it should be directed towards you.

Sobered, you attempted with great willpower not to let this falter your resolve. The best way to handle this was with honesty, and you knew that lying to Ken would only further complicate your already complicated friendship that had been forged only a handful of hours earlier.

“To be fair, it usually feels nice to be complimented.”

“And that’s something friends do for each other – they say nice things about the people they like. So I think you should stop being so mad.” Ken sustained, lightly biting at his plush bottom lip, swelling under the tension, the exactitude of his discomfort manifesting.

“Listen. Ken,” you dug your nails into the back of your hand, at the susceptible skin there, leaving imprints as you tried to assert yourself. If Ken noticed the tremble in your exhale as you slowly blinked, he didn’t point it out.

“I’m going to be forthcoming with you, because you seem like someone who… I don’t know. Deserves it. You’re funny, you’re. Fascinating. You’re easy on the eyes, I mean, you're. You’re.”

Ken flushes a deep shade of pink at your words, speechless, the spread of it so clear and unbidden on his lower neck that you have to nearly kick yourself not to look. He's got no idea how to answer you. When Ken finally receives the attention he angles for, it seems that he doesn’t know what to do with it. Stands and sways and stares, waits for the next beat because he isn’t sure of what comes after this, what could possibly be waiting for him on the other side of affection, the words that make him bow his head and drop his listless eyes.

You’re a solid few feet away from Ken, but he smells like sunlight – smells like happiness. His eyelashes dance in the shadows the setting sun casts over him in streaks of oranges and deep reds, painting him like an immortalized work of art.

He glimmers like an angel. Something made from clay. It makes your stomach twist. For some reason you miss your little sister. You miss when your days had structure. When decisions weren’t hard to make, when they weren’t even your responsibility.

When you were only a child, and being alive didn’t sting.

When none of this was your job. It was only dusk and popsicles, running until your ankles scraped against your shoes so bad they bled. When it was just sidewalk chalk and trading cards and homemade dinner. Homework and awful bathroom haircuts. Long walks and skinned knees.

Not a single part of you had ever felt ready to be an adult, and it was hitting you outside on your balcony, washing over you in disconcerting waves that Ken couldn’t read, couldn’t make sense of.

“You don’t know me that well. And. We only just met today. You know? So, what I’m trying to say is, there’s a lot you don’t know about me, about… what I’ve been through and. What I’m looking for. Out of life, out of. Relationships, friends, things like that. What I want to become. And until this morning, I hadn’t really been that inspired to evaluate any of it. My days are essentially just this, every week over and over, exactly like you’ve seen. I work at the library. I say hi to Pat. I rent a magazine that I forget about and then return without even having picked it up or read it, like some loser. I feed my guinea pig. I smoke and then sit out here, watch my neighbors. It’s just.”

Your throat feels constricted, fighting against twangs of distressed emotion that bubble up and cradle within you, threatening to release at any moment. Threaten to betray you. You’re reticent to accept that any display of weakness could turn Ken off.

Could have him turning tail and going back to… wherever it was he said he came from. Barbieland? Jesus, what a day.

Since when had you become such a sap? So ready to let it all out over the smallest event, something as mundane as meeting someone who expressed interest in you?

Ken wasn’t just someone, you scolded yourself. Wasn’t just some guy you’d bump into at a bar, someone you’d match with on a dating app or strut up to at a baseball game drunkenly and emboldened with false courage. He couldn’t fit into a box of superlatives. Refused to be defined so easily.

He didn’t even have a heartbeat.

It’s too much out here, and you want to cry. Want so desperately to cry. To let it out, to experience the way you’d feel in front of someone who would never judge you for it. Who probably doesn’t even know what crying or sorrow or regret or loneliness feels like.

But Ken stills himself and listens. Fiddles with his hands like he’s never been bored before and listens to every word, hangs on them like he’s getting something out of this, like he needs to listen to a human being speak about what it feels like to be a human being. Like this is valuable information to him.

He’s so beautiful and bright and burning like the sun and he listens to all of it.

“It would be the easy thing to just keep you here. I know you have no idea what I’m talking about. I’m sorry about that. It would be so easy to. Accept this, accept you and. Not even question it. I mean, Jesus. You came out of nowhere. Introduced yourself to me. Not afraid of anything. You didn’t even know who I was, not really. And the easy thing would be for me to take you – take it. Not even. Not even worrying about what it said about me to do that.”

Your throat is rubbed raw, the honest and vulnerable tears tugging at your eyes, but you can’t do that right now. Don't want to turn over and show your dark, clingy underbelly to Ken when he's only just met you and only thinks shining, sweet things about you, like you could never be capable of letting him down.

Not when it matters, when someone is pegging you as their lifeline, their sole source of connecting themselves to humanity.

Ken just squeezes his pink, worry-chewed lips into a thin line and continues to listen. He has nowhere else to be. Why would he? He’s pale and shining and gorgeous.

Swells of his arms filling with the afternoon sun. There’s nowhere else he wants to be but right here, barefoot and open and accepting of what you need to get off your chest, like there’s the perfect space right in his heart to fit it all in, to understand it even if he’s struggling to get what you mean.

“I don’t know. I’m sorry. I think that there’s. I think there’s something about you that makes me want to be careless. And that’s not like me, at least not right now.”

“But I don’t feel careless when I’m with you.” Ken states, like it’s easy, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Something breaks deep inside you, it's thick and presumptuous, and you feel pressure thickening in the base of your gut, like you might puke or scream or maybe a combination of both.

“I’ve been careless of you. You might not realize it, but. I have been. It’s not cool. I don’t feel that I’m doing the right thing.”

“Well. What can we do that will make this better?” The question that’s been dancing on his lips, that’s been tearing him asunder finally comes to light.

You wring your hands in front of you, already craving another cigarette, craving liquor, craving an out from this. The urge to scrape something sharp against the meat of your arm comes to you. You ignore it. Swallowing down the urge to punish yourself.

It’ll be alright. Just approach this logically. Do the right thing.

Do the right thing.

And don’t mess it up.

“I think I would feel better if you went back to where you came from.”

The words smolder between the two of you, more fiery and loaded than you intended, and Ken bristles at your words. Expecting rejection. Waiting for a slap to the face.

"You want me to leave?"

“Hold on. Not like that, I mean. I think I would feel better if you went back to… you know.”

“Barbieland.” Ken states, and it’s too small, it’s puny. It’s not how you want him to sound. So beaten down and insecure.

“Right. And I think you should really consider whether or not you want this. Living in the real world. Because it’s tough, and. Ken, it’s difficult, it’ll rip you apart from the inside out. People are unpredictable. They can be loving and gentle, but… not every moment you spend here will be fun. Not every friend you make here will have your best interest at heart. They’ll take advantage of you and bleed you for what you’re worth. They’ll toss you around and spit you out and not think anything of it.”

The twirling light in his pupils dies out then, fizzles in a way that's tangible, like you could reach out and touch it to feel how real it is. Ken seems to not understand what you’re saying, but stares at you still, picking at the ends of his sleeves with great effort.

"Is it... you're sure it's not me? Because (Y/N), If I did something, I hope you know you can feel free to let me know. I won't get upset." It twinges at your insides. Makes you clench and tongue at the roof of your mouth. There isn't anything that gets past Ken, is there?

"No, that's. That's not it."

"Okay."

“I’m not saying I will do all of that to you.” You turn then to face him, waving your hand in general as if summarizing everything you'd just said, fighting the instinct to pull another cigarette out of your purse, to hide from what you’re feeling. The truth you need to communicate to him so real and regrettable and honest.

“I just want you to gather as much information as you can before you decide this for yourself. Your life. I don’t know what it was like for you before. Maybe. I don’t know. Maybe our world seems like a sanctuary compared to where you’re from. Maybe it seems like a hellhole.”

Ken doesn’t say anything, just watches your every move intensely, watches your back as it contracts and spreads out with anxiety. Working to pick the right words, the intricacies of what you wish you could articulate.

“But that’s how it is here. I think you should be aware of what you’re getting into. I don’t have all the answers and I need you to understand that. I’m not perfect. I’m not. Not… what you probably think I am. But if you speak with your friends, and others who can build on what I’m telling you, and after everything you still want to come back, I promise you will have a place here, I promise that you can stay with me and that. That I’ll do my very best to show you the ropes and show you everything I have learned.”

Ken appears deep in thought, tendering his hands fretfully, doesn’t speak for a moment. When the silence continues for minutes, you wonder if he’s given up entirely on speech.

But then he finally announces, with a measure of confidence you’ve never seen before, “Okay. I will accept this ultimatum, (Y/N). I will go back to Barbieland and ask all the Kens and Barbies what they know about the real world. And when I come back, I can even ask Barbie what she thinks. If she thinks I can do it.”

There’s a tepid, unsure quiver to Ken’s voice when he says this, stumbling over his words like they weren’t ready to come out, not yet. “But you should know something about me, too.”

“What’s that?” You reply, stomach churning with a wistfulness, an aching that isn’t familiar. Might not even be yours to feel.

“When I come back, I want to see you smile. I want you to show me your neighborhood. And what Willa eats. There’s no way I could forget about her. Do you accept my terms?” Somehow you get the impression that Ken isn’t talking about your guinea pig – not entirely, not all the way.

“Yes. I accept. I promise.”

“Promise?” Ken sticks his thin, golden hand out to clutch onto yours, and like it’s burial rites or heartfelt wedding ceremony vows or something precariously in between, and you reach your hand out right back and shake on it. It's real now. Set in stone. Something Ken won’t soon forget. Would never back down on.

"Yes, Ken. Yes."

When he leaves your apartment, you’re reeling, basically unable to look at Willa, the tiny living thing Ken’s connected with so deeply. She sniffs at the air like she's missing something. It hurts. Pathetically, you find it difficult to open your laptop and answer another email. To pretend to be sociable. Capable.

Ken doesn't ask for the address to your apartment, doesn't ask for your phone number, your last name or anything. He seems to believe that he can find his way back to you on instinct and willpower alone.

