#at the stage of the story where i’m putting sticky notes on the wall
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Closure — Farmworld! Finn Mertens x gn! reader
summary: reader has trouble figuring what universe they want to stay in. Prismo gives them some leniency and lets them visit Ooo. Finally, reader gets some closure and makes their decision.
tw: reader gets close to a break down, bittersweet
a/n: If I were reader, I'd simply die because I wouldn't be able to choose, but for the sake of the plot, they do.
wc: 1.2k
Chapter Five [A]
Master List | Chapter One
“Heeeeeey,” Prismo drew out, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Sorry about leaving you there for so long.”
I blinked, unsure how to feel. On one hand, I did want to leave my previous scenario…but leaving forever? And without saying goodbye, or letting them know that I was safe? I bit my lip glancing to the side only to see the tv wall still on. My eyes widened as it showed Finn trekking through the forest, a worried glare set on his face as he followed the lantern light in the same direction I took off.
Prismo followed my view, “Oh, sorry. Don’t mean to distract you.” Then he turned the tv off, turning the wall back yellow.
I blinked, turning to face the pink wishmaster, “I have to go back.”
This time Prismo blinked at me, “You don’t wanna go back to your old world?”
I hesitated, and Prismo seemed to notice. He turned the tv back on, revealing the Finn from my world. Turning the volume up, it revealed Finn on the phone with Marcy.
“You haven’t found them yet?” He asked in a worried tone, desperation filled his expression.
“No,” Marcy was heard from the phone. “I’m sorry man. But I’m sure they're fine, maybe they went on a trip?”
“Without telling me?” Finn asked, slightly hurt. “They’d never do that.”
Suddenly, the situation got 10x worse. I felt torn. How do I have two different Finn’s searching for me? I frowned looking towards Prismo. I suddenly felt like crying. No matter which world I choose, I’d be leaving people behind. I started pacing, thinking of all the pros and cons. My frown started to wobble, as no matter what I did, it would be the wrong choice. The thought of Finn endlessly searching for me throughout Ooo, once again being left behind by someone he cared about. Or Finn going back to his family, having to explain the person they’ve grown so used to had run off, and only glob knows what happened to them.
“Whoah, whoah,” Prismo spoke up, turning the tv off once more. “Hey, since I kinda caused this whole mess…sorry ‘bout that…I can be a bit more lenient.” I looked up at the pink deity, unsure of what he meant. “How about you go back to Ooo, talk with Finn, and then make your decision. I’ll put a sticky note in your front pocket to send you back. If you’re still unsure, I can send you to the magicless world and you can talk to that Finn. How does that sound?”
I felt myself calm, nodding my head, “That sounds really nice, thank you so much Prismo. This means a lot.”
“No probs,” He shrugged with a sly smile. Suddenly, I was transported back to Ooo, standing in the Candy Tavern.
The first thing I saw was Finn hunched over the tavern counter, not having noticed me just appear out of thin air. Dirt Beer Guy coughed, gaining Finn’s attention before pointing towards me. Finn seemed to go through the five stages of grief in the span of a few seconds before rushing to hug me.
He let out a happy shout of my name, “Where have you been?!”
I let out an awkward chuckle, hugging him back. He was nearly killing me with how hard he was hugging me…but I honestly deserved it.
“It’s a long story,” I mumbled. I can’t believe I was being so selfish. Staying in the magicless world without even telling Finn and the others where I would be staying? I’ve been downplaying my importance in Finn’s life and now I felt like a doo-doo head.
“I’ve got time,” Finn smiled while pulling away. “Get us another round DBG!”
I felt my heart clench, even more unsure of what I wanted now. As Finn and I sat down at the bar, I started from the beginning. How Prismo had accidentally brought me along with Simon, about how Fionna and Cake are real, and how I got stuck in the first universe we fell in. How in that world he had a family and I had become incorporated into it. How I ran away and ended up with Prismo taking me back to Ooo to decide where I wanted to stay.
It was awkward, explaining to Finn about how I lived with another version of him. I tried to pass over the fact that I might have fallen for that Finn and may have kissed him, but I think Finn knew I wasn’t telling the whole truth.
“That’s crazy!” Finn exclaimed, eyes wide with wonder. “I had kids! Five of them?!”
I laughed gently at his awe, “Yeah. They’re really sweet too.”
Finn hummed in thought staring at me with a somber stare, “You wanna stay there don’t you.”
I looked down towards my drink, swirling it around and shrugged, “I do…but I don’t wanna leave you here either.”
“Why don’t you bring your phone with you this time?” Finn asked, giving me a brilliant smile. “That way we can talk whenever we want!”
“Would that even work?” I asked, looking at him with hope. “And you’d really be okay with that? And I mean seriously. Not just saying yes for my sake.”
“Of course!” Finn said, leaning over to hug my side. “I want you to be happy! Even if it means smooching an alternate version of me.”
My eyes widened, face suddenly feeling like it was ablaze, “I’m not smooching an alternate version of you!”
“Uh huh,” Finn smiles cheekily. “Whatever you say. Don’t worry about me, I’m typically hanging out with Huntress Wizard anyways.” I wiggled my eyebrows at that, and he just let out a ‘pshh’.
Our laughs died down and I downed the rest of my drink.
“Hey, sorry to be a downer, but I gotta close up for the night…” DBG spoke up, putting a clean glass back in place.
“Oh! No problem bro,” Finn waved off, standing up. I stood up as well, and we exited the bar together. “So, when are you gonna head back?”
I shrugged, “Prismo said whenever I wanted.”
“You should probably go then,” Finn recommended.
I hugged him, squeezing as hard as I could, “I love you man, don’t forget that. Keep me up to date on everything, okay?”
“I will,” Finn agreed, hugging me back. “I love you too.”
Pulling away from each other, I waved at him before pulling the note from my pocket, which transported me to Prismo’s room once more.
“Welcome back,” Prismo welcomed. “Made your choice?”
“Yeah,” I nodded. “Oh shoot! I forgot my phone!”
“Oh, yeah that totally wasn’t gonna work,” Prismo shrugged. “You’re lucky I got you one that will work, already with your contacts transferred.”
With a snap, a phone appeared in my hands. Searching through the contacts, they indeed had all my friends listed already. A giddy grin formed on my face. Making this choice wasn’t going as badly as I thought it would.
“You ready?” Prismo asked. I nodded.
“Thank you again for doing all this.”
“Yeah, I totally shouldn’t be doing this, but since it was my fault…” He trailed off, looking to the side. “Anyways, are you sure you're sure? Cause after I send you there you won’t have a way to find me again since…well, their world has no magic.”
“I am,” I nodded with a serious expression.
With a snap of his fingers, I found myself in the living room/kitchen of the Mertens household. Suddenly, I was being tackled by a bunch of kids, all of them asking where I went and why would I do that.
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#finn mertens x reader#adventure time x reader#fionna and cake x reader#farmworld finn x reader#farmworld finn mertens x reader#adventure time#fionna and cake#finn mertens#farmworld finn#farmworld finn mertens#adventure time imagines#fionna and cake imagine#fionna and cake imagines
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Writer Tag Game
Thank you @ceph-the-ghost-writer for the tag!
I'll pass this along (no pressure!) to @moonscribbler @wisteriasadprose @thetruearchmagos @cryptidsandqueers
The questions: Do you write in order? Do you start with something particular? How fully formed does your writing come out the first try? How many drafts do you go through? Tell me about your process?
Do you write in order?
Eh, it depends? When I’m in the ‘ideas’ stage, I kinda just write whatever pops into my head so I can throw it on the pile. But when I’m in the ‘trying to get a draft down’ stage, I try to write everything chronologically. I might skip a scene or two, but for how intricate something like Shapeshifter has become, I feel like I kinda have to write everything chronologically. When I have ideas for later scenes, I jot it down onto a stickynote and slap it on the wall next to my desk for later.
Do you start with something particular?
So far, every single wip I’ve got has started with a character. Shapeshifter started with Kerr springing fully formed from my subconscious, like Dionysus from Zeus’ thigh. War Witch came about when I was getting really into WWI and witchcraft at the same time and wondered what a witch in a technological war would be like. If I were of a psychoanalyzing persuasion, I might blame my early start in mid-2000’s roleplay forums.
How fully formed does your writing come out the first try?
0.5%. Maybe. Call it a byproduct of a brain ruled by ADHD, but most of my writing starts out as half a sentence thrown on a google doc or sticky note, and then I spend the next 4-6 years slowly expanding upon that half sentence until it resembles something almost book-ish. I have the amazing ability to forget things almost as soon as I think them, so it’s really a matter of luck if I remember to put all the words in a sentence the first try.
How many drafts do you go through?
So, so many. As many as I need to figure out where I’m even going, and as many after that as I need to tell the story once I’ve figured it out.
Tell me about your process?
Roughly? I wing it. In slightly more detail:
- Have the smallest nugget of an idea.
- Let idea nugget sit in a corner for a while and let it Grow.
- Once idea nugget has gained some mass - or bullied its way into the forefront of my mind - I poke and prod and generally explore the idea without doing much actual writing.
- After I’ve satisfied myself with a preliminary examination, I sit down with the nugget and start asking questions. What does it want to be? What story does it want to tell? Why is it insisting I make everyone a werewolf? Is it ready for more work, or does it want to go back into the corner for a while?
- Once these questions are answered, I usually start the process of compiling resources. Images for inspiration, research documents, lists of possible scenes, character sheets, the works. Anything interesting to feed to the idea nugget and help it Grow. Another appropriate nugget-food is little scenes that go nowhere but explore characters or worldbuilding concepts.
- Once the idea nugget has reached an appropriate mass and gained rudimentary sentience, we start in on the hardcore stuff. Story outlines, character arcs, governments, actually writing out the magic system instead of insisting we can ‘run on vibes’... This is also generally the time where I will rope others into poking at the idea nugget and asking their advice - before now, the nugget has been too delicate and shy to handle Outside Eyes. This is also the stage where I start trying to compile a first draft.
There is a great deal of trial-and-error throughout this process. I am of the school of thought that one learns better if they fail a couple times (or a couple dozen). In the wise words of a stretchy yellow dog, “Sucking at something is the first step to being kind of good at something.” It might be a bit disheartening at first to take a running start at a story only to fizzle out three chapters in because something’s not working, but it just means I’ve now figured out how *not* to start my story. Maybe next time will be the version that works, maybe it won’t. But I’ll learn something new and come out better for it either way.
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taking the fall (2)
warnings: fear, injury, mild blood
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It was Roman’s love of the arts that did him in.
He was loath to admit it, but Virgil had been right. He’d always been enchanted by the musical productions he’d seen on human teevees, always finding a spare moment to perch on a dusty shelf and take in as much as he could.
So, when he overheard a musical chorus while scavenging for extra paper from the apartment with the newly-moved-in tenant, there was simply nothing else he could do except to investigate further!
One trek and several hiding spots later, he’d found the perfect angle to eavesdrop on the human’s computer. Even better, once he was unpacked, the human was consistent. There were schedules and calendars and sticky notes all over his desk, and he adhered to them strictly, making his apartment the perfect place for Roman to borrow for their little community.
And if he happened to make a return trip and perch himself on the shelf above the human’s rolling chair at the perfect time to see whatever stage production the man was watching this time? That was nobody’s business but his own.
He certainly wasn’t about to tell Virgil, who seemed to get secondhand stress from Roman’s accounts of past riskier borrowing trips. The outie was more than accustomed to the dangers of living outside, but ‘human beans’ were a whole different story.
No, Hot Topic would never get the odd almost-longing that Roman sometimes felt when he saw the amazing things that humans could do. On the tiny laptop display, he could almost pretend those wonderful theatrical productions were actually done by people his size, that they could perform without worry of discovery or capture.
It was a combination of indulging such thoughts and knowing the human’s schedule back-to-front that made him so bold.
When Logan came home with an armful of art supplies, Roman was immediately intrigued, though he justified it as checking for useful materials to borrow. He spent that afternoon watching as Logan methodically glued, hammered, and painted wood into the shape of a miniature house-- no, a set!
It looked just like the stage for the most recent musical Logan had (unknowingly) played for him. Roman was enchanted, coming back every day between borrowing trips to see how more tiny furniture and stairwells had been carefully crafted with the help of a magnifying glass and precise tools. The set came together piece by piece, until it was as complete as any Broadway production.
And then, the downfall. It was during one of these little visits that he overheard Logan on the phone, reassuring whoever was on the other end that the ‘scale model’ was finished and ready to be brought in tomorrow afternoon. Roman had felt a tightening in his chest, and after probably too little time spent deliberating, he was settled.
He was going to stand on that stage, at least once.
It took some doing to cover his tracks-- Mari had been oddly antsy lately, and it had been making everyone else jittery as a result. He’d been playing up his own glittery-ness in order to reduce the tension, and had volunteered to take another shift borrowing at 2B, the apartment with the snakes and the human that had been eerily perceptive lately.
It wasn’t lying, really. He would go borrow from there, just… after he’d made a quick stop to fulfill his newfound dream!
Logan always slept heavily until his alarm went off, so Roman felt no fear sliding down to the floor at the early hours of the morning. He remained alert, of course, throughout his entire trek over to the table that the human had spent so many hours hunched over, but as he predicted, there were no unusual sounds from the human’s bedroom.
From there, it was only a swift climb up with the help of his hook, and he left it nestled there in the wood, just in case he needed a swift getaway.
Finally, he was before it.
The strangest part about it all was the way that everything seemed to fit just about right for someone his size. He was used to cobbling together chairs and beds out of whatever material was at hand, repurposing anything and everything that came customized for humans.
These chairs were like real ones, human ones that fit together and had all their pieces, and Logan had been so meticulous about making sure everything was to scale that there wasn’t any awkwardness to sitting down on it. Overcome, he nearly sprinted up the model’s stairs to the bedroom terrace above it, flinging himself onto the bed-- perfectly matched up linen, pillows and pillowcases, just like a real bed-- and muffling his delighted squeak into his hands.
The instruments on the dresser were light and easy to grab, though Roman was disappointed to find that the ornate hand mirror didn’t have very high quality glass and was a bit hazy. The hairbrush seemed to be handcrafted, however, and Roman ran it through his own hair once, twice, immersing himself in an imaginary scene.
He had the dialogue mostly right after Logan’s obsessive rewatching of scenes-- pausing often to jot down set reference-- and he wasted no time in pacing around the room and ranting in a whisper, detailing an imaginary conflict in an aside to the audience. He mocked slamming the hairbrush down on the dresser, and turning, the anger drained from him, to walk to the terrace and look out longingly.
He hesitated.
In the scene, the character would be staring up at a night sky. In a play, the actor would be looking out over an audience hanging off their every word.
In reality, he was staring out at a world that was and always would be too big for him.
His soliloquy trailed off to bitter silence, and Roman backed up, shaking his head. He hadn’t a clue why he’d thought this would help him, rather than just rub his nose in what he couldn’t ever have.
Carefully, steps silent, he readjusted the bedding, removed a stray hair from the hairbrush, placed everything neat and right where he’d left it. He would leave no evidence of his presence, just like always.
When he turned around, he met the gaze of a human, standing only a few feet away bedecked in a bathrobe and fluffy unicorn slippers.
It was like Roman had been suddenly drenched by an icy downpour, his whole body going cold with shock. His muscles locked up, and even when the human took a step closer, he couldn’t seem to wrench himself free of the mental paralysis.
Talk about stage fright.
Normally a boon, his imagination was working against him now, spinning elaborate visions of what was to come. He’d been seen, and now not only would he be doomed to die by a human’s whims, but he’d also put every borrower in and around the building in danger. All borrowerkind, even, if this human was bad at keeping secrets.
“So, how are the proportions?” the human in question asked, leaning forward slightly with an excited glint in his eyes.
Roman blinked, befuddled.
“Are they to scale? You seem to be able to manipulate them easily, which bodes well, but I’m not sure the dining room chairs have short enough legs to make sitting at the table feasible…,” Logan trailed off, looking between Roman and the lower level of the model as though measuring him mentally. “Would you mind sitting in one?”
He reached out for something on the set, and Roman’s instincts seemed to kick back into high gear, sending him skittering back across the scaled-down room, grabbing his bag as he went. He remembered seeing a window cut into the backing of the room adjacent, there—!
Heart racing in his ears, he barely registered the human’s voice raised in alarm as he swung himself over the miniature window ledge. The landing jarred his bones, but he was still all in one piece, and that was good enough for him!
There were only moments before the human leaned around to see where he’d gone, so he wasted no time in sprinting to where the desk met the wall. Logan’s laptop charger trailed down in the small gap behind the desk, the closest thing he’d get to a rope down with his real hook on the other side of the table next to the human.
Logan seemed to be a bit slower than usual, since Roman managed to slide down out of sight before the human could move to even catch a glimpse of where he’d gone.