You think of Ken asking you about bananas of all things. Caring so much about your wellbeing that he threw away your cigarette. An otherwise complete stranger, so blisteringly entrancing that it makes you numb.

Dejectedly, you curl up on your couch, inhaling the smell of Ken so present and dominant in your apartment, that fresh smell, and you bite your fist with a sharp gasp. Shutting your eyes with extreme force, you fight the tears that spill unceremoniously down your tired, tired face, confused and spun around from the inside out.

#ken #ryan gosling #ken x reader #ken x female reader #ken barbie #barbie movie #female reader #ryan gosling ken

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gryfflepuffinthetardis · 10 months

Text

I’ll Stand by You (Sweet Jane Part Two) — Campbell Bain x Reader

Sweet Jane Episode One: Hey Jude

Warning: One gif shows mild self harm. (The digging nails into palm from Riverdale)

“You were a risk, a mystery, and the most certain thing I’d ever known.”

Campbell finished playing a song and he spoke into the microphone, “That was Money (That's What I Want)—"

“Cannae hear ye, Campbell.

“From way back in 1959—” Campbell continued, now louder

“They still cannae hear ye.

“AND THIS IS CAMPBELL BAIN, THE BANE OF YOUR LIFE!” Campbell all but shouted.

“Campbell—” Eddie started.

Campbell turned and snapped, irritably at Eddie, “Eddie, I'm a mentally ill person. If I shout any louder I'll be restrained and sedated!”

He felt Y/N take his hand and brought it to the fader as Eddie pointed this out, “The fader, Campbell.”

He paused. “...Oh, I knew that!” He lied.

“Okay, Campbell, we'll try it again.”

Campbell started to jingle again, making it let out a screechy staticky whistling as it played, making Y/N jump up, suddenly, clamping her hands over her ears, making Campbell look at her with deep concern before Fergus reached over Campbell’s turned shoulder and pulled the slider down

“You'll blow the monitors if you push 'em like that.” He told them, “Along with Y/N’s eardrums.”

“Fergus! I nearly got it right that time! What're—” Campbell complained but cut himself off when he saw Fergus wearing a white doctor’s coat and glasses with his pulled back into a ponytail, “Well, well! The poacher's turned gamekeeper, eh? Where did you get the coat?”

Fergus looked down at the nametag to read it, “From, uh, Doctor Brady.”

“You look dead handsome like that, so you do.” Rosalie complimented.

“Get everything you needed?” Eddie asked.

“Almost.” Fergus said as he held up an electronic device, “That only cost 50p. I'll strip it for the power transistors.” Then he gestured to Campbell. “Are you sure you trust him on that desk?”

“Fergus, this desk and I are on intimate terms. This desk and I are practically engaged. We're doing our first show together tomorrow night.”

“Not tomorrow, Campbell.” Eddie told him.

“But I'm standing at the threshold of one the most important moments of my life here!” Campbell whined before saying, fervently, “Give me an audience; give me punters and I will deliver, Eddie!”

“Well! I hadn't expected such a crowd.” A woman said, entering, and Y/N rolled her chair away from her, looking at her suspiciously as she nodded at Fergus, “Doctor.” Then to everyone else, “Which one of you is Eddie McKenna?”

“Um, I am.” Eddie said, standing up.

“I'm Mrs. MacDonald, assistant administrator.” She said

“Mrs. MacDonald.” Eddie said, shaking her hand.

“Call me Evelyn. Just thought I'd pop my head in and say hello, ask if you need anything.” She said and Y/N and Fergus exchanged looks before the silent patient gave her a blank stare.

“Aye, we do.” Fergus said.

“I'm sorry?” Evelyn asked as Y/N handed Fergus a cable.

“We need some shielded three-core flex. This stuff is useless. The doctors' bleeps are coming through on the air.”

“Well, that should be possible.” Evelyn said, having understood very little of that but smiling to pretend that she did.

“And some paint! This place needs redecorating, so it does.” Rosalie interjected.

“Oh, hang on. Just let me make a list.”

Y/N smacked Fergus in the shoulder, lightly and gestured to the mixing desk. “Yes, the main thing is the mixing desk.” Fergus opened said mixing desk, “Now, we've got a lot of crackle coming through on these faders, and these two here have had it, really.” Y/N used a screwdriver to demonstrate which wires, “Now, we could do with a couple of new ones if you can still get them, but what we really need is a new desk. A six-into-two would even do us.”

“My goodness!” Evelyn laughed, “Are you a doctor or an engineer?”

“I'm a patient.” Fergus said as Y/N smiled, cheekily at her before he took his glasses off, laughing as Evelyn’s smile fell but not having the open mind that Eddie had when he mistook a patient for a doctor.

“We're all patients. Except him,” Campbell said, nodding towards Eddie, “who isn't, but should be. But don't worry; we're heavily tranquilized and pose no danger to the public.” Campbell then gave her an adorkable smile.

“No, that's marvelous, involving the patients.” She said but Y/N could tell she wasn’t genuine and was being very fake, not exactly going to be the next Oscar winner, “I'll see what I can do about this list. Uh, there's an endowment trust we can approach. But the hospital board will want to see some figures, I'm afraid.” Her voice was now hesitant. Y/N rolled her eyes, picking up on this at once.

“What kind of figures?” Eddie asked.

“Oh, just a budget proposal, really. Current running costs, projected capital outlay, that sort of thing. If you've got your books up to date and you've got some written estimates of the equipment you propose to purchase, you can—” Evelyn said as Campbell and Y/N started to get very bored and they exchanged very bored, like in Math(s)-class-level-bored looks before Campbell played the jingle.

“That was dedicated to the bored and boring board of Saint Jude's Hospital, that bloated, bilious body of befuddled brains we'd like to befriend. Just give us your dosh, boys!” Campbell said into the microphone cheerfully.

Can’t Buy Me Love by the Beatles played before Eddie scolded, “Campbell!” He slid the fader back down, quieting the music.

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“Well. Pretty impressive! Anyway, Eddie, I'll pop in again in a few days when you have a chance to get some figures together. And... thanks for the wee demonstration, as it were.” Evelyn said, taken aback, confused, and not wanting to be near Campbell as she felt he definitely was mentally unstable and she didn't like the death glare that was being given to her by Y/n.

“Oh, well done, Campbell.” Eddie said, sarcastically.

“I told you I could do it if I had an audience!” Campbell said, the sarcasm going right over his head.

“No that. What's Evelyn gonna think of that?” Eddie nodded at the mixer, having been referring to Campbell’s performance out of boredom.

“She'll think I'm a loony. I am a loony. ...Come on, Eddie. Let me do my own show tomorrow, eh?” Campbell pleaded.

Eddie looked at Fergus and Y/N, the older of the two quiet and gentle patients shook his head ‘no’ while the youngest and most quiet on, nodded her head, enthusiastically, yes. Yes. Yes. Yes!

Eddie sighed, looking at Campbell and conceded, “...Aye, okay.”

Campbell then jumped up from his chair, either really excited or having a mild manic mood swing. “You beau-taay! Tomorrow night! The Campbell Bain Show debuts tomorrow night!” He extended his arms out and leaned his head back to look at the ceiling like, I’M ON TOP OF THE WORLD as Y/N watched with a sparkle in her eyes. “Eat your heart out, Ken Bruce, you bastard, ha!” His smile immediately fell when he spotted his father entering the room, “Oh... Hello.”

“They, uh, told me I'd find you in here.” His dad said, uncomfortably.

“...Aye.” Campbell glanced at his friends, rather nervous about how his father would react to them given his disbelief in his son’s own mental disorder, “Well... here I am." He turned back to his friends, who were uncomfortably waiting for him to introduce this man to them, "...Eh, you lot, this is my dad." Eddie smiled in greeting but like Y/n, his eyes kept darting back to Campbell, noticing his obvious uncharacteristic nervousness and stillness, "Dad, this is that lot and this is Y/N, my best friend…” He said, placing a hand on the back of Y/N’s back as she looked at him, considering they had only met two months ago and she’s never even spoken to him despite the many, many, many times he’s spoken to her, before quickly adding, “but-but not my--not my-my girlfriend…”

He cut himself off as his dad gave them all apart from Campbell a cold look while the one he gave Campbell was just uncomfortable and disappointed, like he thought he had to walk on eggshells around him.

Then his dad just left, intending for the unsettled Campbell to follow. Campbell turned to Y/N and pleaded with her with his eyes to follow in case things went wrong which they most likely would, knowing his father and Y/N got up and walked solemnly after them, glaring at Campbell’s dad the whole time.

The father and son entered the day room as Y/N slowly walked in, glaring at Campbell’s dad still, before sitting down and continuing to glare daggers at Campbell's dad.

“Uh,” Campbell glanced at Y/N with her rather terrifying stare at his father like she was planning on murdering him, “have a seat.” Then he joked to lighten the mood, “I'd get you a cup of tea, but they don't trust us with kettles.”

“No, you might burn yourselves.”

“Aye. Or wear them on our heads. Either way, it requires medical intervention.” The teen chuckled, nervously.

“I've just, uh, had a word with your doctor, by the way.”

“Oh, aye?” Campbell asked with mild curiosity.

“He gave me some good news... I think. He says they'll be letting you out of here soon. Next week, he reckons.” Campbell’s dad said and Y/N’s insides flipped, not sure how she should feel. Her empathetic side was happy for him but her selfish side was sad that she wouldn’t be able to see him as often.

Campbell had defied all her expectations after her trauma. He was everything she had started to lose belief in in men. He was kindness and gentleness and sunshine.

Campbell clearly thought this was great news, “You're joking — next week?” He said, excitedly and then jumped up, excitedly, shouting, “YES! YES! FREE AT LAST, FREE AT LAST!” He walked over to Y/N and kissed her on the head, enthusiastically, “THANK GOD ALMIGHTY, I'LL BE FREE AT LAST!”

He spotted the bittersweet look on Y/N’s face, making him pipe down and look at her with confusion and concern so his dad took this opportunity to talk.

“Aye, well. Just thought I'd come and ask you if you'd, uh, any plans for when you come out.”

Y/N scoffed, knowing what he meant at once. Was that really his only concern? Not welcoming his wonderful son home.

“Aye! Loads of them!” Campbell said, enthusiastically, not understanding, “Massive booze-up with all my pals. Holiday in the Seychelles—or Majorca; I'll slum it. And… lose my virginity. I'm nineteen, I think I should lose my virginity, don't you?”

For some reason, Y/N felt even more sad at this, not noticing how Campbell’s brown eyes darted at her before his dad ruined his excitement… as per usual.

“Listen, stop your daft act! You'll make me think you need to stay here.” Campbell’s dad snapped, making Campbell’s mood switch from manic to depressed as he slumped into a seat, seeing his dad hadn’t changed as much as he had as Y/N glared at the ununderstanding father, her nails digging into her skin, something she had done from a young age to keep herself from violently lashing out. The pain grounding her but she had never told anyone this due to it being considered as self-harm.

“I was talking about your future, son. You didn't get your exams, you know. Your mother and I was wondering if you'd thought about going back to do your exams.”

Yes because exams are fair and test all kinds of intelligences equally instead of one or two because that would be massively unfair to those with mental and/or learning disorders by forcing them to conform to the way normal people think. Y/N thought, sarcastically, her nails breaking skin.

“Well... cannae say that was the first thing that crossed my mind.” Campbell admitted.

“Well, think about it, son!” His dad said, like, what else could you possibly be thinking about, “There's a recession on. Nobody gets nothing for nothing. You need qualifications.”

Alistair looked back at them in annoyance before catching the deadly glare Y/N gave him like, say something if you dare.

“Well, it's just... I don't know what I wanna do yet.” Campbell sighed.

“Ah, don't give me your daft talk. We're talking about a job. I mean, what you want has nothing to do with it!” Campbell’s dad snapped as Y/N’s nails pushed harder into her palm.

“Aye, well, I could always be a road sweeper, I suppose.” Campbell snapped, bitterly, getting up and turning his back to his father.

“I am not a road sweeper! I work for the Cleansing Department. And I'm a foreman.” His dad defended and Y/N audibly scoffed.

You sweep the road.” Campbell said, coldly.

“Oh? I never heard you complain about the food it put on the table.” Perhaps because you were too busy criticizing him and refusing to listen to him to hear him. “Do you want to be a waster all your life?” You’re the waster. “'Cause I'm not having it. You've got to pull yourself together, because this thing is killing your mother. It's positively killing her. I mean, the doctor's had to put her on tablets because she's so upset about it.” Then why isn’t she here?

Y/N’s eye started to switch as her nails continued to dig.

Campbell just breathed out a bitter laugh at that, “That makes two loonies in the family.”

“Your mother is not a loony. We've never had a loony in the family before you. Not on my side or your mother's. You've just got to stop this. Put it all behind you. Pull yourself together. You understand me?” His father ordered like it was something Campbell could turn on and off or like it was some act for attention.

Campbell just nodded, not trusting himself to speak without his voice breaking but he still didn’t turn around. His dad went to put his hand on Campbell’s shoulder but stopped himself before he could.

“You just have to think about your future, son.” He told him as Campbell stared solemnly at the floor

Y/N glared at Campbell’s father as he left as he gave her a cold look back, once he was gone Y/N walked towards Campbell and hugged him from behind, he grabbed at her hands before turning around in the hug and pulling her into a stronger hug as he buried his face into the top of her head.

—

The next day, Fergus and Campbell announced “Campbell Bain’s Looney Tunes Show” with Campbell in a wheelchair with balloons and streamed on it… also on Fergus.

Later that night, Campbell, Y/N, Rosalie, and Fergus were in the station and Eddie wasn’t there yet.

Campbell stressfully took out a cigarette out of his pack as Fergus squeezed a yellow balloon, “He should be here by now!” He looked down at Rosalie who was under the desk, spraying Campbell’s boots and Y/N high tops. “Rosalie, what are you doing?”

“Just polishing your shoes, son.” Rosalie said and Campbell felt his cigarette be pulled out of his fingers by Y/N and dropped in a pitcher of water. Campbell looked over at Fergus in disbelief.

Campbell excused Y/N by asking her to get him some water that didn’t have cigarettes in it and then lit a new cigarette.

“We're gonna have to go without him.” Fergus said as Y/N came back with the water and frowned at Campbell who taking a nervous puff of his cigarette.

“Ten... nine... eight... seven... six...” Fergus counted down as Y/N took the cigarette from Campbell and stubbed it out, giving him a disapproving look. “Two... one. You're on.”

Campbell leaned towards the microphone and spoke, “That was I Hear You Knocking, But You Can't Come In, dedicated to all the medical staff here at Saint Jude's Hospital. They hear you knocking, but you cannae get out! And this is Campbell Bain with the first ever Campbell Bain's Looney Tunes Show!” Y/N pushed the button that played the Looney Tunes jungle, “And our next request is for Senga on Ward six, who tells me that she's being controlled by aliens from another planet.” He put on the record, Puppet on a String and then he joked, “Sengaaa, the nursing assistants are only doing their job.”

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He heard Y/N giggle beside him, making his heart do flips. Y/N. She was definitely what he was going the miss most. Even with her never saying a single word to him.

Fergus and Y/N spotted Eddie stopping from a dash when he saw Campbell, sorting through the records. Fergus waved casually at him.

And now, I've been asked to play a "dead smoochy" tune by Alison on Ward 7.” Campbell said in a comedically husky voice, “So here's a song that should cause each of us to experience a wee flutter in the heart, a wee catch in the throat; a tune that we can truly call our song.” He said the last sentence while looking at Y/N.

Campbell put on the song, Goin’ Out of my Head and then he spotted Eddie and he smiled at him, before looking at Y/N who was bopping her head along to the song.

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—

“Cocoa's up. You coming” Campbell asked Eddie as Y/N waited for him, quite proud of the looney.

“No. Gotta get these figures together for Evelyn.” Eddie refused.

Campbell was nervous yet excited as he put his hands in his pockets, “I had fun tonight, guys. I think that's the most fun I've ever had without being manic.” There was a nervous pause. “Was I any good?”

Y/N didn’t even hesitate, she nodded and gave him two thumbs-up. That was as good as he was going to get with her.

Eddie paused, considering before turning to look at him, “Aye.”

This was the kind of support Campbell never got from his father and it excited the young man, “I've never been good at anything before, Eddie. I spent four years of my life learning to play guitar and the only song I can play all the way through is ‘Knock Knock Knockin' on Heaven's Door. And I only did it to try and pull women. I'm no good at that either.” He sighed and Eddie breathed out a laugh, knowing that Y/N was quite infatuated with him, even without her ever saying a word to him… or to anyone in the hospital, “I want to do this. Professional, Eddie, Y/N. D'you think... I could?”

Y/N gave him a smile while Eddie said, “Maybe, aye.”

“But I've got to take it seriously.” He said, starting to pace, “It's got to be taken seriously, this thing. First thing I'm gonna do is get some cans like yours, Eddie.”

“Beyer DT-100s.” Eddie said, flatly.

“Aye. Professional cans, with my name on them in big yellow fluorescent letters. Build up my own record collection; specialize in something. Get some routines together. What else do I need?

“Experience, Campbell?” Eddie suggested.

“Aye, good point! They're no gonna hire somebody who just walks in off the street. They're going to hire somebody who has spent days, if not weeks, developing their show into a creature that's, is totally fresh and fundamentally loony in every way!” He said, excitedly.

“‘Days, if no weeks’?” Eddie repeated his words, considering he had been trying to go professional for eight years.

“They're letting me out of here next week, Eddie. And I wanna come and work for you. Full time. I want you to teach me everything you know. We'll be a double act. We are gonna make this the most outrageous and original hospital broadcasting outfit in the country! This station is gonna take us places, Eddie.” Campbell proposed and Y/N’s heart began to lift.

“‘Us?”

“Well, you're no gonna sell double glazing all your life, are yeh?” Campbell pointed out.

“Uh, no likely, anyway.” Eddie muttered, figuring he was going to be fired in a few days due to his literal workaholic boss’ impossible standards.

“Then go for it! Have you never wanted to go professional, Eddie?” Campbell asked.

“I've sent out the odd tape.” Eddie said as Y/N tilted her head.

“And?”

“Uh, general consensus seemed to be, um, I was shite.” He muttered.

Campbell thought about this for a moment before saying, “Ah, well, that's where you went wrong. You see, you went to them. That's one thing I'm sure of, is you've got to get them to come to you. What's it called...”

“Abduction, Campbell, and it's illegal.” Eddie deadpanned.

“No! No! No!” He spotted Y/N pad which she had written the word on, “Yes! Market strategy. Creating a seller's market. Can you see the potential? We are one of the only loony radio stations in the country! Think of the angle, the publicity!” He mimed a newspaper headline in the air, “‘Loonies Take Over Asylum at Saint Jude's’. All we have to do is be brilliant as well as original, and they'll be coming to us. With your knowledge and experience and my hypomania, how can we lose? Come on, Eddie. You with me?”

Eddie thought about for a moment before nodding, “Aye. Campbell grinned widely at his answer.

“Are you sure you're no manic?” Eddie asked.

“I'm inspired, Eddie.” He corrected.

“What's the difference?”

“Inspired is when you think you can do anything. Manic is when you know it.” Campbell explained and went to get his cocoa. Y/N smiled and followed Campbell to get hers.

Later Campbell was reading a book called Careers in Radio when he looked up to see a soaking wet Fergus with a shopping bag.

“Fergus! Did you get them?” He asked, excitedly.

“Aye. Secondhand. Fifty quid.” Fergus said, opening the bag for Campbell.

“This is brilliant! Brilliant! My first professional headphones.” Campbell said, getting his headphones out and putting them on as Fergus got a towel to dry off. “Did you get the paint?” Fergus pointed at the bag and Campbell fumbled with the bag until he got the pain out, “I have to put my name on them. That's how they do it in professional radio.”

“Where'd you get all this cash, anyway?” Fergus wondered.