His hands stung slightly as he descended much faster than advisable, already trying to come up with his next step. All his entrances were higher up, but if he could get under nearby furniture, he could cut into the fabric and hide in the hollow underbelly until the coast was clear--!
The only warning he got was a barely audible click from above, and then his ‘rope’ gave out and he was in gut-churning freefall.
Roman fell for three fluttering heartbeats, just enough time to realize what was happening, and he hit the ground feet-first.
His right leg gave out with a dull crack, and the pain-- impossibly overwhelming-- reached him only an instant later. He bit down on his arm to muffle his cry, tears forming as the slightest shift of his leg sent ripples of agony through him.
Well. No longer in one piece, then.
He struggled to come up with a course of action as his head swam. His entire body had gone cold and sweaty, his vision darkening despite his best efforts to stay alert.
An enormous shadow fell over him, and his one last attempt to move was enough to finally make him succumb.
---
Logan allowed himself one very heartfelt swear, watching as the tiny person under his desk slumped over, limp and boneless.
This was not what he had expected when he’d shuffled into his living room to go make some celebratory coffee for managing to finish both the last touches on his latest set model and his ridiculously elaborate statistics midterm all in one night.
Perhaps he could have handled the situation better, but to be fair to him, upon spotting the miniature person, Logan had honestly assumed that he’d either started hallucinating, or had fallen asleep after all. He figured that if he was going to imagine such things, he might as well try to soothe his own concerns about any imperfections in the scaling.
The spike of fear and guilt that he felt hearing that tiny, muffled cry of pain meant that there was no way he was heading to bed anytime soon. He sent a few texts to Patton, informing him that he wouldn’t be able to bring the model to the theatre today and asking him to smooth over any ruffled feathers.
He was well aware that this was completely unprofessional-- he would surely be getting an interrogation from his friend later-- but for the moment, he needed to focus on more important matters.
From the injury he was sporting, the tiny person hadn’t landed on his back, so it would be alright to move him as long as he acted with care. Logan carefully slid a plastic folder under the stranger, muttering apologies when that tiny face crinkled up slightly even in unconsciousness. He lifted the folder up slowly and moved to the kitchen, where the first aid kit was stored under his sink.
From there, he quickly assessed the injuries he could see.
The leg was expected, and it seemed to be swelling rather severely. Unexpectedly, there seemed to be bleeding along the arm, and Logan had to retrieve his magnifying glass to see the injury in detail.
Upon closer inspection, the wound was in the shape of a tiny bite mark, indicating that the stranger had bitten down on himself to avoid screaming. Logan felt his heart sink a little further at the continued confirmation of the terror he’d seen in the stranger’s face before he fled. He’d really frightened the poor creature by moving so thoughtlessly.
He took a deep breath and pushed the feelings aside, flipping the lid of the first aid kit open. He could worry about potential reactions to his presence after he made sure the tiny stranger would at least wake up with less pain than before.
It was his fault this had happened, after all, and so he would do his utmost to fix all that he could.
#sanders sides#g/t#ts roman#ts logan#ttf#borrowers#writing#My writing#taking the fall#bthb#injury tw
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dirtbags // 4: Lola
Summary: High school AU. 1985. Winter. Heather’s party is huge; Lola makes new friends, get better acquainted with some underclassmen, and turns out to be far cozier with the hostess than anyone could guess. The next day, Nikki comes to work despite his hangover, while Charlotte and Eileen plan Vince’s murder. Razzle’s just there to have fun.
A/N: 6603 words. For @misscharlottelee and @julymotel , my beloveds, as always. Sorry it's late, it's been a hell of a week. But, here's the kids. I should say that this chapter does include slight, implied internalised homophobia, just as a warning.
judge if you want, we are all going to die. i intend to deserve it.
For the record, Lola isn’t a party-goer by nature, and the fact that she’s been to two in as many months is baffling her. Usually she just goes to see bands, and sometimes hangs out at peoples’ houses, but high school parties specifically alluded her for most of her time in Boston. It’s not that she wasn’t invited, but her mom had been something of a hardass, and the closest she’d ever gotten was when drunk kids made their way to the diner right before closing on a Friday or Saturday.
Her dad’s fully supportive of her going out and partying, which is weird in it’s own right. He writes down their home phone number on a piece of paper, in case Lola can’t remember it when she’s drunk - his words - and tells her to call whenever she needs a lift. Don’t go get into a car with strangers. Drink plenty of water. Be safe. Have fun.
“Dad, you’re being weird,” she’d told him flatly, applying eyeliner to her waterline in the bathroom. Leo, leaning against the door with his arms crossed, was watching her with a fond expression.
“If I was a hardass and banned you from going out, you’d probably still sneak out anyways -” Lola goes to protest, which Leo finds sweet, but he holds a hand up, and she lets him continue, “not that I don’t think you respect me, but I just know what it was like being a teenager; if you got into trouble while sneaking out, you wouldn’t feel like you could call me for help,” he explained, giving pause, “but I always will, you know that, right?” And Lola nods, but goes back to applying eyeliner, knowing her father’s tone of voice too well, anticipating the fact that he was about to dive into a story of his own to help prove his point.
“When I was your age, or maybe a bit younger, fifteen or sixteen, me and some friends snuck out to a bonfire one night that my parents had absolutely forbidden me from going to, and I ended up needing to go to the emergency room from a burn I got on my hand from being an idiot around the fire,” and he raised his left hand, to show the still visible, large scar on his palm, “I was more terrified of what my father would do than of the burn itself so I didn’t try and call him or mum; I walked home from the hospital alone the next morning, and lied about how I got the burn.”
Lola paused, lowering the eyeliner pencil, meeting her father’s gaze in the mirror. Leo’s smile had turned a little sad at the memory; Lola doesn’t hear much about her grandparents, and she wonders if stories like this are the reason why.
“You’re my kid, Keola, I never want you to think you can’t come to me for help, okay?” It’s rare for Leo to use Lola’s full first name, usually reserving it for more poignant and earnest moments, so every comment about how he’s being a sap, or that she already knows, dies on Lola’s tongue.
“Thanks, dad,” she smiles soft, and Leo smiles back, all crows feet and laugh lines, before he tells her that she looks badass, and he steps out of the doorframe, heading back downstairs to the diner.
By the time Lola shows up, it’s just edging past eight-thirty, though the party still seems to be in its early stages. There’s music that can be heard down the street, and fairy lights scattered throughout the garden, though most of the partygoers who had already arrived are still confined to the house. Apart from a gangly, dark-haired boy whose face she knows, but whose name she doesn’t, sitting on the wide, ostentatious front steps, looking up at the stars glittering overhead. There’s a cigarette in a loose grip between two fingers, though the ash has already burnt down half of it without him tapping it off; it’s almost comical, she’s pretty sure he hasn’t even put it to his lips yet.
“You’re wasting that,” Lola points out, and the guy is jolted from his thoughts, the movement sharp enough to have the ash falling from the cigarette and to the ground by his shoes. He looks to the cigarette, which has gone out, and then to Lola, a little helpless, “I could take it off your hands,” she offers, unsure of how to proceed, and he holds the cigarette out, smile blooming on his face.
“I can’t get the hang of it; I’m playing a smoker in this play I’m doing in a month, and I’ve been trying, you know, make it feel natural, never seems to,” his mouth is curved into a bemused smile as he shrugs helplessly, watching Lola tuck the half a cigarette behind her ear. For a moment, his eyes roam his face, like he’s searching for something to recognize, and she can read it all over him when he finds it, his eyes alight with familiarity, “you work at the diner!”
Lola hates how disarming she finds his earnestness. He doesn’t mention her reputation or the rumours around her, which she’s pretty sure he would have heard since she’s eighty-percent sure he goes to her school.
“Lola,” she offers her hand, and he takes it, using it as leverage to get to his feet before he gives it a proper shake.
“Keanu,” he says, matter-of-factly, still grinning, and Lola suddenly knows where she knows him from. The school musical sign-up sheet is on the Art Faculty’s notice board right outside her art classroom, and she’s been staring at his name amongst a small list of others, including Eileen’s, much to Lola’s surprise, while she and the rest of her art class wait to get into their room.
At least she’s pretty sure it’s him; Keanu’s not exactly a common name. The only other time she’d heard it was in one of her dad’s stories, it was the name of one of his childhood friends -
She leaves it be; he groans and stretches, and there’s an idle moment where his shirt rides up, and Lola reminds herself to focus on the person who actually invited her, and to stop getting fleeting feelings for people she barely knows just because they’re pretty. Lola mutters that she needs a drink, and Keanu claps her on the shoulder and agrees, the two of them heading inside.
Heather’s house is in the same part of town as Vince’s, almost an hour’s walk from the diner, but somehow Heather’s is even nicer. Sprawling front lawn, abstract paintings and movie props on little, pristine pedestals inside, Lola feels like she’s lowering the property value just by stepping foot inside. The party was easily both the nicest and most raucous Lola had ever been to, which, granted, wasn’t saying a lot, but their house was wired with speakers, all connected back to the jukebox in the living room, and Heather’s parents had even let her hire coloured lights.
“As long as the cops aren’t called, we can do whatever we want,” was the message passed around the school from Heather herself. Lola’s feels as though that probably won’t bode well for her parents’ elegantly displayed collectables, but whatever, it’s not like it’s Lola’s problem.
Already there’s a decent crowd inside, and Lola loses Keanu amongst them, making a beeline for the kitchen, manoeuvring around the house with easy familiarity. She reaches pushes past several people to get to the fridge, reaching all the way to the back, past a set of tupperware, to the bottle of wine Heather’s mom had stashed there. Lola removes the sticky note telling everyone not to touch it, and uncorks the bottle over the sink, scowling.
It feels like she’s floating through the night, no-one around that she knows just yet, disconnected from everyone else, carrying the bottle of wine by her side, occasionally taking a drink. Moving from room to room, she takes her time people watching, and guessing how long before the various, expensive props and bric-a-brac were being used for things counter to their intended purpose.
In the front room, there’s finally someone she recognises, kind of; the the young redhead, the fruit one- Peach! She’s unsteady on her feet, beautiful and angry, defiantly making her way through a can of cheap beer, and Lola wonders where the rest of her clique is, that sister of hers, Eileen, even Charlotte.
“You okay?” Lola’s never been great at comforting people, but Peach is currently leaning against a wall at a forty-five degree angle after losing her balance, and scowling. She’s drunk. Already. Fuck.
“I’m fine! Freaking- fucking great!” She’s not even looking at Lola properly, glaring out the window she’d narrowly missed falling on. Lola follows her gaze. It’s just passed nine, and Tommy and Charlotte can be seen walking up to the door; they don’t see Peach or Lola, thankfully.
“You - you’re friends with that... that mean, asshole, punk guy, right?” Peach asks, standing upright so suddenly she overbalances again, and Lola has to catch her elbow to keep her from topping. Peach slaps her hand away, but keeps her balance, obviously with a bee in her bonnet about something that Lola couldn’t even begin it fathom.
“Nikki?” Lola clarifies flatly, amused but not wanting it to show. Peach nods solemnly. Lola bites back a laugh, “yes, I’m friends with him, why?”
“Is he coming tonight?” Peach asks, tone almost forcibly coy and casual, raising her can of drink, taking large gulps as Lola says that he mentioned that he should be, and then asks why. Peach goes quiet. Lola had thought it impossible for Peach’s scowl to grow deeper, but it did, as a blush began to creep up her neck.
“You know my sister, right? Eileen?” Peach says, instead, and Lola nods slowly, and she takes a swig of wine, “she’s a year - a single goddamn year - older than me; I’m sixteen, Lola, she said I was too young to go to a party like this.” And yeah, okay, Lola makes a face at that; she was the same age as Tommy, and he’s done objectively worse stuff in front of Eileen and Charlotte with no complaints. The last house party flashes through Lola’s mind, and she grimaces - “exactly, it’s dumb! Charlie had been dating Duff for a year by the time she was my age, and let me tell you, they were proper gross!” Peach sways a little, and Lola reminds her that she has no idea who Duff is; Peach calls him a word that shocks Lola to hear her say it, especially for a girl who had to correct herself from saying freaking to fucking just moments ago.
“Noted,” Lola nods, and takes another drink; she’s almost a third through the bottle.
“I’m not a child, Lola,” Peach says, as seriously as she can muster, and, as if light a lightbulb has gone off above Lola’s head, she realises why Peach was asking after Nikki.
“You’re not,” Lola agrees slowly, and looks around, hoping to spot Charlotte or Tommy around, someone better suited to talking an angry, determined Peach out of something she’d regret.
“Don’t take that tone with me,” Peach huffed, standing to her full height, which unfortunately for Lola, made her taller by a few inches, “you know what, fuck you, Lola -”
“Peach -”
“No, fuck that, I know that tone -”
“Never thought I’d see you out at a place like this, Peach,” there’s a warm familiarity in the voice that joins them, and Peach visibly relaxes. Lola turns, and sees Vince Neil, bleach blonde, decked out in his usual, obnoxious white.
“Fuck off, Vince,” Peach mumbles, turning back to the window in an attempt to hide her sudden blush. Lola raises her eyebrows and looks to Vince, intrigued. The moment his gaze meets Lola’s, Vince turns quietly awkward, and can do little more than offer a shrug.
“Peach?” He tries again, and Peach finishes her drink, tipping her head back, and doesn’t even seem to notice that she’s started to topple back until he catches her, “fuck, Peach.” He says, still holding her.
“You really should fuck off,” Peach says, softer this time, leaning into him, and something pained flashes across Vince’s expression for the barest moment; Peach doesn’t notice in her state, but Lola sees it.
“Eileen been in your ear lately?” Vince asks through gritted teeth. Peach’s scowl back in full force, and she’s righting herself.
“No,” she snaps, an obvious lie, and she pushes past Lola, making her unsteady way to the kitchen, Vince obviously feeling some sort of obligation to her, following quickly in her wake. Thank God. Lola really didn’t want to take care of a girl she barely knows all night.
She’s two thirds of the way through the bottle of wine, feeling good and buzzed, and she’s made polite conversation with the people she knows and the people she doesn’t, the people who know her by reputation, or from the diner, polite to a fault, knowing too much and too little about her all at once.
Tommy’s roped them into a conversation with a few kids from his year that Lola doesn’t recognize any of them, and one, drunk, brunette, stupid, asks her about the rumours, in a crude, roundabout way. Tommy’s hand is firm on Lola’s shoulder, apology in his eyes as he silently pleads with her to not make a scene. Lola kicks his asshole friend in the shin anyways, and spits that he has terrible taste in friends.
Charlotte waves to her, but Lola doesn’t see it in her angry state, storming up the stairs to the second floor. It’s quieter up here, mostly. There’s a group in a side room playing spin the bottle, and people taking advantage of Heather’s parents’ bedroom, and the door to Heather’s room is closed. Lola bangs her closed fist on the nondescript door.
“Who is it?” Heather’s voice, strained, rings out from the other side.
“I’m gonna be sick,” Lola whined through a lie, banging again. There’s scuffling on the other side, Heather hissing for whoever’s with her to go, to get out the window, anything. Lola smirks, “please, all the other bathrooms are -” and she fake gags, right as the door wrenches open to show Heather’s flustered face, hair a mess, scowling.
“What?”
“I’m lying,” Lola whispered, leaning against the doorframe, pushing down all her annoyance at Tommy and his asshole friends, and playing at being coy. Heather huffs an annoyed breath through her nose.
“I know,” she snaps, but lets Lola in anyways, and Lola automatically closes the door behind herself, leaning her back against it, watching Heather try and act casual, heading to her bed, “should I be jealous?” Lola smirks, and Heather shoots her a filthy look. Lola takes a long drink of the wine, and Heather’s expression turns from angry, to simply annoyed.
“Of course, of fucking course, you, the only asshole who actually knew about it-”
“Your mom can buy another one, it’s not like you’re not -”
“Don’t say it,” Heather warns, sitting on the edge of her bed, and Lola’s smile grows sly and amused. Heather’s gaze flicks to the door handle, “lock that.”
“Yes, Princess,” Lola smirks, reaching over with her free hand, making quick work of locking the door.
“Do not,” Heather hisses at the pet name, and Lola pushes off the door, heading towards her, and offers her the bottle. Heather’s lips press into a thin line as the regards the drink she knows is completely illicit for a number of reasons, before taking it, and taking a drink - “fuck, how much of this have you had?”
In answer, Lola takes the bottle back and finishes it off.
“You’re a pig and a thief,” Heather tells her, but Lola’s smile is all teeth.
“And you kicked out someone - a boy, I’m guessing - for this thieving pig,” Lola reminds her, placing the empty bottle carefully on the nightstand of her luxurious double bed. Heather turns scarlet.