“Sold Mad John all Y/N and my cigarettes. She doesn’t smoke so she was happy to.” He explained.

“For sixty quid?”

“Well, it was nearly eight packs. And he did offer; he was desperate.” Campbell said.

“But what are you gonna do for smokes?” Fergus asked.

“I'm giving it up. I've gotta take care of my voice. And may God strike me dead if I so much as engage in passive smoking.” He said.

“But everybody smokes in here.” Fergus said, “Except your girlfriend.”

Campbell merely glanced at him, slightly irritated at him calling Y/N his girlfriend but decided not to comment on it. “Then I'll stop breathing in. I’ll do whatever Y/N does. C'mon! Let's try these out at the station.”

He went to run out of his room and to the station when he was stopped by his father entering, looking just as lethargic and boring as ever. So, the exact opposite of Campbell in every conceivable way. “Dad! Hello.”

Campbell’s dad looked at Fergus and frowned, “You're wet!”

Fergus pressed his finger against his temple like he just got an idea or was getting a psychic message from someone and then said, sarcastically, “Next time I'll take my clothes off before I get into the bath.” The he gave Campbell’s dad a somewhat loony-esque look as he walked out.

“I thought he was a doctor.” Campbell’s dad said, confused and slow.

“Only part time.” Campbell said with a slight nervous chuckle.

Campbell’s dad then decided to ignore this, not having his son’s acceptance and love for “loonies” as his son put it. “I was wondering if you'd thought about what we were saying.”

Neither noticed Y/N appear at the door, leaning against the door frame, watching the scene with scrutiny but not interrupting.

“Yes. I have. And I've decided that you're absolutely dead on. I'm nineteen years old and it's time I started thinking about my future.” Campbell said with a big smile.

“Oh, aye?” His dad asked.

“You're gonna be proud of me, Dad.” Campbell hoped, but somehow, this was doubtful with what was known about Campbell’s close-minded dad. “Because I've decided that my future, my life's work, my soul's passion is gonna be this.” He pulled his headphones from around his neck to over his ears.

“...You're going to be an airline pilot?” His dad asked.

“Nooo!” Campbell drawled out, making Y/N lips twitch into a smile before her glare settled back onto his dad. “A radio disc jockey! And I can get all the experience I need right here in the hospital station!”

Campbell's dad was not proud in the slightest, just disappointed and exasperated for what he assumed to be his son’s latest “obsession” but was actually more accurately a Bipolar hyperfixation. “Back to that, are we?” He asked, sitting down.

“Back to what?” Campbell frowned, pulling his headphones down.

“Well, six months ago you wanted to be a pop star.” His dad reminded him.

“That was different. I cannae sing.” Campbell told him.

“Two years before, you wanted to be a racing jockey.”

“I'm afraid of horses.”

“Before that, you wanted to be an actor!” His dad complained.

“I cannae remember lines. But this is different! I'm good at it! I know I am! Y/N told me, I mean not so much with words, but she did in her own way!”

“The mute girl?”

“SHE’S NOT MUTE!” Campbell shouted, angrily, gesturing to Y/N at the door who waved sarcastically at Campbell’s dad with a sarcastically sweet smile.

“Ah, well, there's a lot of things are gonna be different from now on. Your mother and me have been talking, and... we've decided it would be a good idea if you went to your auntie Susan's for a bit.” Campbell’s dad told him.

“But she lives in Perth.” Campbell said, shocked.

Y/N’s heart fell at this. Campbell wasn’t just leaving the hospital, he would be even further away. If he meant Perth, Scotland then he’d be sixty miles away, that would be over an hour’s drive. If he meant Perth, Australia, then that was in a whole different time zone.

“Yes, but you can go to adult classes there. You'll get the peace and quiet that you need.”

Y/N scoffed at his dad’s reasoning. It sounded more like if Campbell had another episode, he didn’t want to deal with it and he was using his education as an excuse.

“I cannae go to Perth! I've gotta stay in Glasgow to work in the station! I need the experience!” Campbell freaked out, holding up his headphones at his dad, Y/N eased over to behind Campbell, sensing his anger rising.

Y/N took Campbell’s headphones from his hands and replaced them with her headphones.

“You need to get well!” His dad protested like he was arguing with someone who was actually ill and Perth was actually going to help do that. How exactly?

“BUT I'M NOT ILL!” Campbell screamed and just as Y/N had predicted Campbell threw his headphones at his bed, they bounced and hit the floor, she could hear them break even though Campbell was shouting as she slinked back out of the room, “YOU CANNAE MAKE ME GO TO PERTH! I'M NINETEEN YEARS OLD, AND I'M STAYING IN GLASGOW TO WORK IN THE STATION! I'M GONNA BE A PROFESSIONAL DJ WHETHER YOU LIKE IT OR NOT!”

“You stand there, shouting at the top of your voice, throwing your arms about like some mad scarecrow, and you're telling me you're not ill?” His father scoffed as Y/N glared with him with such hatred. “You're not capable of thinking straight, and some straight thinking needs to be done. Now, your mother and me have done our best to look after you.” Y/N clenched her jaw as her hatred increased, “If that's not good enough for you, then there... there's nothing left but... to have you sectioned, and let the doctors decide.”

Campbell’s anger turned to shock and brokenheartedness as Y/N’s turned from fiery hatred to ice-cold hatred. There was officially one person she hated more than she hated Campbell’s father. She could see that he wanted to love a normal son but he didn’t have that so he tried to shape Campbell into being normal, but he wasn’t but he just didn’t have the capacity to understand that and just blamed Campbell for things that wasn’t his fault.

“...Oh, Jesus. You'd have me sectioned?” Campbell breathed, looking at his father with horror through his floppy light auburn hair.

“I'll come round on Monday to collect you. Your uncle has loaned me his car.”

Great. Y/N thought, Then I could key it with curse words.

Campbell’s father went to turn to leave when his son spoke again in a heartbroken tone, “Have you never been young, Dad? Was there never anything you wanted to do, you wanted to be, more than anything in the world?”

His dad paused and then said, “Oh, aye. Goalkeeper for the Glasgow Rangers. Lot of fucking good it did me.”

Yeah, because you have no talent whatsoever, nor compassion, empathy, or unconditional love for your so. Only if he’s the way you want him to be. Y/N thought with sardonicism.

Campbell looked up to see Y/N blocking his dad’s way, glaring daggers at him before he shuffled past, muttering about loonies.

Campbell looked at her with tears in his eyes, “WHAT!? YOU THINK I’M JUST AS BROKEN AS HE DOES! THAT’S WHY YOU FOLLOW ME AROUND BUT NEVER SPEAK TO ME!” He lashed out but Y/N showed no emotion on her face, she just took it like she was used to being screamed at… she was. Campbell got up and ran past her and she ran after him.

Evelyn was showing her true colors to Eddie, to her the only normal who worked at the station.

“Eddie, nobody could admire you more than I do for involving the patients. But I think the intention when we decided to fund the station was that there would be a regular staff of outside volunteers. Reliable people.” She voiced her opinion. Which was wrong in every way imaginable because in her mind, they were dangerous, unstable, and every stereotype their mental illnesses and/or disorders presented via said stereotype or movies or discrimination in general when in actuality people with mental illnesses which was over one third of the Earth’s population were eleven times more likely to be the victims of crime and/or violence than the general public.

“I've never been let down.” Eddie frowned.

“Eddie, some of these patients have horrendous problems. It's not fair to expect too much.” Evelyn explained to him like she was explaining what a surplus was to an eight and then to a five-year-old. Even though each “patient with horrendous problems” had done just as much if not more than Eddie had.

“They keep telling me how much they enjoy it.” Eddie said, shocked and confused. Wasn’t this woman supposed to be the Assistant Administrator of mental health? It was becoming more clear why she was Miss Evelyn MacDonald and not Mrs. Evelyn MacDonald or Doctor Evelyn MacDonald.

“You can't always listen to them.” Evelyn said, even though that’s what people already did that and when it should be the opposite with less screaming at them that their view of the world was wrong and the normals’ view of the world was right.

Then she left as Eddie looked after her, not understanding why she would think that, he had spent ten minutes in this hospital before realizing that his initial assumptions towards the patients had been wrong, thanks to the contrast between Stuart and Campbell.

Then he noticed that Francine had been eavesdropping on the quite upsetting conversation and she ran off.

“Francine!” He cried after her.

Campbell visibly upset and trying to light a cigarette with his lighter stalked past behind Eddie.

“Campbell? Campbell!” Eddie called as Y/N ran past him after Campbell with his new headphones around her neck.

Eddie had never seen Campbell so upset before, given Campbell was either always happy, manic, or overwhelmed, so he followed Campbell and Y/N. Campbell stormed into the studio, sulked over to the chair next to Fergus and flung himself into it, dejectedly before Y/N opened the door and knelt by Campbell’s side but he twisted his torso so the swivel chair turned him away from her, refusing to look at her, feeling guilty for what he said and not wanting to look her in the eyes.

“I thought you said you were gonna give up cigarettes.” Fergus told him.

“Aye, well, I also said I was gonna become a DJ.” Campbell said, bitterly and depressedly.

Eddie came around the corner and traded looks with Fergus. Eddie nodded at Campbell like, do you know what’s wrong?

Fergus shrugged like, No idea and I have no idea how to help him.

Y/N held up her hand, reassuringly like, I got this, boys.

Y/N grabbed Campbell’s arm and pulled him but refused to get up so the chair rolled until Fergus grabbed the back of the chair, making Campbell reluctantly stumble after Y/N who pulled him to his room, closing the door behind them and sat him on his bed and sat next to him so he could vent.

“Maybe, my dad’s right. Maybe following your dreams only exits in television.” Campbell sighed and tried to take another puff of the cigarette but Y/N took it from him and put it out on his ashtray. He looked at her and took out another cigarette which she took from him. He tried three more times in which she did the same.