“I thought you’d at least wait until eleven to find me,” she deflects, defensive at the truth in Lola’s words, to which Lola herself actually laughs, flopping back onto the bed, arms spread, two fingers hooking into the back waistband of Heather’s flirty, short skirt.
“The fact that I’m here at all is a miracle, Princess -”
“Don’t.”
“And you know you could have told me to throw up in the garden,” Lola points out. A moment of silence follows, she tugs at Heather’s waistband, and Heather follows the unspoken prompt, leaning back onto the bed.
“Boys don’t know what they’re doing,” she says, staring up at the ceiling, arms folded but feet still planted firmly on the floor, and Lola’s eyes go wide, delighted, twisting onto her side to look at Heather’s blushing face.
“I knew you liked me,” Lola teases, grinning sharp.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Heather scoffs, angling her head back to level a glare at Lola, after a beat, she reaches back, fingers nimble and cold but her grip on Lola’s jaw secure. She frowns at Lola’s lips, rubbing her thumb none too gently over the bottom lip, taking off the black lipstick painted there, staining her own thumb in the process.
“Are you waiting for an invitation?” Heather prompts, frustrated, tone icy. Lola raises her eyebrows at the blonde's impatience.
“As you command, your highness,” Lola pushes herself up on her elbows, and off the bed, smirking in the face of Heather’s annoyance, before she scrubs at her mouth with the back of her hand, getting rid of the rest of her lipstick.
“I’ll be quick so you can get back to your boytoy,” Lola smirks up at Heather, kneeling between her knees, and in the next moment Heather’s legs clamp painfully tight around her head, bony knees pressing into her temples.
“If you tell fucking anyone I did anything other than get you water while you threw up in my bathroom, I will ruin your fucking life,” she spits, and Lola’s expression contorts into one of furious annoyance as she wrenches her head free, sitting back on her heels.
“As if I’d tell anyone; if you tell anyone, I’ll burn your fucking house down, do not test me on that,” she warns in return, before Heather relaxes and lays back, eyes back on the ceiling, waiting, “fucking pillow princess, I wish you’d get me a glass of water once in a while,” Lola muttered, leaning back in.
“Hey!” Heather objects, looking down, only to see the barely concealed fury smouldering in Lola’s eyes as she looks at Heather through her lashes. Lola orders her to shut up, presses a pointed kiss to her inner thigh, and Heather obeys without any more fuss.
All it took, in the beginning, was for Lola to confront Heather and ask why the fuck she couldn’t keep her eyes to herself during class, fully expecting a fight. It was after school, Lola had followed her into the bathroom after class as the school was emptying. Heather’s lip had curled, derisive, giving Lola a look like she was a bug beneath her shoe.
“You see something you fucking like?” Lola had snarled, ready to square up, chest puffed out, and Heather had rolled her eyes, scoffing about how Lola wasn’t even close to her type, before she’d realised what she’d said.
Neither had known how to proceed in that moment, both terrified of how the other would react, Lola could see the sudden fear in Heather’s eyes at the admission. Very deliberately, Lola had relaxed her posture, looking Heather over with a new appreciation, and Heather had flushed under her gaze.
“I didn’t know it was like that,” Lola had smirked, gaze locking onto Heather’s. The blonde was embarrassed, furious at herself, “well if I ever become your type -” those seven words had changed everything. Immediately, Heather knew exactly what Lola had meant, that she wasn’t a threat in the way she’d feared, and that Lola was like her, in some way, in a way that was safe.
“You’re -?” Heather raised a single, perfect eyebrow at her.
“I don’t advertise it,” Lola said, voice flat, hands in her pockets and shoulders carefully relaxed, “don’t know, you know, who else is... like me.”
“Like you?”
“I don’t wanna talk about it here,” Lola had muttered, gaze flicking to the empty stalls, and Heather had given her a long, evaluative look, before stepping forward, apparently finding something she likes.
Heather’s kind of pinning over a straight girl and none of the rest of the school has any idea she likes anything other than boys, and she’d like to keep it that way. No-one really cares about Lola the way they do about Heather, so they feel safe fooling around together at Heather’s under the guise of ‘studying’; they don’t really even like each other as people, it’s more mutually beneficial than anything else, but it’s kind of nice to have this understanding between them, free to be themselves without fear, even if it’s only for short amounts of time.
Now, at the party, when Lola goes to leave the room after all is said and done, hair checked in the mirror, lipstick reapplied neatly, Heather grabs her arm, quiet but no longer irritate in Lola’s presence, and Lola’s eyes go wide with question, but she too is silent. Heather steels herself, steps up to Lola, and then she’s got her fingers carding through Lola’s hair, and holding tight, and Lola lets herself be maneuverer, her head tipping and Heather’s lips on her neck.
When Heather steps back, there’s the beginning of a hickey blooming on the juncture where Lola’s shoulder meets her throat, aching faintly, pleasantly, and her hands are soft on Heather’s hips, lips twitching into a smirk.
“You could have just said thank you,” Lola snorted, and Heather’s frowning, but it doesn’t seem to be specifically at Lola; she rolls her eyes. Lola presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth, quick and chaste, and scrubs at the mark she leaves behind before Heather slaps her hand away and tells her to get out, though there’s no anger behind it.
When Lola opens the door, she puts on a show of being a little more unsteady than she really was, and is surprised to see Nikki leaning against the wall a few feet away, chatting to Tommy, looking so carefully casual. Lola’s pretty sure she hears Nikki sigh something about needing to find a guitarist, but that’s the moment Tommy spots Lola. He tries to apologise for his friends, but Lola shrugs, letting the incident go easily.
And then Nikki’s eyes flick to hers, and he asks if she’s okay, and Tommy seems confused but Lola’s hit with a realization. She pulls back her act and tries not to smile too wide.
“I’m fine now, great actually, it’s sweet of you to care,” its absolutely and completely innocent, but she raises an eyebrow at him, as if asking how he knows that she was unwell. In lieu of response, Nikki stands to his full height, walks to the door, and knocks. Lola and Tommy watch, the former far more confused than the latter.
Heather opens the door wide, not a hair out of place, makeup immaculate and untouched, and tells Nikki to fuck off, swanning past him and down to the rest of her party. Nikki turns on Lola.
“You couldn’t have thrown your guts up in a bush somewhere?” Nikki hissed, frustrated, and Lola does a great job at biting back her laughter, shaking her head and shrugging helplessly.
“We’re you waiting out here that whole time?” Lola asks, and Nikki turns amusingly pink, stalking past her to the stairs, to which both Lola and Tommy followed, with Lola calling out a half-hearted apology, and Nikki telling her to shove it up her ass.
gandhi said 'be the change you want to see in the world.' fuck that. be the trouble you want to see in the world.
“Don’t tell me you’re still mad about last night,” the morning after the party, or was it afternoon - midday after Heather’s party - Lola’s tying her red bandana around her head, hip leaning against the counter out the back by the fryer where Nikki was scowling at an order of fries that was bubbling away.
“The world doesn’t revolve around you, Lola,” Nikki snaps back, looking up at her, still frowning, and Lola’s smile widens, just a little. Nikki sighs, relenting, his voice dropping low, “I’m hungover as fuck, just piss off, can you?” But it doesn’t sound half as cruel as the words themselves imply, and Lola dips to press her cheek to his shoulder in a moment of affectionate familiarity before heading out to start serving customers.
It’s almost one when Charlotte and that English kid, Razzle, walk in, with the tall, pretty ginger, Eileen, sans their usual extras, but they take their spot at their usual booth by the window, talking quietly but animatedly.
“- the nerve on him! Hi, Lola,” Eileen’s practically vibrating with pent up, frustrated energy, greeting Lola with what Eileen probably assumed was a smile, but was still definitely a scowl.
“Everything alright here?” Lola asked, forcing her voice even brighter than she’d usually attempt, and Eileen’s gaze dropped to the menu, going quiet, brooding, while Charlotte sat up a little straighter and smiled, clearly not on such an intense wavelength as her friend.
“Everything’s just great; plotting Vince’s murder, kind of starving, the usual,” she shrugs, and Razzle, by her side, snorts a laugh.
“Good to see you survived the night, Honky Cat,” he adds in lieu of a greeting of his own, and Lola takes a moment to process all the information she’d just been exposed to.
“’course I did, I drank my weight in water between shots,” Lola smirks at Razzle, before her gaze slides to Charlotte, “and that’s very fair; I’d ask what he’s done now, but I think I’ll take care of your order first,” she grins amicably and pulls out her notepad and pen, as the three of them order their usual drinks and lunch preferences.
Lola heads back to the counter, calling out the order to the kitchen, taking another few order to their various destinations, before getting her friends’ drinks together to take them over.
“- home and didn’t even call, Razz, she didn’t even -” Eileen was still ranting by the time Lola deposits their drinks before them. Lola’s pretty sure she saw Razzle and Charlotte deliberately knocking knees beneath the table, but doesn’t think about it too hard. Nor does she dwell on the memory of seeing them at the party last night, of a gaggle of cheerleaders around talking to Razzle, though he just kept trying to talk to Charlotte. Later, she’d definitely seen them on the sofas, talking with Tommy and some of Charlotte’s other friends, leaning in to each other, Razzle’s arm around her shoulders, playing with the whispy ends of her hair. Lola hadn’t thought much of it at the time; she’d made out with Tommy at her first house party in the area, it hadn’t developed past friendship.
It was cute, if it was anything.
“Lola, you were there!” Eileen turned very suddenly, the moment her cup had been placed in front of her, and Lola’s eyebrows shot up, “did you see my sister last night?”
It feels like a trap, because yes, Lola definitely did, but also -
“Yes, why?” Lola asks, slowly, cocking a hip.
“They’re in the middle of a blue,” Razzle said, with a fond smile at Eileen’s carefully neutral expression, while she stirred her drink with intent.
“A fight,” Charlotte translated, “and Peach went to Heather’s last night, and got kind of shitfaced, and Vince took care of her, was really quite sweet, but she stayed with him because his place was closer and Peach refused to call Eileen.”
“She stayed with Vince?” Lola said carefully, trying not to imply she was jumping to conclusions, but Eileen’s stirring ceased in favour of vigorous drinking of the drink, obviously stuck on a similar train of thought.
“She slept on the couch,” Razzle filled in quickly, “was still there when I left, tucked in with a blanket, all above board.”
“And you didn’t know where she was -?” Lola frowns, confused.
“Vince called at three in the morning,” Eileen glowered out the window, voice low and even, “dad was mad until he was grateful; the man’s backbone is made of marshmallow fluff. She was meant to be home at one.”
“But she’s okay?”
“It’s the principle of the thing, Lola,” Eileen had said, giving Lola a look far older and longsuffering than her seventeen years.
“If we brought in Vince’s heart, would your dad batter it up and fry it for Eileen to eat?” Charlotte asked, tone teasing and light, to which Eileen rolled her eyes, but at least it got her to smile, even a little. Even when Lola snorted a laugh and told her ‘absolutely not’.
Later, on their break, Lola and Nikki sit on the roof of the building and share a serve of chips that he’d overcooked, and a cigarette, and Lola asks about Vince. Turns out Nikki doesn’t know much; he hadn’t grown up with the rest of them, had moved to the neighbourhood near the start of high school, and all he really knows is that girls apparently think Vince’s dick developed some sort of Midas touch over Summer.
“Don’t get me wrong, he’s always been stupid pretty,” Nikki shoves a chip in his mouth before leaning back on his elbows, “far as I know, but you’ve seen his car, right? That fuck-off, expensive red one that sits in the teacher’s carpark, with the massive scratch in the paint along the left? Yeah that’s his; got it for his birthday last year and he’s been getting tail like nobody’s business ever since.” And Lola tries to process all this information before he’s barrelling right on ahead with, “speaking of; if you’re gonna nail Tommy, can you do it soon and put the poor kid out of his misery?”
“Excuse me?!” Lola had choked on her lungful of smoke, turning red at the suggestion.
“Yeah, poor kid was pretty convinced we were a thing and didn’t want to make a move; kinda stupid, but I dunno, admirable? Noble?” Nikki groaned through his words, laying back against the gravel of the roof, hand out for the cigarette. Lola passed it to him, glad he couldn’t see her vaguely guilty expression, knowing she’d slept with the girl he’d been hitting on the night before.
“Tommy has a thing for anything halfway pretty that’s not related to him, he’d be just as happy to boink any other girl,” Lola points out, and Nikki snorts a laugh in mild agreement, “and the only reason we’re not fucking is because you’re afraid my dad’s gonna rip of your arms like he’s the fucking Wampa from Star Wars.” She punctuates it by eating the last chip, laying out beside Nikki on the gravel, checking her watch. Five minutes before their break ends.
“Leo wouldn’t rip off my arms- I don’t think Leo would rip off my arms!” Nikki counters defensively, but that just has Lola laughing as she corrects -
“Sorry, no, your exact wording was ‘I don’t want your dad to Kali Ma my fucking heart like I’m that little bastard from Indiana Jones’,” Lola does an absolutely atrocious impersonation of Nikki, who’s laughing despite himself, “which you only took back because I told you he wasn’t Indian, and even if he was, it’s kind of a fucked thing to say,” Lola tells him pointedly, shifting onto her side, propping her head up on her hand as she smirked at Nikki.
When Nikki looks at her, green eyes shining in the overcast, afternoon light, there’s something unreadable, teasing and soft all at once, like he’s entertaining an idea he’d considered unthinkable.
“I don’t think I could look Leo in the eye if I banged his daughter,” Nikki’s voice is soft and low, though he’s grinning wide, tone coy, eyes creasing in the corners, and Lola’s gaze flicks to his lips.
“For Leo’s sake, then,” Lola matches his tone, corner of her mouth twitching into a sharp smirk when she finally looks back to his eyes, “and Tommy’s too,” she teases, pushing herself into a sitting position; she can hear it when he presses his head further into the gravel in exasperation, swearing under his breath. When Lola stands and smiles, the picture of innocence, she offers Nikki her hand to help him up; Nikki rolls his eyes, but is still smiling when he accepts.
“Your hair looks dorky like that,” Lola teases as she climbs down the fire escape.
“I know,” Nikki sighs, “but its better than getting hair in everyone’s food; I’m not gonna be the reason your dad fails a health inspection,” Nikki adds, a strange hint of protectiveness in his voice that warms Lola’s heart in a way she hadn’t anticipated.
“Don’t worry, Leo’s never failed a health inspection, he doesn’t intend to start any time soon.”
love is a dream someone else had last night.
Eileen and Razzle see fit to join their ragtag bunch of misfits at lunch the following Monday by the open gate and the science carpark, which Lola had been informed was the teachers’ carpark.
Lola doesn’t care who sits with them, except for the fact that she’d taken the leftover lemon merengue tart from the diner since it was being replaced with an apple crumble, and there was only enough for four. For the past week, Eileen’s been alternating sitting with them and sitting elsewhere, but she hadn’t been here last Monday, so Lola had assumed - anyways, now she’s worried she looks like a bitch, and not for an actual reasonable reason.
“What do you mean you almost got with Heather on Friday?!” Charlotte’s voice was somewhere between a horrified and disbelieving squeak where she was picking at the crust of the piece of tart she was sharing with Eileen. The lemon merengue debacle turned out to not be much of an issue, with Charlotte and Eileen sharing, and Tommy and Lola sharing too. Lola was incredibly focused on picking at a scab through the hole in the knee of her jeans.
“I mean I had my hand in her fucking panties when someone -” Nikki cast a very pointed look to Lola, “knocked on the door threatening to throw up, and I got shoved out a window,” Nikki played up being irritated, despite the fact that he was laying out on his side directly behind Lola, while she was leaning into him.
“You’re my hero,” Eileen told Lola, serious as ever, while Charlotte cackled with delight, and Razzle snickered from where he was touching up the left hand of Tommy’s sharpie-nails.
“You guys are a bunch of assholes,” Nikki huffed, shoving the remained or his own piece of tart into his mouth.
“I brought you food, show some fuckin’ respect,” Lola smirked despite herself, gently elbowing him in the ribs; he flicks her knee in retaliation.
“Absolutely not; you’re a cockblocking traitor and the worst friend I’ve got,” Nikki announced, nose in the air, and Lola leans all her weight back suddenly, tipping Nikki onto his back and laying heavy across his stomach as she demanded he take it back, the two of them getting into a petty squabbling match, shoving at each other while the others could only look on in exasperated amusement.
“I thought Heather had a boyfriend,” Eileen pipes up, to which Charlotte makes a a gentle ‘eh’ noise in the back of her throat.
“She’s getting laid,” Charlotte corrects with half a smirk, and everyone who was paying half attention understand easily. Tommy sighs, but it’s not nearly as dejected as he’s known for whenever the topic of girls he fancies being with other people comes up.
“Whatever, I got to second base with Pam that night, and no-one can take that away from me,” Tommy announces, watching Razzle finish off his pinkie.
“Good for you, man,” Razzle says, with his trademark sincerity. Eileen and Charlotte still can’t believe it happened, but unfortunately both Razzle and Vince had seen with their own two eyes and been able to confirm; Vince may be biased, but Charlotte trusted Razzle.
“Everyone got some fuckin’ action that night except for me,” Nikki whines, finally shoving himself off, “and the fuckin’ Vomit Comet over here,” he jerked his thumb to where Lola was righting herself; Lola flips him off in response.
“I didn’t,” Eileen points out.
“You weren’t there,” Nikki rolls his eyes, “you don’t count.”
Meanwhile Razzle and Charlotte had both gone very quiet, and very pink. However Lola, who had no patience for people trying to hide their somewhere-between-pining-and-sincere feelings from each other and from other people, instead turns her attention to Eileen as she’s sweeping her hair out of her face.
“Have things gotten any better with Peach?” She tried, tone hopeful, and Eileen’s expression barely changed, just the barest crease of a frown upon her forehead, though judging by the way Charlotte’s whole expression soured, things had not, in fact, gotten better.
“Came back on Saturday afternoon all sunny and smiley and mom was thrilled,” Eileen’s deadpan irritation really sold her exasperation at the whole situation, “that she was friends with Vince again, and she hasn’t said a word to me yet.” Eileen takes a deep breath, straightening up from where she’d been slouched without realizing, taking a deep breath, nose in the air as if rising above it all, “which is fine with me, because I have a ton of dialogue to learn and they want us off-book in a month.”
This only sets them off fondly teasing the ever-unflappable Eileen, for her seemingly out of character choice to join the school’s musical, though they were all very proud of the fact that she scored the lead, even Nikki had voiced that he thought it was pretty cool.
When Lola had asked about it, Eileen had made mention that it filled in a lot of free time, that it was something she could add to college applications, and that a friend had convinced her to do it; Keanu -
“I keep hearing that name around,” Lola muses, leaning back in her seat while they were waiting for their French teacher to arrive. Eileen raises her eyebrows, “is that the pretty, dark haired Senior?” Eileen, surprisingly, had flushed scarlet when nodding. Lola hummed thoughtfully, leaning back further until the front legs of her chair lifted from the ground; she hooked her feet around the legs of her desk as she contemplated.
“It’s a musical right?” Lola asked, and Eileen hummed in confirmation, “if you can sing, you know Nikki and Tommy are -”
“I’d rather eat an entire microphone,” Eileen responds flatly, already knowing what Lola was about to suggest before she’d even finished her sentence, and Lola really tries not to laugh, but she knows Eileen well enough by now that that response makes entirely too much sense.
“You make a fair -” and that’s when Lola’s grip on the table slips, her feet sliding quickly up the legs of the desk as she topples backwards, the momentum pulling the desk up with her legs and directly on top of her, winding her. At least it made Eileen laugh, mostly from shock, sure, but Lola counts it as a win.
#motley crue#nikki sixx#tommy lee#vince neil#the dirt#the dirt fanfiction#motley crue fanfiction#nikki sixx x oc#Razzle Dingley#lola&charlotte#charlotte & lola#the pack
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My End and My Beginning
This was written as my first collab piece as well as my first MHA fic! The collab is Afterlife, so please check out other amazing works here: Afterlife Collab Masterlist
I know that many people don’t like when writers put their OCs in because they want to place themselves in the scenario. However there’s a particular flow I wanted to share that required my OC to be part of the story. For this tale, please take note that my OC’s quirk is Hallucination, and I have included descriptors of attacks and weaponry that I have come up with for my OC. However, I intentionally left in “Y/N”, they/them pronouns and other descriptors for readers to add in so as to not completely ruin the story for Kirishima x reader.
***TRIGGER WARNING***
Mentions & Implications: Death
Smoke stung Kirishima’s eyes as he squinted to see where the attackers ran. Explosions, and varying colors of green and yellow electrified the skies as he heard his friends yell out their attacks. He pressed on, focused on finding the enemies that destroyed the city block. Amidst the yells for help and battle cries, he ran until he cornered his prey. Sharp shark-like teeth gleamed in his grin as his bulky shadow covered the wall of the alley. The man before Kirishima showed no fear as he grew, his body quickly covering with coarse, dense fur while a long tail grew. The head of the man transformed into that of a wolf and a loud howl pierced the darkness. The man growled at Kirishima exposing sharp fangs of his own before crouching into a fighting stance, ready to take on the unbreakable hero.
The two hulking men charged at each other and collided in a cacophony of thuds, growls and struggled grunts. Red Riot bulldozed the wolfman against the building, the hardening of his body keeping the snapping jowls of the other at bay. Back and forth, the battle of the braun went, both men clearly exhausted though neither would give up. “Why won’t you quit already?!” Kirishima grunted through his jagged teeth. The two pushed against each other; teeth, spit, sweat and determination fueled the duel until the wolfman jumped back from Kirishima with a yelp. His bloodshot eyes bulged as his paws swiped frantically at his fur. Yelps turned into terrified screams as his quirk dissolved and revealed the flesh of the man. Nails scraped and slashed at his skin, trying to remove whatever illusion he saw on his body. Kirishima turned his head to the darkness of the alley just as a shadow darker than black stepped forward.
A hood was pulled back to reveal a seemingly floating head, E/C eyes smiled at the red-haired hero. “I thought you could use some help, Red Riot. You good?” Kirishima nodded while the panic-stricken werewolf thrashed on the ground in front of them. “He going to be ok?” The vantablack clad figure nodded. “Fur or no fur, he’s really afraid of ticks. Dynamight, Deku, and Chargebolt have the others rounded up. I’m going to do search and rescue. I’ll see you after!” A gloved hand gently cupped the rough edges of Kirishima’s face. A soft ‘I love you’ whispered at him before throwing the hood over their head and boots quickly carried the hero away. Red Riot chuckled before turning to the wailing villain and pulling him to his feet and dragged him to the waiting police cars. Seeing Y/N’s cape fluttering against the dirty yellowed building, he called out. “H/N! BE SAFE!” Y/N turned and lifted the hood of the cape to blow Kirishima a kiss before ducking into the darkened building, with only the echo of thumping boots along the floor to indicate they were there at all.
Inside the ruins was an eerie stillness. Removing the hood, Y/N shone the flashlight to watch for obstacles ahead. Faint cries lead Y/N to part of the building that was dangerously crumbling, and their voice reverberating through the exposed beams and concrete. “I’m here! I’m going to get you out, don’t worry! Everything’s going to be okay!” As Y/N sprinted onward, creaking and low rumbling throughout the rubble caused even more destabilization to the wreckage. Still, Y/N continued forward, determined to answer the pained cries of the innocent.
Tremors caused heroes and police to lose their footing and stumble as the section of a building tumbled down nearby. Chatter of the officers and stable survivors shook their heads and lamented their losses. Kirishima jogged up to his friends, patting his best friend on the back. “Great job today guys! Hey, where are Deku and H/N?” Bakugou turned around, his wild scarlet eyed friend glared at him with his lip upturned. “That damn nerd is over there talkin’ to the cops and Y/N went into that….oh shit. They were in the part of that building that collapsed. Fuck!” Kirishima’s face paled at his friend’s realization. Panic set in his eyes when he turned to see a haze of dust slowly rising into the air.
Y/N blinked to see the gray of a swirling fog. The atmosphere, not cold nor hot, but… different somehow, like the pressure had been released. “Hello? Eiji? Guys? Where is everyone? What is that light? Is it the way out?” They walked onward, steps echoing around the dizzying gray fog. The silence was deafening and why couldn’t Y/N remember what was happening before ending up in this place?
The rolling fog thinned, and Y/N found themselves in a familiar kitchen. The sizzling and popping sounds of meat in the skillet. Taking the handle in one hand and a spatula in the other, Y/N flipped the cooking ham. Mumbling voices heard in another direction. The TV was on in the other room. A brief glance showed a news blurb of a villain being taken down by H/N and Red Riot. Pulling a plate from a cabinet, food was plated and placed on the table, Kirishima already sitting and ready to eat. “Hey baby! That smells delicious! Thank you for the food!” He smiled up at his Pro Hero partner as Y/N reached out to cup his cheek only to find the image of home overtaken by the grayscale fog. Confusion on their face as they looked around and continued forward. Maybe that light in the distance was the way out. “I must’ve been hit with someone’s weird quirk. Eiji has to be on the other side of that place. Then we can get this straightened out.”
He took off toward the piles of rubble screaming their name. “H/N! Y/N!” The squad of friends followed, equally worried for the fate of their friend. The reverb of Kirishima’s bellows vibrated the breaking walls and bending beams, sending chunks of concrete tumbling around the large pro hero as he ran into the dark space to search for his love. His friends followed close behind until Dynamight held his arms out. “Get back, it’s collapsing! Riot, get back here! Eijirou!”
Fog wisped away and took Y/N to the one of the training areas at UA. Standing before them stood Kirishima, Hagakure, Midoriya, and Bakugou. Aizawa, Ectoplasm, and Gang Orca stood off to the side and watched the students get into battle stances. “Begin!” shouted Gang Orca, and the populated side of the stage rushed forward toward the single combatant. Y/N’s hood blew back as they cried, “Shrouded Sabers!” Two safely capped swords ejected from the void of their sleeves. Y/N gracefully danced around her classmates, the steel of the blades connecting with Bakugou’s gauntlets while their feet connected with the side of Midoriya’s face. “Warp refraction: Say Cheese!” The light bounced off of Hagakure effectively lighting up the training area. With quick thinking, Y/N pulled the hood over their head while reflecting the light from their sword back to her friend. A yell from Invisible Girl, and Y/N bounded backwards, their eyes peeking from the vantablack hood, and watching her classmates drop to the ground with shouts of panic. “Spiders! Get them off get them off get them off!” Hagakure screeched, while Midoriya cried, “No...no! Why?!” Explosions could be heard behind them, Y/N turned in enough time to reflect the light off of the swords into Bakugou’s eyes, causing him to veer over their head. “Ah, dammit Y/N! I’ll kill you!” Kirishima activated his hardening as a sword came down to connect with his shoulder. A hard grip to either arm and Y/N looked up to see a toothy grin just before being flipped over Kirishima’s head and thrown like a ragdoll onto the ground. Unable to sit up, the dust cleared to see the unbreakable hero straddling them and smiling. “Gotcha!” Y/N raised their hands up to hold Kirishima’s face when the scene faded into darkness.
“Y/N? Where are you?” Kirishima stumbled over debris, tripping over exposed pipes, ignoring the falling concrete from the shaking building. He ran the flashlight over the dark area, the light being enveloped into a void that caused him to gasp and run forward. “Y/N! I’m here baby. I’m here.” He removed the hood to see a mass of H/C hair sticky with sweat and blood covering eyes that were closed and holding a tranquil look of sleep. He cupped their warm face, tears streaming down his dirtied cheeks. He barely heard the voices of his friends when another assault of stone came crashing down.
Gray fog eventually gave way to gray walls of a hospital. Walking along the corridors, Y/N weaved around people, careful not to touch anyone. Hurried nurses heading to check on the multitudes of patients, and doctors on their way to various floors ready to save lives. Y/N wandered floor by floor, greeting and speaking to some they knew. Upon entering one floor, the void hero saw the backs of their friends’ heads before turning eyes to the door they waited near. Reading the red haired hero’s name, Y/N burst into the room, only to find Kirishima not in the bed. Taken aback and exiting the room, Y/N snuck from the prying eyes of their friends to seek out their love, finally finding him staring out a nearby window, drink in hand.
“Hey tall, red, and handsome.” Kirishima swiveled at the sound of a familiar voice, his face immediately lighting up the rest of the hall. He scooped up his partner and spun them into a tight hug, splattering his drink all over the floor. “Apparently you’re happy to see me!”
“Of course I’m happy to see my best babe! Don’t worry, I haven’t been waiting here for long. Just had a few bumps and scratches. They wanted to keep me for observation but I’m fine. Hey… you wanna sneak out of here? No one knows where I am!” A happy Kirishima beamed as he took another long drink from the can he held. Y/N held up a hand to cup his cheek and smiled at the contact. Bringing his face down for a kiss, Y/N shed a tear of joy, excited to be reunited once again.
The unbreakable hero held out his arm, delighted that Y/N threaded their small arm through his. Y/N laughed and nodded. “Let’s go home, big red. I’ll make dinner tonight.” Neither of them heard the panicked voices of their friends around the corner as nurses ran into Kirishima’s room with a crash cart.
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The Last Dragon | The Witcher & Game of Thrones
Chapter 10 | Cintran Ale and Lingering Ghosts
Summary: Visenya Targaryen is the eldest and only surviving child of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell. When Robert Baratheon’s rebellion was won, instead of being slaughtered by the Mountain like her mother and siblings, she was saved by Ned Stark and taken as his ward. Years later, after she’s killed at the Red Wedding, she wakes up outside Blaviken. Now she finds her destiny intertwined with the White Wolf on her quest to go back home.
Word Count: 5029
Note: Click here to read the previous chapters ♡ Also I finally decided on a faceclaim for Visenya and to no ones surprise I chose Katheryn Winnick. She does Targaryen too well to not!
💕 Shout out to my Beta: @thisbreakableheaven, I stan you so much! 💕
Splash.
The water pours out of the wood bucket, falling over Geralt’s hair and onto his body. The selkimore guts, now floating in the tub, the stench not nearly as burning as it had been previously. Like a dog, he shakes his head, droplets of water hitting the walls and Visenya. Without moving her gaze from the novel in hand, she wipes it away, turning the page immediately after.
“Could you be a dear Jane, and grab me more of that soap?” Jaskier asks, setting the bucket down on the ground, wipes away the water on his forehead, and pushes his puffed sleeves to cuff around his elbow.
“No.”
Flick.
“Isn’t she just lovely, and so helpful too?” Jaskier exclaims, sticky sarcasm coating each word like honey as he glides across the room, only two paces away from Visenay’s left side. He reaches up, standing on the tips of his toes- despite the shelf being within comfortable reach - and grabs a bar of soap, a distinct lavender scent following it. He twirls, like a dancer on a stage, his large sleeves lightly smacking Visenya’s cheek. She reaches up to swat him with the palm of her hand, but he’s already danced away from her, twirling and spinning his way back to Geralt.
“Oh I’m helpful alright, I help you empty your coin purse.” she mutters, pursing her lips into a tight line.
Flick.
Geralt snorts, a smirk on his lips as he watches Visenya, his amber eyes practically glowing in the dim light. Their eyes meet for a second before Visenya snaps her gaze back to the book.
“You know, maybe the two of you should travel together, you’re both so angry, like a pair of old people - you moreso, Geralt.” Jaskier says, his tone similar to that of a spoiled child groaning about not getting its way. “At least Jane cracks a joke and a smile once in a while.” He picks up the wooden bucket, filling it with clean water.
Geralt grunts, glaring at Jaskier, his white hair slick against his face; Visenya just shows Jaskier her middle finger.
Flick. There’s only ten pages of the book left, yet Visenya can’t remember the name of the leads in the story…, or even it’s plot.
“Now, now, stop your boorish grunts of protest.”
Water hits Geralt from above, his hair nearly clean of monster innards as they get washed away from him. The water pooling in the tub ripples, small waves flying out as new water takes its place. Instead of shaking his head, Geralt scrubs at his face, nearly growling as he does so.
“It is one night, body guarding your best friend in the whole wide world, how hard could it be.” Jaskier says, turning around, and tosses the diary rag from his hand onto a bench, before circling around the tub until he’s standing on the opposite side of his previous spot.
“I’m not your friend.”
“Oh, so you normally let strangers rub chamomile on your lovely bottom?” Jaskier’s tone is teasing, a smirk on his lips.
Geralt turns towards Jaskier, arms on the side of the tub, lips set in a thin line with eyes burning like hot coals.
Visenya bites her lip, and despite her desperate attempt to hide the smile that’s pulling at the corners of her mouth, laughter escapes from her tightly pressed lips. Immediately after, she coughs, a fragile and ill attempt to disguise the noise. Even a mute with a bad left eye however would see through the coverup. Jaskier turns and meets Visenya’s gaze, flashing her a wink before looking away.
“Right, that’s what I thought.”
“I thought you were paying Jane to make sure you don’t get stabbed or robbed?” Geralt asks, tone low and raspy.
Flick, eyes scan the book, only retaining every other word carefully written in aged black ink, keen ears intently listening to the conversation.
“I am, and she does a very good job at that. The only wounds I’ve sustained since hiring her are the ones she inflicts onto me. But this isn’t just any old party, my friend. This is a betrothal feast, hosted by the Lioness of Cintra herself! There will be suitors from all over the world, powerful lords vying for the chance at winning the hand of her daughter, who I hear is very beautiful.”