He finally looked her in the eyes, “Well, that’s the least fun game ever, Y/N,” He deadpanned and she gave him a smile as she tilted her head and a sparkle twinkled in her eyes like, come on. Come on, buddy. Interact with me. He let out a half-scoff, half-chuckle and said, “Look, I’m sorry that I shouted at you, Y/N. I really am and I know you don’t think I’m broken and I don’t think you’re broken—I know I didn’t say that but I know you think you are because I know that look in your eyes. I’ve been here a while and I’ve had that look in my eyes for a long time.”

He stopped his rambling when Y/N placed her hand on his, sending waves of warmth through his body like hot cocoa on a cold day, “Maybe I need to be more like Eddie, a realist. Get a job to get by. Maybe, I’m just not that good. Maybe idealism is for suckers and I’m not as talented as I thought I was.”

“No.” Y/N spoke.

Campbell shook his head in disbelief and looked at Y/N with wide eyes, “Did you just…”

“Don’t give up, Campbell.” She said, softly, her voice was soft and bit hoarse from going ten months without speaking and so her vocal chords had atrophied a little but nothing too bad.

Campbell let out a laugh and cupped her cheek, “you’re talking. You’re really talking.”

“Your dad is close-minded arse who’s just miserable with his life and takes it out on you. I wanted to attack him and I wanted to key his car but he took the bus here… I checked. I wanted to scream at him and make him go crazy so he’d know what being loony is like.”

“You’re a really dark person, aren’t you?” Campbell chuckled, not at all worried or upset with her for wanting to commit physical and psychological damage upon his father.

“Manic-Depressive disorder is eighty percent genetic and most likely passed down from the father’s side of the family, just because there’s no known family members of your family doesn’t mean there weren’t any. Until seven years ago, they called attention deficit hyperactivity disorder or ADHD, ‘hyperkinetic reaction to childhood” despite the disorder being known since either the late seventeen-hundreds or the early nineteen-hundreds. Stress, emotional abuse, neglect, being bullied, loneliness, isolation, pressure, etcetera, etcetera.”

Campbell studied her as she spoke, seeing she was rather intelligent though he had expected that from her engineering skills but this was knowledge of mental health that even some of the therapists he saw didn’t seem to know as they just insisted that he needed to calm down or he wouldn’t be able to function in society or lazy or over enthusiastic or a slacker or pointed out whether he seemed happy or sad that day like he needed it gauged and vocalized or that he was faking his episodes before they finally diagnosed him with manic-depressive disorder. She had a Y/A (Your accent) accent that sent his heart a-fluttering.

“You are not mentally incompetent or unwell. You are not acting out or putting on a daft act.” His eyes became misty with happy tears, “You are perfect just the way you are. You’re so much stronger than all the white noise in the world,” She gestured out the window, referring to the normals as white noise, “You’re stronger than your father, you’re stronger than Stuart, you’re stronger than Evelyn MacDonald. You’re so much stronger than anyone I know. You are holding the station together, you are holding the show together, so please, please, don’t let go.”

He nodded and cupped her cheek, stroking her soft skin with the pad of his thumb, “Why’d you wait until now to talk? You’ve been here for weeks and according to Stuart, you haven’t spoken in eight months and that was nearly two months ago, so ten.”

“You.” She said, “You were going to give up. Don’t. Please, don’t.”

“You’re talking… because of me. To encourage me?” He asked, touched and surprised that she cared for him that much.

She nodded and touched her forehead against his as she spoke softly, “You are more brilliant and talented than your dad ever could imagine. He doesn’t understand your disorder, he doesn’t see how brilliant it is. You know creative people are twenty times more likely to be manic-depressives? Creative people are more likely to be loonies.” Campbell chuckled softly, loving the sound of her voice and the passion twinkling in her E/C-colored eyes as she placed his headphones around his neck. “You have ambition, genius, loyalty, and compassion that doesn’t even rival your father’s by a long shot. Your disorder reminds you to relate to others and know when they’re struggling. You saw me. My parents only sent me here because I refused to talk but you knew there was more than that. They never did. And I see you and I understand you and I accept you.”

Campbell had tears of joy in his eyes and he pulled her towards him, hugging her, making her straddle him so not to be in an awkward angle, she stiffened before relaxing, hugging him back.

She turned her head to whisper into his ear, “And I have a plan.” She pulled away and looked into his brown eyes, “How’s your acting?”

Campbell raised an eyebrow at her before getting distracted, “I thought I broke the headphones, I threw but these aren’t broken.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s…” She nodded to the floor where he spotted her headphones now broken.

“Oh, shit! I broke your headphones, don’t-don’t worry, I’ll replace them.”

"Campbell... the plan." She reminded him.

"Oh, right, right... what's your plan?" He asked.

Y/n leaned in closer and whispered in his ear, however he didn't get a single word from being too distracted by their closeness.

"Could you say all that again? I didn't get any of that."

Campbell started the show the next day with Y/N as Eddie was a bit late but anyways, it was his show today—his last show.

As This Ole House by Rosemary Clooney played, the patients danced outside the station and Campbell, looking more restrained and calmer than usual. He also seemed deeper and more lost in thought than his usual spur-of-the-moment, impulsive, didn’t-think-this-through self. They sorted through the records and looked at the ones that Y/N handed him as she spoke softly with her back to the others so they couldn’t see and take her away now that they knew for certain she could talk because then she’d miss this and she didn’t want to miss this.

“What about Tears for Fears’ Mad World? It’s one of my favorites.” She suggested, holding up the 1983 song. “It can explain a looney’s tiredness of the world around us. To everyone else, we’re the ones that are mad but to us it’s the everyone else in the whole world that’s mad.

“Mmm. Great choice but I think some people are going to be a little bit depressed already with what I’m going to do.”

“Or I could play it after you leave.” She shrugged.

“Oh, you trying to take over my show, L/N.” He teased, spinning his swivel chair to her.

“Maybe, I am, Bain. What are you going to do about it?” She teased back.

The song ended and Campbell took over as Eddie entered, “This is Campbell Bain's Looney Tunes show, and I hope everyone in this old house is tuned in and ready to rock and roll.” Y/N pushed the button and the Looney Tunes jingle played as Eddie gave Campbell a proud smile, being far more supportive to him than his dad ever was, “That's right, because it's time for the Looney Tunes show, and I want you dancing, loonies, I want you singing along, I want you clapping your hands and stamping your feet! If there's a strange voice in your head, get it to sing along! If there's a catatonic sitting next to you, WAKE ‘EM UP!” Y/N giggled at his antics, making him give her a grin, “This is for all of you having ECT tomorrow; I hope you get some good vibrations.”

He started playing Good Vibrations by the Beach Boys and grinned at Y/N as that was one of her suggestions which he rather liked as it resonated with his feelings for her.

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Outside the stations as per usual, Hector sang along to the lyrics of the song into a spoon while as per usual Alastair was annoyed that they were interrupting his TV time

Campbell put the fader on, so the song faded out and he spoke into the microphone again, “Well, I suppose you're all wondering why I asked you here tonight. As you may know, this is the fourth and last Campbell Bain's Looney Tunes show. The good news is that it's because I'm being discharged. The bad news is, I'm gonna be living in Perth. And our first competition tonight was to find a special dedication to the town of Perth. And the winner is Margaret on Ward eleven, and she dedicated this song to the town of Perth.”

He started playing We Gotta Get Out of This Place by the Animals. He looked at Y/N and winked, giving her the signal while forcing himself not to look happy or manipulative. She smiled, then she leaned forwards and kissed him on the cheek before leaving to join Fergus and Eddie and actually spoke to them, “He's hot the night.”

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They did a double take at her but she wouldn’t say anything else when she was questioned about it as she closed the door, watching Campbell with amusement at what was going to happen and because his cheeks were now bright red.

Campbell waited a minute so that her leaving right before wouldn’t seem planned before taking his headphones off and looked at the studio door, as he pieced together what he was going to do. He walked over to the studio door and locked the door, locking eyes with Y/N.

Fergus and Eddie exchanged looked before Campbell walked over to the record player and pulled the tonearm off the record with a scratch and he sat back down, placing his headphones back over his ears and spoke in a manic pace of voice, “Ach, that's no dance music, is it? We're supposed to be rockin' an' rollin'! Because we are loonies and we are proud! I'm a manic-depressive and I'm proud, my friends. Some of the greatest geniuses in history have been manic-depressives on a manic roll! Vincent van Gogh, Handel, Schumann—”

Outside the station, Isabel the only good nurse apparently opened the medicine cabinet to see that Campbell hadn’t taken his pills and then looked over towards the studio door, concerned, given how severe his episodes could become if untreated.

“Virginia Woolf, Sylvia Plath, Spike Milligan, Vivien Leigh—” Campbell continued, “that is one hundred percent true, folks—and this is for all you manic-depressives out there; we are loonies and we are proud!” Then he let out a sort of shout/howl, “AAAOOOOW!”

Then he put on Your Love Keeps Lifting Me Higher by Jackie Wilson and the patients continued dancing while Alastair yanked the spoon from Hector’s hand and then sat back down, grinning triumphally as Hector frowned.

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He exited the day room, only to run into Y/N who handed him a new spoon. He grinned and started to sing along into it. She walked into Alastair’s view who was frowning in disbelief at her as she gave him a sarcastic smile and then gave him the middle finger before taking Hector’s arm and leading him out of the day room and to the hall so Hector wouldn’t take the second spoon away from him too.

“Have you ever noticed how much mental illness imagery there is in popular music? Tonight our guest on the Looney Tunes show is professor of musicology, Doctor Boogie!” Then Campbell started to speak in bad German accent… or Romania given how he was pronouncing some words… somewhere near Transylvania where Dracula lived, “Aye, aye, in the popular music we find much imagery of ze mental illness, indicating an underlying fear and faskination vith madness. For example…” He started to play A World Without Love by Peter and Gordon.

“He's away.” Fergus said, a bit concerned.

He stopped the song with another record scratch, Campbell’s voice seemed to be increasing speed, “And this expresses the deep anxiety about going a little bit crazy, huh? Another example is…”

The needle scratched on the record and Great Balls of Fire by Jerry Lee Lewis. “This expresses the deep anxiety about going a lotcrazier with a,” His eyes were bugging out of his head and waggling his fingers, manically and Y/N had to force herself not to giggle at how he looked, “pyromaniac overtones. And then again in a song like—"

A less prominent record scratch before Paint it Black by the Rolling Stones played,“—We see a fascination with obsessive behavior. And some songs provoke the greatest fears of all, in this case—”

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He took the needle off without a scratch this time and then he played Sugar, Sugar by the Archies.

“—the tvin fears of abject mediocrity and of writing crap songs. Ah ja! But zen of course—” Campbell said, still speaking in the odd Central to Eastern European accent as Eddie finally tried the door, only to find it locked., “—there is, uh—"

He started playing Da Doo Ron Ron by the Crystals as Isabel and two assistants (thankfully not Stuart) hurried down the corridor. He dropped the accent, “—which has got nothing to do with loonies, but it's a great song!”

He glanced at Y/N with the silent message of: should I up the mania? She subtly nodded, he flashed her a grin as he tore off his headphones, “Whoa! I'm sweating! I'm just going to open a window.” He went to the window and opened it as Margaret from Ward eleven bit her thumbnail with concern, Campbell stuck his head out of the window and looked around, “Whoa! It's a long way down from this window, but I'm so high I'll bet I could fly.”

Eddie growing more and more concerned now that Campbell seemed to be threatening suicide or at least several shattered bones, banged his open palm on the studio door window glass.

“Oh, cue the song, cue the song!” Campbell shouted as he put on Fly Like an Eagle by Steve Miller Band.

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“Jesus, Campbell!” Eddie shouted.

Campbell leapt on the windowsill and Y/N shifted as this was getting a bit too close for her but surprisingly she trusted Campbell and saw that he was clutching onto the bottom of window sash frame as he shouted enthusiastically and manically into the microphone

“What do you think, boys and girls? Do you think if we close our eyes and say ‘I do believe in magic’ that Peter Pan will really be able to fly?” Everyone was concern by now, realizing how serious Campbell’s episode was by now as he pushed the window sash up a little more and Y/N smacked the window, making him look over as she gave him a message like, don’t be so manic that you kill yourself because then I will kill you! “Let's try it, eh!?” He turned away from the window, locking eyes with Y/N through the floppy bangs in his brown eyes,“I do believe in magic.” Then he shouted, loudly, stepping away from the window thankfully, “COME ON! I DO BELIEVE IN MAGIC!”

Isabel pushed her way through the concern crowd to the door, Y/N refused to move out of the way.

“Oh, they're coming to get me, folks! They're coming to get your very own Campbell Bain! BUT WAIT!” He shouted, throwing his hand out, “Wait, I've got the perfect song!” He ran to the record player and scratched the record off as Isabel pounded on the door with her palm, finding it locked as he scratched on They're Coming to Take Me Away Ha-Ha by Jerry Samuels.

“Oh, yes, we're really seeing some action now, Brian!” Campbell shouted, his voice getting even faster, Y/N was sure that not even the Doctor from Doctor Who could talk that fast, he put his fingertips to the top of the shell of his ear, like a sports commentary, speaking into an earpiece, commentating what was happening as he saw it to those who were only listening, “Oh, the nursing staff have been at a temporary disadvantage, but I think they're beginning to get the upper hand now! YES! They found the spare key! It may be all over soon, and,” The key couldn’t turn due to the first key being in on the other side of the lock, “Oh, nooo!” He dramatically fell to his knees, “the key's in the lock from the inside and there's not a thing they can do about it!” Then he spotted Stuart approaching, “Oh, wait! Oh, it’s wee Stuart's got something, and he's not happy. If he can't break through the doors then I don't think anyone can.” Stuart aggressively pushed Y/N to the side which made her scream and fight back, suddenly, punching Staurt and clawing his skin off, “He tried to manhandle Y/N and she’s not happy; he’s made her angry! He’s pressed her trauma button!” Isabel then pulled her away and she immediately calmed down, “Ah, Isabel to the rescue.” Stuart then smashed the studio door window with a fire extinguisher, making Y/N flinch violently.

“YES! He's done it! He's broken the glass! And he's in! Wait, I haven't told you my loonies joke yet!” He shouted as Stuart and another assistant grabbed a hold of Campbell, picking him up as he continued to tell his joke at full speed, “This loony walks into a pub with his dog. The barman says, ‘Can't be any dogs in here, bud.’ But the loony tells him ‘it's a talking dog’, and he says to him ‘Look, if he can answer three questions, can he stay in the bar?’ ‘Let's see it.’ So the guy says to the dog, says, ‘What's the texture of sandpaper?’ And the dog says, ‘Rough.’ And then the loony guy asks, ‘Who was Scotland's goalkeeper in the 1978 World Cup?’ And the dog says, ‘Rough’.” The crowd followed them as Stuart carried Campbell, even Alistair had gotten up from the TV to watch with concern, “And then, ‘Who was the greatest American baseball player of all time?’ And the dog says, ‘Ruth.’ The barman's definitely not impressed. He grabs the guy by the collar and throws him into the street.” They brought Campbell into the treatment room with Isabel stopping Eddie and Y/N from following them in.

They slammed Campbell against a wall roughly, making Y/N flinch as Campbell, now slightly disorientated from the impact done to his head, repeated the last sentence he said, “Then he grabs the dog by the collar—” They pulled his jeans down, leaving him in his underwear, making Y/N flinch, violently as he continued to tell the joke, “—and throws him into the street. They slammed him aggressively against the treatment table, making Y/N flinch again, “And as they're lying in the gutter the wee dog looks up with tears in his eyeee—!” He cried out in brief pain as Isabela jabbed the needle into his buttock cheek with the sedative, making Y/N flinch. He was quiet for a few moments as the sedative took effect, making him drowsy and relaxed and then he spoke in a much more slower speech to finish his joke, “The wee dog looks up with tears in his eyes and he says... ‘DiMaggio...?"

He chuckled at the joke before succumbing to the sedative as Eddie watched ruefully and Y/N guiltily through the window before walking back to the station. She stepped through the glass and sat down, “Hello, this is Y/N, sorry for the craziness but our Campbell Bain has suffered a violent mania attack thanks to his father’s closed-mind, judgmental, disappointment in his DJ career, neglect, and general awfulness about him. So, I fucking hope you’re happy, Mister Bain, you think your son is the only looney in the family, you likely made him that way. This next song is Mad World.”

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She played the song as Eddie looked at her through the window. A little bit later, she spoke again, “The last song of the day will be Bang and Blame, dedicated to all pathetic waste of spaces that are abusive parents, once again Mister Bain, thank you for making your son ‘unwell’ as you put it and putting pressure on him to find a job like you have such high standards, you road sweeper.” She played song as she looked through the window to see Stuart and Isabel waiting for the song to be over so they could deal with her and the fact that she’s talking.

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The next day, Eddie walked in to see Campbell still groggy from the sedative with Y/N by his bed in the same clothes as yesterday, holding his hand. He was awake and they were just looking at each other in a comfortable silence.

Campbell groggily looked at Eddie to see him in a suit and in a slow yet facetious tone said, “What's this? Did somebody die?”

Y/N fetched a glass of water and made him drink it, he resisted at first more just to be a nuisance than anything but gave in and complied as Eddie chuckled and said, “I came from work. Big day today.”

“Ooh, did your boss get fired for overworking his employees? Or drop dead from exhaustion because he’s working seven days a week?” Y/N asked, sardonically yet with a cheerful tone.

Eddie chuckled again yet not sure if he liked it better when she didn’t speak, considering he was finding out she was a very sarcastic and sardonic person. to vastly contrast Campbell's personification of sunshine-ness. He pointed to his tie tack, “Salesman of the Month.”

“Salesman of the Month, eh?” Campbell asked in disbelief.

“What were the other salesmen like?” Y/N teased.

“How are you?” Eddie asked Campbell.

“Great. Y/N slept with me last night, yet I still remain a virgin. He teased and Y/N slapped his shoulder, playfully as he smirked, cheekily, “Saw my shrink this morning. He says I'm definitely not stable yet.” Y/N grinned and leaned down, pressing it against Campbell’s hand to hide it while pressing a kiss to it. “They're, uh, going to keep me in another six to ten weeks.” He briefly got distracted from the hand kiss, “Do you realize how much we could make of that station in six to ten weeks? Anything's possible now. And Y/N could be my protégé, now that she speaks again.” He wanted to ruffle her hair but his limbs felt like lead, so he just let out a half-hearted noise of not-really exertion.

“Aye, well. If you think you're up to it. Both of you.” Eddie told them.

Campbell looked at Y/N like, can I tell him. And she nodded, enthusiastically.

“Great acting, eh?” Campbell grinned as Y/N giggled.

Eddie looked confused as both teenaged patients looked up at him, then they both winked out of sync and it dawned unto Eddie that there was no manic episode. That’s why Y/N had left the room just before the “episode” started, why she remained calm up until Campbell was fake-threatening-implying to jump out of the window, why Campbell kept looking at her during the episode, why Y/N had looked so guilty and then blamed Campbell’s father like she had rehearsed it.

“It was Y/N’s idea. She’s an evil genius.” He smiled at Y/N before looking back at Eddie, “We’ve beat them, guys. I'll beat the bastards.”

After Eddie left, Campbell looked at Y/N as she climbed back in the bed with him just like she had last night and cuddled next to him letting the blanket act as a barrier of platonic intimacy between them, she rested her head on his shoulder and wrapped a loose arm around his covered waist.

It was silent for a little bit before she moved her hand so it went to Campbell’s hand, resting on top of it and she stroked Campbell’s hand with her thumb.

“How long have you been here?” He asked.

“As long as I could. They wouldn’t let me in at first but I kept finding ways in. I needed to be by your side.” She said, “They kept pulling me out, especially when I started shouting… well, it was more like whisper-shouting due to my likely atrophied vocal chord and they tried to take me away to some shrink but I wouldn’t let them. Eventually, they gave up and let me stay with you.” She whispered, “as you know, I slept next to you. I’m sorry if my plan hurt you.”