“And?” Geralt asks, raising a single ashen brow.
“And Jane won’t agree to go...but if you go, I’m sure she’ll agree to it!” Jaskier says.
“I’m right here.”
“Yes, reading a book you claim is stupid and frivilous. So pointless, in fact, you haven’t put it down all day.” Jaskier says, turning to face her, a smug grin on his face that’s short lived.
Smack.
The book flies across the room, narrowly avoiding Jaskier’s face by only a few inches. It hits the wall with a resounding thud, pages crinkling as it falls to the ground. Geralt curses under his breath, grip on the wood tightening enough that veins begin to faintly pop out. Jaskier however, remains unphased, simply turning away from her to face Geralt once more.
“Don’t mind her, she's just a bit cranky, she’s been having nightmares I think.” Jaskier says to Geralt, tone nonchalant and even, as if a book wasn’t just thrown at him.
“Shut up.”
Geralt levels his gaze to Visenya, raising both his brows at her, an unspoken question in his eyes.
‘Are you okay?’
She shakes her head, lips in a tight line as she rolls her eyes, not willing to delve into all of her childhood trauma that’s reared its ugly head since that first dream all those nights ago. She’d been successful, nearly all the memories locked away in that same box in the darkest corner of her mind, yet just enough remained to taunt her in her dreams.
Lingering only a second longer, Geralt shifts his eyes back to Jaskier, who bounces on the balls of his feet, watching the two of them as if they were the only entertainment he’s had in weeks.
“How many of these lords want to kill you?”
“Hard to say. One stops keeping track after a while: wives, concubines, mothers - sometimes.”
Both Geralt and Visenya look up at Jaskier, looks of equal incredulousness and annoyance painted on their faces.
“Oh, yes, there’s that face --” Jaskier sits on the small stool that’s pushed up against the tub. “-- scary face. No lord in their right mind would dare come near me with you there!”
Geralt’s jaw clenches just a hair, his eyes twitching ever so slightly that it could be written off as a trick of the light. He reaches over and grabs his mug of ale, bringing it to his lips, but Jaskier intercepts him, pulling the cup away from him as if Geralt was a child.
“Ooo, on second thought, might want to lay off the Cintran ale, a clear head would be best.” Jaskier pats Geralt on the shoulder, stands from the stool and moves towards Visenya.
“A gift for My Lady!” Jaskier exclaims, lowering into a deep bow as he passes Geralt’s mug to Visenya, amber liquid spilling over the brim as he carelessly carries the cup. Face void of any emotion, she grabs the cup...pouring out the entirety of its contents on the ground, far enough away that the liquid won’t touch her feet. Jaskier just huffs, feigning anger as he turns around and moves towards the small vanity pushed up against a wall. He grabs a jacket that’s dark blue, the fit and fabric suited for a party rather than travel, distracting himself by holding it up and then setting it down, only to repeat the cycle.
“I will not suffer tonight sober just because you hid your sausage in the wrong royal pantry. I’m not killing anyone, not over the petty squabbles of men.”
He sets it down a final time, refolding it, and turning back to Geralt.
“Yes, yes, yes, you never get involved. Except you do, all the time.” Jaskier says, huffing as he moves towards Geralt. “Is this what happens when you get old? You get unbelievably cantankerous and crotchety. Actually, I’ve always wanted to know, do Witchers ever retire?”
“Yeah when they’re slow and get killed.” Geralt says, his tone aggressive but lacking the usual ferocity and fire found in it.
“Come on, you must want something for yourself once all this monster hunting nonsense is over with?” Jaskier says, pressing the conversation further and further, fiending for anything Geralt will tell him.
“I want nothing.” Jaskier looks down at his nails, then moves his gaze back to Geralt. He walks forward, leaning down so his elbows rested on the edge of the tub, facing Geralt.
“Well who knows, maybe someone out there will want you.” Jaskier’s eyes flash to Visenya, but she isn’t looking at him, too busy pretending to be occupied.
“I need no one, and the last thing I need is someone needing me.”
“And yet, here we are.”
It's silent, each moment dragging on as the three of them wait for the other to break it. Geralt breaks eye contact, looking left and then right, eyes burning in the dim room.
“Where the fuck are my clothes, Jaskier?” Geralt says, snarling like a rabid animal.
“Oh, I had them taken to be cleaned, they were covered in selkimore guts, but you’re not going to the feast as a Witcher tonight.” Jaskier says, a mischievous glint in his eyes, ever present when Geralt is around it seems.
Geralt opens his mouth,a stinging response on the tip of his tongue, but Jaskier interrupts the words before they can fully form.
“But no need to worry about that.” Jaskier waves his hand, straightening his postures and gliding around the tub, and moving towards Visenya. “Now my dear Jane, will you agree to go with me now that our mighty, heroic Witcher--” Visenya just looks at Jaskier, face hard as stone.
“No. I already told you I’m not going.”
“But why not! Please, your presence is absolutely necessary with me!” Jaskier practically throws himself onto his knees, face like a begging puppy.
“I don’t like parties or weddings or betrothals.” She maintains the facade, not willing to break or show any weakness; cold and unfeeling, anything less and Jaskier will never let it go.
“Why not.”
“Because I was murdered at one.” the words are like oil on her tongue, always just a few seconds from slipping out, but they don’t. She won’t let them. If she says the words out loud, it means they’re real, and if they’re real...she doesn’t know what she’ll do.
“I just don’t.” It’s a lie, but an easy one, one she’s gotten good at telling.
“Leave her alone Jaskier, I’ve already been pulled into your mess, no need to drag Jane into it, I’m sure she’s dealt with her fair share of predicaments, thanks to you.”
“Whatever, I'll have you know all of my messes, both intentional and not, are lovely.” Jaskier tilts his nose into the air, sniffling like an injured child playing into theatrics for attention. “I’ll leave you two grumps to it, maybe you can convince her with a smoldering gaze or something.”
With one last teasing grin towards the both of them, Jaskier quickly exits the room like an actor leaving the stage after a staggering performance. The door closes behind him with a soft click, the sound echoing in the otherwise silent room.
Visenya looks at Geralt, who looks at her, neither moving an inch.
“Jane.”
In that moment, with Geralt saying the fake name she gave herself all those months ago, it makes her realise just how much she misses hearing her real name. And she wonders how it would sound coming out of his mouth, whether the word would be like honey, sweet and smooth, sticking to her brain for the rest of her life. Or would it be harsher, his tongue having difficulty wrapping around the Old Valyrian name she stole from Queen Visenya I, like a petty thief. She remembers how Renfri would say it, somehow making her own name, something she’s heard a million times in her life, like sweet Southern sweets melting in her mouth.
She remembers how...nice it felt, being able to be completely open and honest, when her life has been nothing but deceit and shadows for so long. And she almost breaks, pouring out everything from the moment she came into the world, banishing away the darkness that hung over King’s Landing, screaming and crying as she did. But she doesn’t. Fear claws at her mind, doubts that he would think her crazy or a deranged monster trying to work into his life assaulting her all at once. And it’s dizzying, so much so she nearly faints from the feeling.
“Jane.” Geralt says again, firmer this time, banishing away her inebriating fears and worries, everything clear within a single second.
“Geralt,”
She smirks at him, but it’s awkward and strange, looking more like a grimace than anything.
“You alright?” he asks, and even in the dim light, she can see the lines in his forehead, brows furrowing. And for the second time that day, she considers telling him everything. But the same fears hold her back.
“Aren’t I always?” she tries to joke, her voice going up three octaves as she tries to keep out the heaviness that always seems to follow her.
“Hmm.”
Silence washes over them, unspoken words and questions ricocheting off the walls and making everything feel smaller.
“Thanks for the broach by the way.” Visenya breaks the silence first, motioning towards the broach that’s pinned to the left side of her tunic, hanging above her breast.
“It looks better on you than it did me,” Geralt says, a smile that shows all his shiny white teeth on his face. Visenya nods her head, standing from the bench she perched herself on the moment Jaskier pushed them all into the room. Slowly and calculated, she begins to walk towards Geralt, each footstep ringing in the room until she’s by the tub, sitting on the stool Jaskier previously claimed.
“I know, does wonders for my eyes when the light reflects off the gems,” she teases, crossing her left leg over the right. “It was the least you could do after leaving me to wake up by myself.”
“I didn’t realise you wanted me to stay.” Geralt rebuttals, raising a brow as he waits for her next move.
“Oh don’t flatter yourself, I just wasn’t happy to deal with Jaskier’s prying questions alone. Do you know how many times I had to threaten to stab him, rob him, and then leave him for dead until he shut up? And even now he still makes subtle jokes about it.” Visenya says, rolling her eyes, resting her elbow on the edge of the tub, only a few inches away from Geralt.
“My apologies for leaving you in such a dire situation.” Geralt leans forward, mimicking her light tone.
“For shame Geralt, for shame.”
“Is there anything I could do to make it up to the Lady?” he asks, leaning just a hair closer, and like there’s a magnetic field around him that pulls her to him, begging her to close the gap and feel his steady breaths fanning over her face.
“The broach was a good start.” she replies, trying to not sound as breathless as she feels.
She’s burning, her body all over electrified in a way it hasn’t been since the last time she saw Geralt.
And then it’s suddenly cold, all the warmth being forcibly ripped from her body. The water hits against the tub as Geralt moves back, his body pressed against the other end of the tub, all coy smirk and smug eyes.
Payback for last time it seems.
Visenya rolls her eyes and straightens her back, eager for the flush that covers her body to disappear as quickly as it came.
“Yeah whatever, you're naked and vulnerable, I could take you.” she says, waiting a moment before her eyes widen a fraction, Geralt smirk widening. ‘With my sword, that is. I could stab you with my sword and leave you dead. That’s what I meant, nothing else.”
“Hmm, is that so?” Geralt’s eyes glint with amusement, the candles reflecting like roaring fires in his eyes. He’s beautiful in the dim glow of the flickering flames, skin glistening with droplets of water sticking to his body, further accentuating his rippling muscles and broad shoulders.
“I hate you and Jaskier equally, just so you know.” Visenya says, huffing like a child, rolling her eyes and glancing at the bare wall, eyes tracing over the wooden panels, counting each grain as she does.
“I’m sure. So what’s the real reason you don’t want to go to this feast? Jaskier drags you around to all his other parties, why not go to this one?” Geralt asks. Visenya’s eyes flicker back to Geralt. Her mind is blank, yet brimming with a million different words and phrases that jumble together until she can hardly find any words to speak.
“I guess I’m not a fan of weddings or anything related to them.” is all she can say. “It’s not a big deal, just a weird tick I guess.” She nods her head, trying to make the words seem convincing to both her and Geralt. But it’s impossible to swallow the lump forming in her throat, nearly suffocating as Westeros hits her mind, the calamitous memories physically painful.
“Bad experience?”
Her face still sour from the fight with Robb, nearly breaking her jaw from how tightly she kept it clenched.
Lady Catelyn looking shrewd and nervous, but slowly softening to Talissa and Robb’s relationship.
Everyone celebrating and getting drunk in the room.
“I’ve never been a good dancer,” she says, the words are soft and light, a tentative smile forming on her face.
Robb falling to the ground, like a pincushion for crossbow bolts, choking on his blood despite being dead the second he entered the keep.
The camp burning.
Everyone around her dying.
“And if I promised you wouldn’t have to dance?” Geralt says, leaning towards Visenya.
Her heart dropping when the slaughter started, frozen like a statue in the dead of winter, bolted to the floor and unmoving.
Screams lighting up the room, ricocheting off the walls as they were stabbed, bludgeoned, and strangled.
Greywind locked up outside, unable to help and dying alone, butchered like a pig.
“You seem desperate for my presence there, Geralt of Rivia.” Visenya teases.
The wail that ripped through her throat, leaving her drinking her own blood and tears.
The pit in her stomach as her legs gave out.
Their snears and taunting words as the world grew dark.
“If I have to suffer the night sober, I would prefer good company.” His lips pull into a smirk that’s lopsided, making his left eye crinkle an inch further than the right.
And that little piece of her who wished she had died with the rest of her family 17 years ago.
“And you couldn’t think of anyone else?” Visenya replies with a smile on her face that grows, eyes bright as Westeros and all it’s demons dim, leaning her chin onto the palm of her hand.
“Well I’d bring my horse, but I don’t foresee them allowing Roach into the palace.”
“No, I imagine that wouldn’t go over too well.”
Visenya sighs deeply, closing her eyes as she does, resolve breaking with each passing second that Geralt looks at her.
“Do you think Jaskier would give me any say in my dress?”
The door flings open, crashing into the wooden wall and causing it to shake for a moment.
“Have no fear, My Lady, I’ve already got the perfect one!”
o0o0o0o
The water is scalding hot, steam rising from the water and dissipating into the air. But it doesn’t burn, not in the way it should, instead every muscle in her body relaxes the second the it touches her skin. Small waves ripple through the water as her body twists and turns into a comfortable position. A small sigh leaves her mouth, echoing in the smaller room only to be swallowed by the door opening and closing.
“I don’t need help bathing.” Visenya says, weaving annoyance and mild anger in each word.
Just one moment alone would be nice.
“And I’m not here to offer it, I just wanted to quickly discuss a few things,” Jaskier says, completely ignoring any warning signs and moving further into the room.
“And then you’ll be out of my hair?” Visenya says, water splashing out of the tub and onto the floor as she pinches the bridge of her nose.
“Well funny you should say that, actually…” She doesn’t need to turn around to see how his brows are furrowed, eyes unsure and a touch afraid that Visenya might fly off the handle. He’s never fully learned all her triggers yet, but to be fair, neither has she.
She groans, loudly, sinking as far into the water as much as the tub would physically allow, wishing to be swallowed into an abyss. Always something with the hair, whether it’s pleads to let him style it or to tell him why she keeps dyeing it.
“No.”
“You don’t even know what I was going to say!” Jaskier exclaims, in an attempt to defend himself, feigning innocence he doesn’t possess when it comes to meddling.
“I don’t have to. The answer is still no.” Visenya’s voice is firm and stern, unmovable like a stone wall.
His footsteps echo in the room, the heels on the boots clicking against the wood flooring as he approaches, each step tentative and slow.
“Well that just isn’t acceptable, you won’t even give a gentleman the simple opportunity to--”
“Just tell me what you want so I can tell you no again” Visenya interrupts Jaskier, breathing heavily through her nose.
“Alright, alright, tough crowd--”
“Jaskier!”
“Okay, alright, your hair! I wanted to talk about that.” Jaskier says, voice raising in volume as many octaves it did. “How do I say this while still keeping my life… it looks, well-- like a wild animal lives there and has lived there its whole life.”
The water splashes and ripples as her hand breaks through the stillness, joining the rest of her body beyond her head and the tops of her shoulders underwater. Jaskier holds his breath, waiting for Visenya to either tell him to fuck off or pretend he doesn’t exist at all.
“I know.”
Jaskiers loudly exhales, physically deflating.
“So I was thinking, what if we made it not look like that for the feast? You really should look your best before a monarch.” Visenya turns her head and glares at Jaskier. “I know you dye your hair, heavens know why, so I was just thinking what if you...washed it out.”
“So you want me to wear my natural hair color for the feast?” Visenya clarifies, her voice not indicating anything she’s feeling.
“Yes, exactly!” Jaskier exclaims, tone becoming more jovial and ecstatic, bouncing on his feet as he does.
“No.”
“But--”
“I said no.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want to.”
“Come on, it can’t be that bad.”
“I said no Jaskier.” Visenya growls, the edges of the wooden tub crack under the pressure of her grip, splitters getting pushed under her nails.
“Don’t be so dramatic, let’s see what color your roots are--” Jaskier moves closer, hands outstretched, desperate to see the silver hair shining under the dry brown. Visenya grits her teeth, anger pulsing under her skin, mind going white as all the sound in the room silences for a painstakingly long moment.
“I said, no!” The words are piercing and sharp, nearly leaving both of their ears bleeding. The walls shake, the structure of the building itself rejecting the shrill words rolling off of Visenya's mouth. Her eyes flash like fire, burning anything in its wake; it’s dangerous and untamed, wildfire barely contained in two eyes.
Her hand flies up in the air, palm nearly meeting Jaskier’s cheek, but he manages to duck out of the way, stepping back far enough to avoid the slap, the residual heat radiating from her hand nearly singeing his hair. With wide eyes, baby blues watching her with bewilderment and a small tinge of something else- something she never wants him or anyone else to ever look at her with again.
Fear.
Visenya inhales sharply, simply staring at her own hand with dazed eyes. It’s still hot, she’s still hot. The previously scalding water that had begun to cool, heats up again with a vengeance, boiling wildly around her. Small beads of sweat form at her temple, the room growing smaller with each sharp breath Jaskier takes.
“I’ll just-- I’ll just leave you to it, just… forget I asked, I guess,” he says, the words jumbling and melting together, nearly disappearing into the wooden walls that seem to close in.
Click.
Just as quickly as he entered the room, he exits, leaving behind nothing but the faint smell of his perfume and hair styling product. The room is silent, unbearably so. Visenya turns, water languidly splashing, her back facing the door as she stares at the bare wall, eyes glazing as she attempts to focus on every small detail of the wood. Her mind is blank, yet at the same time it’s a storm, ferociously raging in her head, until her ship is pulled under, thoughts drowning her.
“Fuck!” The palm of her hand smacks against the water, a barrage of droplets sticking to the sweat beads. A growl of anger and frustration leaves her mouth as she thrusts her hands forward, creating a wave that forces a large amount of water to spill onto the ground, forming a small puddle of anger and guilt.
Regret weighs heavily on her, like wearing a suit of full plate in the middle of the ocean. She shouldn’t have snapped at Jaskier that way, she wishes she hadn’t. He’s just trying to help, to pull Visenya out of this hole she’s happily buried herself in, clawing at the dirt with perfectly manicured hands and a velvet outfit, humming a sweet melody as he digs. She’d yelled before: threatened to hurt him in every way imaginable, screamed so loud her voice nearly vanished. She’d smacked his chest and shoulders under the guise of seriousness with a sly smirk playing on the corner of her lips. And he took it in stride, laughing it off with a charming smile and a witty quip, bouncing back instantaneously, because she never fully knocked him down.
She tries to believe this isn’t any different, that she’ll walk out of this room, only to be bombarded by Jaskier’s incessant teasing. But no amount of rose-tinted lenses can bury her in that delusion, because this time is different. She could see the way he looked at her, the way he crumbled under the fire in her eyes and rage simmering under her skin.
Her fury in that moment was harsh, but true, and very much directed at him with intent to harm. All because he wanted to see her hair. How could he ever understand that it’s more than that to her. How does she explain how the same silver strands that crown her a Targaryen princess, something that marked her a paragon of her ancestors, but a pariah to the living. She’d never be able to explain how it was the one unmistakable trait that marked her as the daughter of the man who stole away Winterfell’s princess, staining her a traitor to all of Westeros.
No one here knows who House Targaryen was or what her ancestors did -- both horrible and great. And maybe it’s better that way. To wipe her home and family name out of her memories, drown Westeros and all the hurt and pain and misery that came with it until she can’t remember anything prior to Blaviken.
Because what did they achieve, what did any of them really achieve? Aegon the Conqueror along with Rhaenys and Visenya Targaryen formed the Seven Kingdoms. They brought war and then peace, only for that to be lost 300 years later due to the madness of a single man, that apparently bled into his eldest son.
With Fire and Blood, they took what they wanted and bathed the rest in dragon fire as they reigned calamity upon their enemies. Some were kind and fair, but most were cruel and callous, seeing themselves higher than the rest because their eyes shone like amethysts with hair threaded from silver.
What did being the daughter of Rhaegar Targaryen ever give her, except for despair at the loss of the family he abandoned to the whims of a madman. What did being the granddaughter of the Mad King Aerys give her, beyond the crippling fear that would leave her awakening in the darkest part of the night covered in sweat, fears that she’d descend to that same madness that haunted him. That she’d lose the ability to control her own mind until she was put down like a dog, something Robert Baratheon would’ve done happily as the people whispered ‘What a shame she went mad.’
What did being a Targaryen ever really bring her if not scars and lingering ghosts?
The last time she fully embraced her blood, standing as tall and regal as a Targaryen should, how she believed they would, she burned down half a village.
No, it’s better this way.
Even if it’s just hair.
She sinks further into the boiling water, breathing in the steam like the smoke from a fire, praying and hoping she would just disappear. She continues down until her shoulders and underwater, then her neck, until the back of her head touches the bottom of the tub, eyes closed as her water floats around her face. And surrounded by the boiling water, washing away the day and all her mistakes, salty tears leave her eyes, being swept away into the water.
o0o0o0o
Tags: If your name is crossed out, it means I wasn’t able to tag you. Also I’m not 100% sure if most of y’all still want to be tagged, since it’s been so long since I posted a new chapter, so feel free to message me if you no longer want to be!
@1967-chevy-impala-called-roscoe | @historicallydysfunctional | @stuckupstucky | @aknerdchick | @c-a-v-a-l-r-y | @Kholl101 | @itskatrinahere | @locht3ssmonster | @alwayshave-faith | @im-catching-feelings | @magic-inthe-stars | @sunlithours | @thors-hair-extensions | @majesticdiscodeaky | @seninjakitey | @nevaeh-eden-morningstar| @marvel-baby | @ayamenimthiriel | @losers-club6| @queenmendes | @madamwhisper | @deadlydemon | @power-of-words23| @demigoddesofchimichangagod | | @howlongtillidie | @helloitsmeaime203 | @notatallfriendly | @i-have-arrived-bitch | @moonlights27 | @xxperfectionisdeadlyxx | @why-do-i-even-study-japanese | @possiblyafangirl | @alatairion | @teamcap0221 | @rangotangomango | @goprincessclaire | @mikariell95 | @rubyliquor | @whatlifereallyabout | @my-not-so-perfect-reality | @kamrynzam | @aroyaldarknessblr | @kohsongbird | @napoleonisrad | @loushirley | @winter-moons | @toribentleyva | @comicbeginning | @naughty-koala07 | @im-a-muggleborn | @belgiantrash | @hyperfixation-is-love ; @lizliz3107 | @simsvetements | @scarletmeii | @trashforwinchesters | @lyssstark01
#geralt of rivia#geralt imagine#geralt fanfic#geralt x reader#Geralt#the last dragon#the witcher#the witcher fanfiction#game of thrones#game of thrones fanfiction#game of thrones crossover#the witcher crossover#house targaryen#targaryen!reader#targaryen!oc#Jaskier
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Twelve Days of Holly, Jolly Tidings - Day 4
Disclaimers: I watched “Dash & Lily” the other day on Netflix. This story is LOOSELY based on that book and Netflix series. I do not own “Dash and Lily” or Newsies or anything recognizable within the series. There are occasional curse words throughout the series, nothing too horrible but there’s some.
Monday, December 16
Walking into The New York Times that morning, she smiled at the guard as she scanned her ID to let her onto the elevator. Pressing the 14th floor, she glanced around the elevator and sighed, letting her head hit the back of the wall. Mentally, she counted along as the elevator climbed before it stopped at her floor, as she scooted out of the small space. Taking a deep breath, she made her way to her cubicle, dropping her bag on her desk. She smiled, seeing a pink padded envelope on her desk. Taking a seat in her very comfortable chair, she quickly opened the padded envelope, her smile increasing as she pulled out the very familiar notebook.
Good morning Kat!
Happy fourth day of Christmas. I hope your morning has started off swimmingly- if not, I hope this brightens your day. I’ve got quite the challenge for you today. You’re going to have to put on your investigator’s hat today to find your surprise.
You’re going to have to go into the basement - I know you hate it down there but I promise this will be well worth it. You’re going to have to find the New York Times from July 1889 . . . there’s a certain story that gripped the headlines. Read the story and that’ll lead you to the next clue.
Looking over her desk, she had nothing that couldn’t wait until the next day. She had turned her articles in for the week and needed to do some research for an upcoming story. Standing, she grabbed her bag, sighing. She really hated the basement - it was so quiet that it was creepy. Grabbing the notebook, she stuffed it into her bag, swinging it across her shoulder.
Hitting the button for the elevator, she headed to the basement. Trying to psyche herself up, she knew she needed to get in and out without creeping herself out.
Stepping into the quiet basement, she flicked the lights on before walking farther into the abyss. Her eyes adjusted the dim lights before walking over to the beginning of the archive. She had spent enough time in that basement that she had the layout down pat. Heading to the filing cabinet for that particular decade, she pulled it open, coughing as a cloud of dust escaped.
Grabbing the notebook from her bag, she set it on top of the filing cabinet. She grabbed a newspaper from July 1889, scanning the front page. Nothing jumped out at her as she continued to review papers. It wasn’t until she came across the July 19, 1889 edition, did she find a sticky note attached to the paper.
Continuing reading the notebook
She quickly scanned the article about the Newsboys Strike. She smiled reading it - it had always fascinated her when she read the story about how a group of kids had come to fight her great grandfather.
So you found the article. That was the thing that initially drew me to you. I had overheard you in the library the day before we “officially” met. You were working on a project regarding the Newsboys Strike and the way you talked about those boys and what they accomplished with such passion, I knew I had to at least meet you. What I didn’t anticipate was falling in love with you - but I don’t regret it for once second.
Over the last 5 years, you have opened my eyes to so many things that I probably would’ve never ever thought about. You’ve always challenged me to think outside the box and expand my horizons - and I’ve never thanked you properly. I know I’ve told you this but I’m going to write it down so that it’s in ink - you’re brilliant, amazing, and always keep me on my toes. I never know what you’re going to surprise me with and I hope that you never stop doing that.
Pausing in her reading, she wiped away a few stray tears that had clouded her vision. Jack was a sweetheart, he always had been. But this was a new side to him.
But now, you have to go on another adventure. Try to find the New York Times paper from September 19, 2014 - there you’ll find a thing or two.
Grabbing the notebook, she pushed the drawer shut before walking further into the room. She passed many file cabinets before finding the one that housed the 2012 through 2015 archives. Pulling open a draw, she saw that she had guessed the right drawer. Searching the drawer for the September issues, she quickly found them before flipping through until she found the 19th - an envelope was sitting there awaiting her.
Picking it up, she slid her finger under the flap, ripping it open. A photo and a charm was inside. She looked at the photo first. Holding it up, she smiled seeing it was the first photo her and Jack had taken together - her roommates had demanded that she take a photo with the mystery boy so that if she didn’t turn up at the end of the night, they would have a photo of her killer. She had laughed but complied with their request. After their date, she had printed it off and placed it in a frame that sat on her desk through the remaining days of college before moving it to her desk at the Times.
Slipping the photo back into the envelope, she grabbed the charm. It was a newspaper charm, the paper rolled up as it used to be when the Newsboys would hawk the newspapers.
Congratulations, Kat. You figured everything out. I figured I’d shake things up a bit. The Newsboys article is obvious why I picked it but do you know what September 19 means?
Stopping her reading, she thought back to September 19. As she flipped through the last few years, nothing really stood out on that particular date. Other things around those dates stood out but September 19, as much as she recalled, was a normal day.
I’m guessing you don’t know what that date signifies. Since you don’t know, I’ll clue you in. That was the day that I heard you talk about the Newsboys Strike. I “accidentally” ran into you on the 20. But truth be told, it wasn’t really an accident that I ran into you - I kinda staged it but in the end, I think it’s all worked out.
She laughed, shaking her head. Now that she thought about it, it was in September that she had run into Jack and the rest, as people say, is history.
And the charm - a newspaper - is kinda self explanatory, I think. I’m in awe every time I watch you write an article or do research. It’s really special to see you work and watch you connect the dots, all very quickly, in a matter of seconds.
I’ll see you later tonight for our date night. I love you!
Jack
Closing the notebook, she stuffed it back into her bag. Making sure she had everything, she shut the lights off, heading to the elevator, getting back to safe terrority. Once in the elevator, she let out a breath that she didn’t realize she was holding. Chuckling to herself, she shook her head as she left the elevator, making her way back to her desk where a gorgeous bouquet of flowers greeted her. She looked around the floor but no one was near her desk.
Dropping her bag on the ground, she pulled her chair out before her eyes swept the bouquet. Bright colored roses, Alstroemeria, Gerbera Daisies, and Carnations were arranged in a pretty vase. Her eyes searched the bouquet for a card, and grinned, pulling it free.
Kat,
Just wanted to say that I love you and that I’m looking forward to our date tonight. Hope you have a wonderful day at work and I’ll see you at 6pm.
Love,
Jack
He was something else, she smiled. If she didn’t know it before, she would be convinced that he really was the sweetest man in the world. Four days down, all making her days, and looking forward to what the remaining eight days held.
#Newsies#Newsies Fan Fiction#writing#Twelve Days of Holly Jolly Tidings#jack x katherine#Holiday Fic#Newsies Holiday Fic
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I Wanna Dance With Somebody
pairing ~ idol au!jungkook/reader
genre ~ uhm, fluff!!
summary ~ deep talks and reassuring hugs aren’t the only solutions to cheer your boyfriend up. No, for jeon jungkook, you knew you had to do something more to turn that frown upside down, and lucky for you, you know exactly what to do ;)
word count ~ 1.5k
Author’s note ~ hello everyone! this is my first fic ever posted here, there may be a few grammatical errors (English is not my strongest pursuit) so please bear with me >.< I hope to slowly improve my writing in the future, but till then, please enjoy reading this fun little story I wrote!
“Y/N, you know you don’t have to do this.” Jungkook—your boyfriend—assured you as you leaned over to grab your phone from his desk. You connected the bluetooth to your boyfriend’s very! big! red! speaker! You honestly didn’t understand why Jungkook has an obsession with bluetooth speakers but anyway… that wasn’t the point.
“And you know you don’t have to ask that question every time right?” You said as you gave him a peck on his right cheek with a smile, but Jungkook barely smiled back.
Jeon Jungkook. An idol. In a boy band called BTS. Your boyfriend. Jungkook, beloved by millions of girls and boys all around the world, known as the ‘golden maknae,’ his life has been actively shared across the globe (well, except the fact that he has a girlfriend, lets keep that low-key for now, shh! Dispatch, who?). But despite all the characteristics and known-facts shared on the news media and interviews, no one can understand your boyfriend better than you.
In fact, you knew him too well.
You knew your boyfriend’s hidden vulnerabilities, his darkest emotions as well as memories, and today just happened to be a day where you walked into cold rain when you opened the door to his new studio. Namjoon had warned you about Jungkook’s mood before you entered his studio, something about “making errors on stage?”
And yup, you totally understand why Jungkook will be so upset about this. Because you see, Jungkook could fall down the stairs but still manage to dance for 5 hours straight when he realized there were no broken bones but bruises. But when it comes to performances, his bandmates, and his fans.
It becomes serious.
And it’s not about just singing songs and going on tours, you knew your boyfriend too well for just that. Jungkook loves his fans with all his heart, you could see the passion just exploding in his eyes. He sings songs not because he “just likes singing,” but because he wants to share his message. He wants to touch people’s hearts and give invite his fans into a world where they want to escape from what reality is throwing at them. His message is to teach the world about sensitive topics—like when it comes to self-care or self-love— and to let the world know that the most important person in the world is yourself.
And all of those things are all under the list that you made in your head titled:
“REASONS WHY MY BOYFRIEND IS THE BEST IN THE WORLD”
But even though his heart is all for his fans, bandmates, and music, he becomes very very determined and sensitive in the sense that he wants everything to just be well, perfect. You know this when you see him dance by himself at the dance studio in the middle of the night, reviewing the choreography over and over again. But when it comes to a single mistake, oh ho ho, Jungkook never stops. He reflects, and you mean, REALLY reflects on his mistakes and plays the error again and again in his head, like watching a horrible movie in your head on loop. And when you first dated him, you were in complete shock to see him go full-out to get everything perfect. He goes through the rehearsals countless times to make sure everything is in the correct order and in the correct position. And despite the fact that practicing is not a bad thing, Jungkook sometimes overdoes it and ends up sulking alone in his studio feeling guilty for all the mistakes that he made on a performance. He will list all his mistakes (mentally AND physically) and even bring up past ones to compare. You remembered one time, he wrote all his mistakes on sticky notes, placed them on the wall, and you thought you teleported into an espionage dimension when you entered his room.
However, today, even after you tried to talk to him and listen to his feelings, you could still see the sadness swirling in his dark chocolate brown eyes.
“Music always does the trick, doesn’t it?” You say as you scroll through your playlist on your phone.
Jungkook let out a puff of air through his nose and rolled his eyes.
“Yeah, until you mess it up and let millions of people down.” He scoffed as he flicked his head so his bangs could cover his eyes.
“Just…listen to this, maybe this can lift the mood a bit,” you said. You put down your phone as you clicked on a specific song, hoping the beats could lift the cold/heavy emotions swirling in your boyfriend’s chest.
“Whitney Houston?” Jungkook said as he leans behind on his gaming chair staring at you with his gorgeous puppy eyes when the beat begins. The high-energy music bounces off the walls of Jungkook’s studio, thumping away like a big tantrum, but you loved it and you know he did too.