“It worked, didn’t it?” He asked and he managed to shift so his arm was on the other side of her and able to just barley touch her waist and to her surprise she didn’t flinch. She felt him move his head and press a kiss to the top of her head and again, she surprised herself by not flinching.

She was surprised herself on how this little, hyperactive, persistent kid had somehow gotten past her guarded defense walls, gotten under the wire, despite all her efforts to forevermore keep another heart from touching hers, the one she tried so hard to hide in the past ten months. She had been successful until Campbell Bain had crashed into her two months ago.

But the last time, she had trusted someone to be their best friend, she got hurt and was violated and therefore traumatized into a nearly year-long muteness.

There is a couple Doctor Who references. One straight out states it and the other is a reference to a quote from the Tenth Doctor in Fear Her.

There's also a reference to a line from Queer as Folk, but I've never seen this show but I have heard the audio clips of this scene in fan videos.

Personal Mental Heath Rant (Skip if you don't care)

Sorry for being tough on Campbell's dad but I have severe ADHD (since I was three and getting worse with ever presistent pessmisstic criticism I'm given), Anxiety, Depression, and possibly two ambigious and debatable types dylexia and if complexes count an inferiority and guilt complex and I have spent my whole life being shouted at for seeing things differently, for seeing that there is no metaphoric box to think in, for focusing on so many things at once that it's just as useful as not focusing on anythingat all and so people think that I', not even trying, for being overwhelmed with tasks that are so simple to everyone else yet near impossible for me (due to being yelled at my entire life for everything I did. I was once shouted at for about or over thirty minutes because I didn't put something down right after I was told to do so becuase I was so terrified of the person who shouted at me, I was convinced they were one meltdown from turning verbal abuse to physical abuse though then I would be able to call the cops of them, I tried to see the silver lining in my own dark and twisted way of thinking). People expect me to act like I don't have a disorder or they treat me like I'm stupid because apparently I'm the one with the issue rather than them googling the symtoms (IT'S FOUR LETTERS) and try putting themselves in my shoes. (My mom once told me that ADHD was not a learning disorder; techinically she's right because IT'S SO MUCH MORE THAN JUST A LEARNING DISORDER! It can affect your entire life and shouting at me is just making it worst! But I have to be the calm one and force my temper down. Somehow I'm the most patient persn in the house in terms of temper. How!?

I have been forced to try and learn and study to only two type of intelligence rather than the one I understand best I have been forced to try and think socieity's way of thinking when my mind just doesn't work like that. I'm literally wired differently.

(About the "ambiguous and debateable types of dyslexia, I was tested for Bipolar when I was young and somehow they got I was dylexia because I kept drawing lines in the opposite directions that they told me and if you were to give me directions, it would be like in a cartoon when a character spins an arrow sign and it points in like every direction at once just indicates "Directional Dyslexia" or "Left-Right Confusion" but I don't like that term as it sounds like I have the intellect and common sense of a first grader who can't tell the difference from right and left.

A few years ago, I went to the therapist and I was diagnosed with a math learning disorder but wasn't told what kind so I went to my most knowledgeable ally: Google! And the only one I can find is Dyscalculia which is basically math dyslexia. In my head, it's like some astronauts in a kid's game or show is placing number down in outer space but the moment I let go of them, they float away and I can't place more than two down, I can barely think about numbers without getting a headache as if I'm trying to understand time travel.

These two types of dyslexia I suspect I have, have been debated on whether or not they're an actual form of dyslexia

So I haven't been "officially" diagnosed with these but I'm not just saying, "hey, I have trouble with (insert dyslexia-induced trouble), maybe I'm dyslexic too", I hate that (Like don't say "I get distracted too, maybe I'm ADHD"), I have sufficient reason to believe this.

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lonetile4 · 20 days

Text

WHEN WORLDS COLLIDE

A semi-crack fanfictions including organizations from Call of Duty, Resident Evil, Dragonball, and Marvel.

This is a work in progress. Whenever you see "==Place Holder==" it means there is a gap where I need to fill in a good transition between sections. Whenever I get writers block, I move on to the next plot point and fill things in later.

"We're glad you came," Nikto said, voice rough.

"It's been a while, Andre." Liliya answered. She sat down beside him at the bar. She observed her friend. He was wearing a sweatshirt; the hood pulled over his head to hide his face. He held a glass of scotch in his hand.

"We told you not to call us that," Nikto muttered. "Just Nikto is fine."

"Sorry." Liliya ordered herself a drink. "So... what made you call me after all these years?" She swirled the golden liquid in her glass, listening to the ice clink.

"We... need help." Nikto glanced at her. "A mission came up. It involves robotic weapons. And you know more about robotics better than anyone."

"I'm a civilian now, Nikto," Liliya said quietly. "I can't." She got to her feet when Nikto grabbed her wrist.

"It's Hydra, Lily," Nikto said. Liliya paused. She looked at the hand that had grabbed her arm. There was a long pause between them. Liliya clenched her fists.

"God, dammit," she hissed. She let out a frustrated sigh. "Fine."

===

"Ain't this amazing?" Philip Graves asked, hopping off the chopper.

"Yeah... wonderful." Jill Valentine replied, crossing her arms.

"Come on!" Graves laughed. "The BSA, Shadow Company, Spetsnaz, and Red Ribbon... all working together!" Liliya tensed.

"Red Ribbon doesn't exist anymore." Liliya said. "So I don't work for them."

"Whatever," Graves scoffed. "Powerful people coming together to fight for the same cause." Liliya rolled her eyes.

"Hey," Chris Redfield walked over and patted her shoulder. "Relax."

"If I had known the BSA was called, I wouldn't have agreed to this." She glared at Nikto, pissed that he left out an important detail.

"Look, what happened with Claire, I don't..."

"This has nothing to do with Claire!" Liliya snapped. "This has nothing to do with the fact that I nearly sent your sister... my *girlfriend* at the time, to her death trying to take down what was left of Red Ribbon." Liliya pinched the bridge of her nose.

"And now I'm back to taking out another evil organization. Who knows who I might send to their death."

"Well, Graves is always an option," Chris said with a small laugh. Liliya rolled her eyes but couldn't hide the small smile that formed on her lips.

"I heard that," Graves said. Liliya flipped him off, but had a smile on her face. Her smile faultered before she turned back to Chris.

"She's doing okay, though.... right?" She asked. "I know it's been... 2 years..."

"She's doing great," Chris answered. "And you?"

"Hanging in there," Liliya answered. The teams walked together into the large hanger.

"We're sorry for not telling you about the BSA," Nikto said.

"It's fine. Whatever," Liliya grumbled. "But if the BSA is here... robotics and bio-weapons don't exactly mix well... if B.O.Ws start having Red Ribbon tech? That's more than any of us can handle."

==PLACE HOLDER==

"Your gas mask will remain on at all times," Chris said. "We don't know what Hydra has been cooking, meaning we have no cure and no idea how this thing works. We could be dealing with simple zombies or B.O.Ws."

"So this is a suicide mission...?" One of the Shadows asked.

"I'm not going to sugar coat it," Chris replied slowly. "This will likely be the most dangerous missions you will ever do, which is why we need to work as a team, have each other's backs."

"We'll be learning on the job, so keep your radio on for updates." He glanced around the room. "Communication and teamwork are important."

==PLACE HOLDER==

"So, you're a cyborg..." Graves said, looking at Liliya's legs.

"You could say that..." Liliya grumbled. She looked through the binoculars at the facility door.

"Did Red Rocket leave you with any cool gear? According to what Chris said, those B.O.Ws ain't pretty." Graves was squatting nearby, gun at the ready, just in case. It did make Liliya feel a little better to have someone watching her back.

"I have a few," Liliya confessed. Well, she had more than a few. Just some little trinkets in her back pocket just in case.

"You know, that makes me feel a lot safer." Graves said. "I've seen the aftermath of what happens when the BSA has to get involved."

"Yeah... it's not pretty." Liliya grabbed her radio. "Clear. Safe to move in, but stay cautious."

"Roger that." Chris replied from the other end. Liliya put the radio down, returning to keeping an eye on the teams. She could hear Graves's men communicating with the BSA as they moved in.

"What happened between you and the BSA?" Liliya's eye twitched in annoyance.

"Curiosity killed the cat, Graves. Mind your own business."

"Alright," Graves went quiet again. There was a moment of awkward silence.

"Let's move." Liliya lead Graves and a small squad of Shadows towards a different entrance. "Remember what Redfield said. Communicate." She looked at everyone, memorizing their faces. She wondered how many good people would be left after this mission. She wanted to say something... to tell them to say goodbye to each other and to prepare in case they need to shoot their own brothers, but she knew the moral was low enough. She didn't need to add more to it.

Once the door was breached and cleared, Graves and Liliya walked in. The place was quiet... but quiet never met safe.

"Heads on a swivel," Liliya warned. "That includes on the ceiling."

[To be continued...]

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rintarousgirl · 1 year

Text

i wanna be yours -- 7. snap out of it

✦ - Y/N is a small business owner, offering her services not only as a designer but an at-home makeup artist and cosmetic producer as well. She's perfectly content with her small life when she's approached by the manager of the INARIZAKI band, asking for her to fill the position of backstage artist on short notice. Needing the money, and wanting the experience, Y/N agrees. Little does she know of the fatal attraction she will share with the band's lead, Suna Rintarou.

a/n: uh, hoping that this gets y'all back into my good graces. enjoy the little bit of filth you get in this one LMAO, content warning for making out ig?? anyways, please ignore the time at the top of the phone bc im too lazy to block it out. if time is important for texts than there will be a timestamp, or it will be explicitly stated.

8:32PM

You spot Rintarou's car pull up outside of your small apartment building. He remains in the car, but you already know he's looking for you. You stand from the park bench you were sitting on, and head over.

Pulling open the car door, you settle into the passenger seat. His car smells of fresh leather and his cologne, and you find it's a pleasant mix of smells. He looks to you, his hooded eyes dressed in dark black eyeliner. It was clear he'd done it himself, his own hand not nearly as skilled as your own. The thought of him trying to replicate your work in the mirror made you giggle.