“Yup!” You squealed. “WHOOOOO~” you screamed trying to match your oh, so perfect harmonization skills with Whitney Houston. You jumped on his couch and started to lip-sync to I Wanna Dance With Somebody. You grabbed a water bottle from the table and pretended to use it as a microphone as you wiggled your hips (just for good measure ;) ) The beat was extravagant, but that wasn’t the reason why you chose this song. You chose this song because it was the song that was played when you screamed “I LOVE YOU” for the first time to Jungkook. You could still remember his eyes blowing 10 times the size when you said those three words, his hug that he pulled you in, and most of all, remembering him repeating those three words back to, casting sweet euphoric emotions to dance in your heart. It was one of the best moments you ever had in your life and it was a memory that will forever be engraved in your heart.
“COME ON!” You shouted through the loud beats, smiling as you reach for Jungkook’s wrist. You could see a small crease forming on Jungkook’s face as you grabbed his hands pulling his body up as you jump around his studio. Jungkook stood up, crossing his arms but you could see a hint of happiness in his eyes.
~Dont-cha wanna dance?!~ you screamed with a bright smile plastered on your face as you use your amazing exaggerated facial expressions to really emphasize your awesome lip-sync abilities, and your oh, so attractive dance moves which consist of numerous amount of hip wiggles, jumping, and body rolls.
Now Jungkook was really smiling and laughing. The wrinkles near his eyes is your everything. He grabs your waist suddenly to pull you closer, making you gasp. You could smell the fresh scent of flowers of his black sweatshirt—maybe it was because of the Downy Adorable Fabric Softener that he uses religiously on his clothes. But as the song continues, you realize that your chest was pinning his and your breathing was heavy from all the silly jumping that you did. His arms were now hovering you as he rested his chin on your head and closed his eyes. You hugged him back, smiling. You guys stood there, swaying your bodies back and forth softly to the beat of the song. And as the Whitney Houston’s voice slowly starts to fade and as the last rhythm comes to an end, your phone jumped to the next song: “I Will Always Love You”
Ah, and you have to admit, this was the best moment. Your boyfriend, your favorite person in the world, your best friend, despite all the tough times you both endured, you both always managed to find the light at the end.
No matter how long it takes, no matter how bummed either of you are, both of you will do everything and anything to make the other person happy—even if that's just a small smile or a warm hug.
Jungkook leans down to whisper a small thank you in your ear, making your cheeks sting with warmness as you smile—your face buried in his chest. Now you both were slow dancing as Whitney Houston’s voice echoes around your boyfriend’s small studio.
“I’m always here for you, you know that right?” You said with your eyes closed, inhaling the fresh detergent smell from Jungkook’s black hoodie.
“I know” Jungkook replied timidly, kissing the top of your head. “Me too”
And you hum a satisfied replied, still smiling.
You both slow dance away as the chorus of the song continues.
Steps short and slow but meaningful.
As if each step slowly added color to your life, reminding you that no matter how hard life is, as long as your love is by your side, you can always make it till the end of the line.
“I love you Y/N” Jungkook tells you, arms still wrapped tightly around you.
You smile. “I love you too, Jungkook-ah”
And that feeling of welcoming warmness pouring back into Jungkook?
Now, THAT'S the best feeling in the world.
A/N: if you actually read the whole fic, i-.. *gives you a BIG virtual hug* Thank you so so much!! Please feel free to message me what you think about this story or leave a message saying whatever you want, I’ll be very happy to message you back! Have a lovely day~~
#jungkook fluff#jungkook#jeon jungkook#jjk#jk#bts fluff#jungkook imagine#bts imagine#jungkook imagines#bts au#jungkook au#jungkook scenario#jungkook dating au#jungkook oneshot#i wanna dance with somebody
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Sugar-sweet confessions (kth)
Genre: fluff, dating
Paring: reader x Taehyung
Word count: 3300
Baking cookies sounds like a safe and cozy way to spend a date with Taehyung, but such a domestic scene might awake some strong feelings in you.
Taglist: @spookidema @jessicarhb
A/N: A little christmas baking with Taehyung to warm all of you on this cold day (it’s cold here at least). That’s 2 stories out of 7 - what do you think so far?
If you want to be added to the tag list for this little advent calender of drabbles, just let me know!
Next drabble will be up this sunday! The schedule and themes of the stories can be found in the master post for the drabbles.
My other stories and drabbles can be found in my masterlist
“Okay, do we have everything?”, Taehyung asked, looking up at you with sparkling eyes and his signature boxy smile from the kitchen counter, which was currently overflowing with ingredients for Christmas cookies. Spending the day in the kitchen baking and listening to Christmas music had always been your favorite part of the holidays and since you and Tae had been dating for a little over a month now, you had deemed it a perfect Christmas date for the two of you.
“Hmm. Almost,” you hummed with a cheeky smile, moving to his side and feeling the butterflies flutter in your stomach at how naturally he turned towards you and opened his arms when you approached. “We just“ - you circled your arms around his neck - “need“ - and raised yourself on your toes, smiling at how his grin got wider as you got closer- “one more thing.” Closing the distance between you with a soft kiss, you immediately felt his arms tighten around your mid as he pulled you closer and smiled into the kiss, causing you to giggle slightly as you broke away.
“Ah, if you start with this I can easily come up with a few more things we need,” he laughed at you, eyes filled with mischief as he snuggled his head against your neck, placing open-mouthed kisses down the length of your neck and across your exposed collarbone, where your sweater had slipped off your shoulder.
Squealing out a soft laugh at his wandering tongue and hands, you meekly tried to push him away.
“No, stop. Tae, please,” you begged in between laughs as he lightly tickled your sides, pulling back to observe your reaction. “I really wanted to bake cookies today. Please, I’ve been looking forward to this all week!”
With your pout on full display, Taehyung could do nothing but chuckled happily at you as he pressed a short kiss to your lips, before loosening his grasp on you.
“Alright, alright. What can I do?”
Looking over the recipe you had found online, you tasked him with mixing butter with sugar, while you started mixing the spices that would go in later. As you both busied yourself with mixing the batter and the sticky sweet smell of cookie dough filled the kitchen, you hummed along to the music playing in the background. Or you hummed. He sang from the bottom of his heart and with so much feeling even Mariah Carey wouldn’t be able to top it.
Your hands came to a stop when he hit yet another high note flawlessly, making it impossible for you to keep your eyes on the task at hand. You raised your head to observe his movements as he danced to the music, batter long forgotten as he picked up a spoon to use as a make-do mic and turned towards you.
“I just want you for my own, more than you could ever know,” he sang with a boyish grin, moving towards you and pulling you onto his improvised stage. “Make my wish come true. All I want for Christmas is you,” he continued, making you laugh as he guided you around the floor in his dance, all the while never loosing eye contact with you.
Following his lead, you let him twirl you around the room as his voice carried the notes so effortlessly through the air. Even as it changed to a slower song, he still sang along, slowly moving the two of you across the floor in an elegant dance, that your feet seemed to remember from previous life. With his hands resting comfortably on your hips, you let your own travel up to the nape of his neck, slightly tugging on the hair there, earning you a warm smile from the beautiful man in front of you, before he carefully leaned in for a slow, comfortable kiss.
Letting him sweep you away, your normally chaotic mind seemed to have quieted down to only one thought.
“Taehyung – Taehyung – Taehyung,” looped through your mind without end, as the man took your breath away. Quite literally. When you broke away, you were both gasping for air.
Sheepish eyes meeting for a glance, you both broke out in laughter.
“Yes,” you croaked out, voice somehow swallowed, as you turned back towards the kitchen. “Where were we?”
“Well, I think I’m done whipping the sugar and butter,” Taehyung glowed, as he showed you the bowl with a proud smile. “What should I do now?”
Checking the content of the bowl you sent him a pleased smile, making his glow even brighter.
“Could you find the eggs? They are somewhere on the table,” you chuckled, gesturing towards the unorganized mess of ingredients, as you turned to the recipe to read through the remaining steps as you heard Taehyung go through the things on the counter.
“Wait, what’s this?”, he asked, making you cast a glance towards him, to find a look of pure confusion on his face as he held up the package of slice-and-bake-cookie dough, you had bought, making you snort out a laugh.
“Well, I remember you told me once that you weren’t a very good cook, so I just thought I would have a back-up plan in case we completely messed up the dough,” you laughed, covering your face with your hands as you took in his hurtful expression.
“I can’t believe you actually thought I was that bad,” he pouted although his eyes were playful, and a smile was lurking on his lips. “This is betrayal on the highest level. It doesn’t matter what you do after this, nothing will ever make up for it,” he shrieked in feigned outrage, making you roll your eyes.
“Ya, I know you love being dramatic but calm down,” you laughed, grinning wider when he rewarded you with a blinding smile across the counter for laughing at his theatricalities. “You did very well on whipping the sugar and butter, babe,” you smiled, slipping in the pet name without even thinking about it, making your cheeks heat up and Taehyung smirk. You had yet to reach a point in the relationship, where calling each other pet names came naturally. In the bedroom sure, but somehow that habit hadn’t moved beyond those walls yet.
“’Babe’, huh? Well, thank you, beautiful,” he grinned at you shamelessly, when you widened your eyes in response to his nickname for you.
“Yes, okay,” you spoke rushed out, busying yourself with the baking project in an attempt of calming your racing heart, which was currently beating in tune to Taehyungs name - ~Kim ~ Tae ~ Hyung ~ Kim ~ Tae ~ Hyung.
“Okay,” you repeated, trying to ignore his snickering from the other side of the table at your flustered state. “So could you help me mix all the ingredients together?”
“Nope. I am an absolute catastrophe in the kitchen, you said so yourself,” he deadpanned, face now serious and only a flicker of the playfulness hidden in his eyes. “I will stay out of the way, so I don’t mess up the cookies.”
Looking at him in exasperation you couldn’t believe what you were hearing or how you should react to it.
“But, I wanted to do this together,” you mumbled under your breath, too caught up in the feeling of hurt lurking in your heart to realize that he was playing you. “Fine, I’ll do it myself.”
“Okay, I’ll just mix the batter and then it needs to chill for about an hour in the fridge before we cut and bake them,” you spoke with an edge to your tone, more to yourself than to him, as you gathered all the different ingredients in the big bowl and started mixing it together with quick movements. Mumbling under your breath about how he was impossible to understand, you suddenly felt a pair of arms snaking around your midst.
“Maybe,” he spoke softly right beside your ear, as he nibbled on your earlobe. “Or maybe I’m just prioritizing what’s more important. And in my book, you beat Christmas cookies by far and I am not gonna let you doubt that.”
Mesmerized by his deep voice and the way his strong arms were cradling your safely against his chest, while his mouth took advantage at the exposed skin as you dropped your head back to rest on his shoulder, he managed to lull you completely out of time and place.
“Weren’t you going to mix that?”, he teased with a soft squeeze to your hip and a nod to the half-mixed ingredients in the bowl, snapping you out of your trance and back to reality.
“You were distracting me,” you mumbled in a drowsy tone, making Taehyung chuckle softly behind you as he hooked his chin over your shoulder to see the content of the bowl as you picked up the wooden spoon once more and continued mixing.
Despite the ridiculously easy job at hand, he still made it nearly impossible for you to focus as he stayed glued to your back and even started pressing soft kissed op your neck again. When you moved to reach to the saran wrap to put over the bowl, his body swayed with yours, constantly keeping your bodies connected. He even walked with you to the fridge when you put away the dough and the second you closed the refrigerator door, he reached down and swept your legs up to carry you bridal style, tearing a little scream of surprise from your lips.
“And now we cuddle for 55 minutes,” he exclaimed in joy, as he carried you off to the couch with an ecstatic smile.
“That’s a very specific window of time,” you laughed as you snuggled closer to his chest and enjoyed him taking charge. “Care to elaborate?”
“Well, I need 55 minutes for cuddling, and then I need 5 minutes of you talking me into letting you go, so we can finish baking the cookies.”
Before you even had time to answer, he placed you softly on the couch and was hovering over you, eyes dark and his smile wide.
“What if I can talk you into letting me go in less than 5 minutes?”, you teased, reaching up to run a hand through his hair and smiling softly when you saw his eyes fluttering shut in content.
“I really doubt that. Honestly, I think you’ll need a lot more than 5 minutes,” he countered, moving further up your body and resting his weight on his elbows on either side of your face, completely caging you in.
His weight on top of you, the smell of his cologne and the way his fingers were playing with your hair, while his eyes drank in your features made your heart swell and your breath hitch in your throat. He always made you feel like his entire world revolved around you, and nothing else mattered to him when you were with him. You had only spent one night together, when he claimed that he would never be able to sleep properly without you by his side again.
“You make me feel safe, Tae,” you spoke softly, the words spilling from your lips before you even knew you had them on your mind. Chuckling lightly at your own boldness, you met his honest eyes and happy smile and simply shrugged your shoulders. “I do mean that, but please don’t run out on me now, because you think I’m crazy.”
Shaking his head at your words, he dipped down to connect your lips in a deep kiss, letting his actions speak instead of his words.
“I was going to say something even crazier, so don’t sweat it,” he panted, when he broke the kiss a few minutes later, moving over to lie next to you instead and pulling you closer to him.
“What were you going to say?”, you whispered, as your fingers danced softly along the soft skin of the arm, he had draped across your stomach.
A comfortable silence stretched between you, despite the question hanging in the air. The Christmas music was playing softly in the background and the smell of butter still hung in the air.
“You look really cute today,” he finally spoke, voice muffled against your sweater.
“How is that crazier than what I said?”, you laughed, feeling him chuckle softly beside you.
“It’s not. Because it’s not, was I going to say, but I lost my courage,” he admitted, turning his face further in your sweater to hide his embarrassment, but the sound of your laughter made him peek out again to catch your face complete scrunched up in laughter and your eyes emanating a love, he thought had been only his to carry.
Maybe it wasn’t too early to tell you, he thought to himself, as he watched you calm down and felt your fingers entangled themselves in his hair, making him hum in pleasure.
“Well, when you find your courage again, please do share,” your silky voice spoke, breaking through the hazy curtain of sleep already settling over the two of you. “I’m almost certain I have an even crazier confession to top it.”
Maybe you wouldn’t think he was moving too fast, if he told you. Smiling to himself at the possibility of a positive outcome of his confession, he slowly slipped into a comfortable sleep, feeling your ribcage rising and falling below him.
Awoken by your soft voice and caressing touches along the side of his body, Taehyung groaned softly. Only half-annoyed at being awoken, he had to admit that waking up to your presence was almost better than the dreamland he had been running through. For once reality was better than dream.
“Sorry, babe,” you cooed, slipping in the nickname more casually now and enjoying how easily it rolled of your tongue. “The dough is ready to be baked.”
Peering down at the man lying on your chest, you couldn’t believe it was actually real. The way his eyelashes lightly kissed his cheeks, the soft pout to his lips as he slowly woke up, the silky strands of his hair between your fingers.
Spending a few minutes softly coaxing him out his dreams and back to the living room, you finally got him to walk back into the kitchen with you. Granted, he was hanging off your back like a koala still half-asleep, but you didn’t entirely hate it.
As you took the dough out of the refrigerator and started kneading it a bit to make it easier to work with, you hummed along to the music still making up the background noise to your little domesticated Christmas scene.
Taehyung, still too drowsy to sing along, settled closer against you, nuzzling his face against your neck, as he felt your voice play with the strings of his heart, bringing out the most beautifully crafted tune he had ever heard. Feeling your muscles work under his fingers, he lightly let his fingers travel down your arms until they met yours against the sticky buttery dough, you were working on the table. Not uttering a word, he let his fingers fall into the spaces between yours, feeling the contrast between the cold dough and your warm hands as you both kept your fingers there for a moment.
Afraid of breaking the sugary sweet bubble of comfortableness surrounding you, you carefully let your head rest against his chest behind you, feeling his heartbeat against your back.
“You know, that thing I wanted to tell you earlier?”, he inquired in coarse voice still laced with sleep.
You hummed in affirmation, not trusting your own voice at the moment.
“I’m in love with you.”
Blood rushing in his ears, he was hoping for the best but expecting the worst as he awaited your response, his heart dropped to the floor, when he heard you groan in irritation.
“You’re really doing this me?”, you asked in frustration as your heart picked up it’s pace, still beating in tune with his name.
“You don’t feel the same way,” he sighed in defeat, retracting his hands from yours, only to have you grab them and wrap them around yourself.
“Of course, I do, you idiot. But everything smells like butter, and I just want to kiss you and touch you, but I have dough everywhere,” you whined, earning you a soft chuckled from the man still clinging to your back. “Did you really have to tell me like this?”
“I didn’t plan this,” he spoke softly against the soft skin of your neck in relief of your words, his heart overflooding with love. “I just couldn’t help it. I knew I had feelings for you, but seeing you like this, baking and singing, so relaxed and carefree. I just…” His voice trailed off and the silence stretched between you as he guided your hands back to the dough and you felt your heart swell in your chest in anticipation of what he would say. “You just looked like home. My home.”