"Hey," he greets, tilting his head as he takes in your appearance, "You look very pretty."

You find a small blush making its way onto your cheeks. You'd gone relatively simple, but still dressed up as he had told you to. You'd gone for a forest green silk satin slip dress, and some black strap heels. Your purse rested across your shoulders, filled with a few small cosmetics, your keys, and your phone. Along with some breath mints, just in case.

"You look rather handsome yourself, Rin," you compliment, noting the white blouse and black slacks. His shirt was partially unbuttoned at the top, and he had a silver chain around his neck and some silver rings glinting on his fingers. They were the same ones you'd given him for the concert.

Rintarou lets out a small huff, running a hang through his hair. The rest of the drive is relatively silent, soft music playing through the stereo. After about a ten minute drive, the two of you pull up outside of a very fancy restaurant.

Suddenly, you feel a little self-conscious about your outfit. All the other woman seemed to be more dressed up with you are, some of them having elbow gloves or fur coats. You take in deep breaths to calm your nerves as Rintarou rounds the car and opens the door for you.

"After you," he coos, a teasing smirk on his lips. You take his outstretched hand and close the door behind you. His fingers intertwine with yours, and he lifts the back of your hands to his lips and presses a quick kiss to your skin.

You bite down on your lip, tasting your lip gloss. "I didn't take you as the romantic type," you admit, as the two of you walk in.

"I didn't either. I guess you bring out another side of me," his words are clearly joking, but there's also a twinge of sincerity in his words. It does something to your heart, and you try your best to quell the rushing of your heartbeat in your ears.

Rintarou talks with the waiter, who didn't have much of a reaction to his presence. Either his place was frequented by famous people, or this person just didn't know or cared who he was. Actually, most of the people in here didn't, which you were kind of glad for. You never enjoyed being in the spotlight, that was why you were the behind-the-scenes artist.

The two of you are seated at a more reclusive table, tucked away in one of the corners with dim lighting and a small bouquet of flowers and a few candles between you.

"This is a wonderful place, Rin," you gush, unable to keep from admiring it. The roof was glass, open to the night sky. The moon shined above, providing additional light in the dimly lit room. You could point out a few constellations.

Over dinner, you and Rintarou talk. He tells you more about his mother, the sweet saint of a woman, and a little about his bandmates. Then he asks about you. You tell him about your favorite colors, sports teams, music genres, and more.

"No," he interruptes you, taking your hand from across the table. Both of you had eaten at that point and were just enjoying the atmosphere. "I want to know about you, not what you like."

You stutter, blinking softly. Your lips part slightly, as you think of something to say. "Uh," you say stupidly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. Rintarou's lips quirk up a bit.

"Well, I grew up in Tokyo, the Nerima Ward specifically. I attended Fukurodani private academy, and I was the manager of my best friend's volleyball team."

Something lights up in Rintarou's eyes, a hint of something familiar. "Did you play?"

"A little. I had to learn how to set for Bokuto when Akaashi didn't want to...did you used to play?" the question felt a bit stupid. Why would Suna Rintarou, a famous singer/songwriter and near-professional photographer, play? volleyball?

He laughs. "I, uh, I did more than just play. Actually, the whole band played, even Kita. We all went to the same high school, it's kind of how we met each other, y'know? Atsumu was the only one who tried to make a career out of it. When we weren't playing though, we were in Kita's garage learning how to play instruments."

"Woah," you say, not even bothering to hide your shock. It felt so natural. Rintarou had the body of a volleyball player, and you knew Atsumu played and that they had all known each other pre-band. Yet, despite that, it seemed unfathomable to you. "I didn't know any of that."

"Yeah," Rintarou snorts, "it's not exactly the kind of thing they ask in interviews. It isn't hidden knowledge either though, you can look up any old competition video and you'll find all of us."

"Well, that's something to do when I get bored," you remark, resting your head in your hands. Maybe volleyball was how Kuroo got interested in INARIZAKI. Their music wasn't exactly his taste anyway, but he was still involved in the community. He probably knew of them from volleyball which piqued his interest. He was nosey like that.

Eventually, Rintarou pays the bill, and leads you out the door. He checks his watch. It's nearing 10:30, and the city is alive. "Do you have a specific time you need to be back?" he asks you as the two of you climb back in his car.

"No, and I wouldn't mind spending more time with you."

And that's how you find yourself in a lounge with Rintarou, the music blasting as the two of you sip on champagne glasses. He'd managed to snag a seat for the two of you on a loveseat in the lounge. In front of you, sweaty bodies mingled and dance. Laughter, singing, and the sounds of joy filled the air. The sounds of people enjoying themselves.

"Rin?" you begin, turning to him. Your thighs are brushing, and his hand is resting on your knee. His touch is warm against the thin fabric of your dress, and you try not to squirm too much as his thumb rubs small circles into the flesh of your lower thigh.

"Hm?"

"Will you dance with me? Please?" He looks slightly caught off guard, but he blinks at you a few times before shrugging.

"I have two left feet, it wouldn't be the best idea," and yet he stands, setting down his glass as he extends a hand to you. A laugh rips from your chest, and you take his hand happily.

You drag him along with you to the dance floor, nesting the two of you somewhere in the middle. You let yourself free, letting the small amount of alcohol and the euphoria in your system loosen you up as you begin to dance. Rintarou laughs, not as comfortable as you are but enjoying watching you, nonetheless.

A partner song comes on, one of those old fast ones that you have to jump around and use a lot of footwork. You reach for Rintarou, but a hand wrap around your waist and you're being whisked away to dance with a stranger. Rintarou only has a moment before a woman your age is tapping on his shoulder and pulling him in to dance with her.

Despite being with a stranger, you still manage to have fun, twirling and twisting around the floor. Your feet will ache by tomorrow, but it doesn't matter because in this moment you can't think past now.

Looking over the shoulder of the man you're dancing with, you meet Rintarou's sharp gaze, as he stares at you from across the floor. Small breathy giggles erupt from you, which has your partner snickering.

For the rest of the song, you can feel Rintarou's eyes on you, but you know your eyes are on him just as much.

Eventually, you're set free from your partner, as a slower more romantic song begins to play. You stumble across the floor to Rintarou, who was trying to detach himself from the woman he was dancing with previously.

You tap on her shoulder and make a small shoo-ing motion which she understands. She walks off, though not without sending you a dirty look. Scoffing, you turn back to Rintarou.

He's looking at you with heavy, dark, eyes and slowly your giggles die out on your tongue. Rintarou's hand sneaks around your waist, pulling you close till your chests were flush. He was taller than you, and you tried not to cower as he looked down at you.

"Rin?" you whispered softly, but your eyes couldn't stay on his. In fact, your eyes couldn't drift away from his lips.

His thumb rubbed softly at the swell of your hip, before pressing gently on your stomach and drifting up your sides. His touch made you shiver, and you tried to stop the shaking in your hands.

To give you something to hold onto, your fingers slide up his neck into his hair, curling in silky brown locs. He lets out a little grunt when you give a tiny tug, before a grin crawls on his lips.

"Everyone was looking at you while you danced, y'know," he comments, singing it like it was a praise. You shrug, licking your lips.

"I don't care," you say cooly, "unless..,you were looking too?" you knew he was, but it was always fun to tease.

...what were you doing? This wasn't professional by any means, actually, this was incredibly inappropriate. You knew Rintarou's intentions going into this though, shouldn't you face the consequences of your own actions?

It doesn't matter what you think though, because Rintarou's lips are on yours in a matter of seconds and it burns away any thoughts of regret you had.

Anything would be okay, if it meant you could experience this time and time again.

His lips are soft, just as you thought they'd be, and his teeth nip and tug on your lip. You find yourself falling apart in his grasp, your mouth falling open wider to give further access.

Your fingers curl harder in Rintarou's hair, ripping a small gasp from his throat. His head pulls back, displaying his gorgeous pale neck. Clear and unmarked.

You take the moment of separation to your advantage, and kiss along his jawline. Rintarou's eyelashes flutter, and his teeth bite down on his lip. You find that sweet special spot between his jaw and his ear, sucking and biting down onto his skin.

You're more surprised when he lets out a shuddering shaky breath, just a whisp away from being a whimper. Something akin to pride runs through you, and you bite and suck with more fervor.

Rintarou's hands tremble on your sides, and one comes up to uselessly grasp at your arm as if seaking leverage of some sort. After a few minutes of kissing his neck, you let go, taking in a deep breath.

Pulling back, Rintarou watches you with wild eyes. It was amazing to see him so disheveled, and it managed to be a better look than anything you could create for him.

His neck was a variety of lipgloss stains, and small bites, but that specific spot you'd focused on was the best. It was a deep red, and would no doubt be purpling soon. Your lip shape and teeth marks were clear on his pale skin. There was no way he'd be hiding this. No color corrector or concealer could change that.

"C'mon," you say, taking his hand and knocking him out of his stupor, "I should get home."

The drive home is silent again, but you don't pretend to notice the way Rintarou is struggling to keep his eyes on the road and his hands on the steering wheel. "Careful," you'd tease, and enjoy the way his brows would furrow.

As he came to a halt outside of your house, you open the door, partially stepping out when his hand wraps around your wrist and tugs you close.

There's a slight register of pain as your stomach hits the edge of the console, but that's ripped away from you as Rintarou kisses you with a certain ferocity you couldn't match.

He let's you go after a few seconds, laughing at the way you chase his lips.

"Goodbye, Y/N."

And then he's off, leaving you on the sidewalk outside of your apartment building with trembling legs.

Slowly, you pull out your phone.

<- previous | next -> | masterlist

★ - Suna went home and stared at the hickey in the mirror for a good ten minutes.

★ - Kuroo calls you right after and demands all the details. He loves and hates hearing it at the same time.

★ - Suna has still not answered Atsumu's string of texts from the last chapter.

★ - While you were walking in your building, the receptionist tells you that your lipgloss was smudged. Like...really badly.

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