“Okay, screw it,” you exclaimed and spun around in his embrace, holding your hands up in front of his surprised eyes. “How expensive is the clothes your wearing right now? Cause I need to kiss you, and more right now, but I can’t afford replacing it if…”
The second his lips met yours, you already felt his hands wandering your backside and lifting you up to sit on the counter right next to the baking mess. Deepening the kiss, he sighed in response, when he felt you wrap your legs around his and pull him closer, but something was missing.
Pulling back from the kiss, he found you heaving for air, cheeks flushed and eyes a bit glazed… and your hands still held up and away from him.
“Why aren’t you touching me?” he whined, making you look up at your hands as if you hadn’t realized that you weren’t.
“Well, you didn’t answer my question,” you countered with a lazy smirk, still in a half-dazed state.
Snorting out a laugh at your words, he reached up to cup your face and press a soft kiss to your lips.
“I already told you, that you mean more to me than the cookies,” he laughed, still holding your face between his hands and caressing your cheek with his thumb.
“But what about your clothes…”
“Yah! I’m trying to be romantic here, woman,” Taehyung exclaimed in frustration although he couldn’t stop himself from laughing at your stubbornness. “Will you stop being so impossible?”
“Yes. Sorry,” you laughed sheepishly with him. “I just don’t want to ruin your clothes with all this butter.”
Grabbing your hands forcefully, he placed them on his chest, wiping the excess dough off on his shirt. He sent you a challenging look and cocked his eyebrow at you and for a second you couldn’t tear your eyes away from where the butter was already ruining his shirt.
Then the absurdity of it all got to you and you snorted out a laugh. Hearing Taehyungs laughter join yours, you meet his gaze with loving eyes, giddy love coursing through your body at the sound of your laughs harmonizing.
“Now will you just touch me? I need you to show me that you feel the same,” he demanded, a laugh seeping through his assertive tone, making you smirk at him as you let your hands travel up to his neck to pull his lips to yours and connect them in a deep kiss.
His hands settled on your thighs, grabbing your flesh as he leaned further into the kiss, sliding one hand up to grab your hip, while your hands held onto his shoulders, expensive material long forgotten. Sliding his hands under your bum, he easily lifted you into his embrace to carry you out of the kitchen towards the bedroom.
“Wait! Babe, the cookies,” you whined, although you didn’t actually care at this point.
“You bought the slice-and-bake for a reason, right?”, he smirked at you as he dropped you on the mattress. “Looks like I ended up ruining the cookies anyway.”
#christmas drabble#taehyung#kim taehyung#Taehyung fluff#bts imagines#Bangtan imagines#bts scenarios#bangtan reaction#bts fluff#bangtan fluff
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My 1D-related fic faves of 2019
I've read a TON of great fic this year in all kinds of fandoms, Jeeeeeeeeeesus, there are so many talented writers out there, but I won't list it all here (or even list everything I bookmarked this year). Instead, I'm gonna stick with 1D-related works released in 2019 that pulled me in hard and made me stare at the wall and/or read again and/or scream about with other people, and I'll try to do it in cutesie number order because WHY NOT make it that extra level of arbitrary, lmao. I love fanfic because no matter what fandom I'm dipping in, something new is gonna jump up and kill me (this year in particular, I've subscribed to a lot of "new to me" writers that I LOVE, and I hope you know who you are [do you know who you are, etc.]). Thank you for the free gifts, for your time, for your blood, sweat, and tears! I owe you hugs, coffee, and my undying love, gratitude, and support! I'll put my list under the cut to avoid some v. v. real screen scroll rage--happy new year, y'all!
2 lactation kink fics
(aka the Jaerie category, nobody else is out there writing this even as Harry's tits get bigger and milkier and why am I the only one fully appreciating all of it?????)
I Think You're Already Home, by jaerie, Seeing Louis Tomlinson today, it would be hard to guess that he was ever once a member of the world's most famous boyband. These days he doesn't even the leave his own house. The truth is he can't leave his own house. (a December gift to remember for all of us! a/b/o dynamics, famous Louis, omega Harry--which is practically canon at this point--crippling agoraphobia, lactation-related sexiness, I would read at least ten (10) more chapters of this)
freaks from the internet, by jaerie. Harry sells his breast milk to freaks on the internet. Louis turns out to be one of those freaks. He also happens to be Harry's ex. (I legit can't believe this came out this year, I rec it all the time! it was anon for forever, and I was low-key obsessed because I just wanted mawrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr of it, and I got it, thank CHRIST)
3 fics for meeeeeeee
(These works were gifts to me, and I am so truly hashtag blessed to receive!!!)
I Just Wanna Taste It, by @homosociallyyours. In his mind it's watermelon and sticky strawberry sweet, and he craves the feeling of his own round, firm belly warm under his hands on a summer evening. (Megan loves to kill me with Harry mpreg imaginings, and this one feels like canon to me!)
Powerless (and I Don't Care It's Obvious), by objectlesson/ @alienfuckeronmain. He should not be getting turned on by Harry’s full-bladder discomfort, his little twitches, his hips-stuttering. And yet. (AND YET!!! I don't even know where to start with how much I love Phoenix, what a treasure her work is in ANY fandom, how shitty this particular fandom has been to her, how much I'm gonna miss harry/louis fic gifts from her in the future, how HOT this pee kink fic is in general, dot dot dot)
Tuxedo Classic Dance Party, by Blake/ @newleafover. Instead of flying out to meet his touring boyfriend in Madrid, Louis sticks around to be responsible and do things like dance at Lady Gaga night at the gay cowboy club in West Hollywood. (Blake has written at least five fics in various fandoms that I would say are my favorite fics of all time, but they really topped themselves with this one!)
4 fic series
(I feel like there are probably loads more that qualify, but these ones grabbed me in their own particular way)
Not That Gone, by abrighteryellow/ @a-brighter-yellow. Louis’s 20-year high school reunion takes a turn when a celebrity classmate – who also happens to be Louis’s long unrequited crush – unexpectedly shows up. (this was inspired by Chris Evans, and both parts stand on their own, tbh)
Maybe I Miss You, by 13ways. Louis is on his way back to London after the Hits Live Birmingham concert. Harry is flying to New York for the Met Gala. They connect. (from the very first story in this series, I was HOOKED, canon angst that builds up to something truly wonderful)
There's something I want to try..., by TheMagicWord. Harry wants to try something. Louis's not convinced. Until he is. (the installments are super short, super hot)
One More Time Again, by orphan_account. On the morning of his second sold-out performance at Madison Square Garden, Harry wakes up to find that he's sixteen years old, on The X Factor, and that he has a chance to make things right. (I'm sad that this author orphaned, but I seem to recall her getting a TON of shit, which is unfortunate because this is a great read, and part two is an imagining where Louis goes back instead)
5 fics featuring holidays
(These ones are basically from Christmas and Halloween of this year, so quite recent!!)
once bitten and twice shy, by @pinkcords. In a rush of bravery only senior year can bring, Harry confesses his feelings in a letter to his neighbor and best friend, Louis, only for the entire school to hear it and laugh him out of their small town in Wisconsin. (the notes on this one blew me away: first-time author, pinch-hitting for a fest, and damn, a knock out)
you've set my soul to dreaming, by we_are_the_same. Thirty-year-old Harry Styles goes to bed single on Christmas Eve, only to wake up on Christmas morning with a husband in his bed and a son down the hall. (I'm not always into this trope, but when it's done well? NICE, and this one did it well)
when half spent was the night, by @juliusschmidt. I’ve skimmed your website and am interested in hiring you to be my doula. I’m 7 ½ months pregnant and not keen to do this whole labor and birth thing alone. After looking around, I thought you might be a good fit. (girl direction advent fic with pregnant Louis that’s incredibly well done, especially given how short it is, I was so sad to see it end, but the author says something about act II coming??? YES!!!)
Fictober 2019 Collection, by flowercrownfemme/ @lesbianiconharrystyles. Features lots of monsters and creatures and Harry Styles being a general nightmare as well as a few Girl Direction drabbles and a timestamp for Fool For You and one for Treat Mothman With Kindness. (Chloe's Halloween drabbles, each of which could outrival other stories 4x the length...she's a GIFT)
Cat & Mouse, by jaerie. It's the one day out of the year that Harry doesn't have to hide and can be himself — at least he thought so. Louis is just a little more observant than he anticipated. (I'm not a big hybrid fic fan, BUT GOD THIS STORY IS SO GOOD, it's so short I wanna cry, but so good!!!)
6 a/b/o fics
(I can handle "traditional" a/b/o if it gives me my dose of omega Harry, but I absolutely adore "untraditional" a/b/o, you know, where it actually is NOT about straight dynamics being put on a m/m or f/f couple (excuse me, a/a or o/o)...these ones NAIL IT, as did the entire gaybo ficfest)
violence of my own touch, by 14hrflight/ @silverfoxlouis. Louis hasn’t said anything, but Harry knows something is wrong. Harry’s rut had ended a few days ago, and Louis had kept him under as best as he could. (whenever I read Chi's alpha/alpha fics, I find myself internally screaming "CHI!!!" god, do they Get It, and I really hope they continue this one!)
Amor Victorious, by HappyPrincess/ @pattern-pals. Louis finds himself following Harry on a journey through Italy, complete with long train rides, greasy food, naked Christs, and too many lingering touches. They're definitely not like other tourists and he definitely doesn't have a crush on his best friend who happens to be an alpha, too. (this one came out during Thanksgiving week, so I held it to savor, and BOY, DID I SAVOR, it's so incredible, the gorgeous writing, the visceral, indescribable feeling of reading it, sighhhhhhh)
do you know me by heart, by HappyPrincess/ @pattern-pals. Harry comes back wearing alphas' scents, a pleased smile and a lace dress. Somehow, Louis still ends up making him come until he cries. (for me personally, 2019 was the year of Nina: getting to know them, catching up on all their writing, falling in love with the way they can kill us all with beautiful angst and the hint and hope of redemption...here's a tissue, you'll need it!!)
the way that you're thrilling me, by @hereforlou. Alphas were smelly and cocky and mostly arseholes, in Harry’s experience. Or at least they were at school. He didn’t understand how his friends—lovely, soft-skinned, sweet-smelling omegas—could actually want to touch them, or be touched by them. (this is just one of the many, MANY faves I had from the gaybo ficfest, A+ all around)
Constant Debauchery, by Blake/ @newleafover. Harry is an alpha who loves getting his mouth knotted by other alphas. Louis is happy to serve. Fun smut! But also angst and sexual awakenings. (Blake knows how to sum up their writing, lol, but YEAH, me as at least one of the comments both public and private saying they'd want to read 100k more of this)
how many nights did I crash against the waves, by Blake/ @newleafover Louis is going into heat and Harry thinks it's hot. (the SKILL of writing something that's 1.7k, yet builds a complete--and v. v. hot--world)
7 fics with Harry and someone else
(I still have a few I need to read in this category--I'm getting there! But these are some from my fave authors that really had me pondering some walls [heh])
I Want Your Belly, by @glasscushion. Harry wants Adam to knock him up. Inspired by on-stage thirst, the Instagram Stories Shirt, Watermelon Sugar, and Harry’s persistent baby fever. (Adam/Harry, mpreg kink of the finest order!!)
Rachel, Nevada, by @vondrostes. Harry has a close sexual encounter of the fourth kind. (Jeff/Harry, Rachel/Harry, and I honestly can't even BEGIN to describe this, holy WOW)
Sea Salt, by @glasscushion. Nick's drunk, and he can't avoid his feelings forever. Set in 2013 and 2019. (Nick/Harry, rip gryles...the grylers I know had an absolute field day in terms of angst, damn!)
all my lies are safe beside you now, by HappyPrincess/ @pattern-pals. They both know what it was like to love Louis Tomlinson fiercely, irrevocably, ghosts of it on their skin, even if the traces were etched in vastly different ways. (Zayn/Harry, and FOR REAL, this is a huge ouch)
call me anything you like, but my name is, by @wishforwishes. Some conversations are better left forgotten, some conversations are worth remembering, and some conversations you never get the chance to have. Featuring three mentors, two tea parties, one and a half recording studios, and a reference to Archie comics. (Harry/CHASM, essentially; LISTEN, I am obsessed with this fic, you don't need to read part one to really Get It, but the bits with Zayn, and James/Ben, and all the parts with Harry working through gender? SO GODDAMNED REAL)
Come Out and Play, by @dinosaursmate. Harry and Louis discover a new kink in their relationship, and it brings all the boys closer than they could have ever imagined. (ot5 orgy, so not really Harry with anyone so much as everyone with everyone, and let's call this one canon)
Like a Rolling Stone, by @vondrostes. By the end of it, Nick realised his tea had gone cold in his hand. He’d barely taken a single sip in the hour-plus he’d been sat there, unmoving, transfixed by Harry’s songs—haunted by the knowledge of what had inspired them. (Nick/Harry, rip gryles)
8 canon fics
(This was a VERY hard category to narrow down, but yeah, a big push this year from "newer" writers = lots of nuanced fic)
Per Aspera, by @sedfierisentio. Louis’s throat feels tight, his heart like a hammer in his chest. You know my rot, he thinks, and I know yours. I love you still. (these achingly beautiful time stamps are centered around taste, and if this fic has taught me anything, it's that buying an author a coffee has a ripple effect)
A Nullo Amato, by @sedfierisentio. Inspired by Harry carrying books around outside LAX, a canon-compliant, Canon AU fic set between 2014 and 2015; mostly, timestamps roped together by a common theme—literature. (this was removed four years ago and reposted, so maybe it's a cheat??? i don't care, it was brand-new to me and a lot of other people, I'm so glad the author shared it again!)
no love like your love, by @dykes4louis. A collection of tumblr drabbles. (Hima is REALLY burying the lede on this one because each of these is short and SCORCHING, her skill, check out her other works, too!)
Dancing in My Dreams, by @kingsofeverything. Louis doesn't mean to imply that Harry's too old to dance for him, but Harry takes it that way, and sets out to prove him wrong. (this is one that *could* go in the series pile, but I love it as a standalone...feels like canon to me, regardless!)
Sonic Sounds, by @glasscushion. "Harry takes a deep breath, suitably embarrassed, “I’m just really...” and he can’t say the obvious. He can’t just say "really wet." Or Harry loves feeling embarrassed. Louis is happy to help. (I'll never look at those One Direction electric toothbrushes quite the same way again)
Bruised Fruit, by @glasscushion. Louis is obsessed with the way Harry smells in the heat of LA. (hey, you know what, me, too, bitch, you ain't special...the way this fic SMELLS, my god, I"m obsessed)
be my once in a lifetime, by HappyPrincess/ @pattern-pals. Just like there are only four other people who will ever understand what it’s like growing up in One Direction, there’s only one other person who knows what it’s like to find your soulmate just before you’re thrown into the spotlight and forced to acknowledge that the both of you have too many flaws and vices to make it through fame together. Or: It's all about having sex and being sad. And drunk. (can u believe Nina wrote this before Fine Line???)
in this dress, by cabinbythesea. Louis is so lost in his eyes and his words he feels if a step above heaven exists, it has to be Harry. Loosely inspired by Harry’s dress from the director’s cut of Lights Up. (I sure hope we see even more fic inspired by every bit of this album/every video it produces)
9 fics by Phoenix/ @alienfuckeronmain
(This fandom doesn't deserve her, and I hope everyone's reading her other works because they're all so amazing, she's such an incredibly gifted writer, my fave of faves, my life is so much brighter with her in it...I could rec her all goddamned day, and I do slash will!!! Here are nine she cranked out this year, each one a gem in its own way)
Silver White Winters. In which Louis catches a cloud and pins it down, aka, a Sound of Music AU (the shittiness in the comments underlines why we can't have nice things, but jesus CHRIST, this is so pure and good, and she cranked it out in, like, two hours)
I don't do that dance. Harry is easily the worst ballet dancer in her whole Intro to Ballet class. Except maybe Taylor Swift. (I adore how Phoenix writes girl Harry, but the way she writes Taylor? Unparalleled...nails her perfectly!)
magic, madness, heaven, sin, by @kerasines. It’s the flashing lights painting colors on her eyelids, it’s the drumming bass competing with her heartbeat. It’s the manic energy rippling through the crowd in waves, the deafening, frenzied passion filling the stadium that remind Eleanor that she actually used to like going to concerts. (technically, this one is FOR Phoenix, from Kim, but it takes a pairing that Phoenix is making her very own, so I'm counting it, lol)
Snakes and Stones. If you call a girl a snake enough, sometimes she becomes one. Her legs lengthen and fuse, her pupils shrink to slits. She gets colder and colder, until she has to spread herself on the warm cement beside the pool, soaking in heat, sipping gin and tonics to warm her blood so she does not turn to ice and shatter to bits. (god, I'm blanking on this ship name, but El/Taylor is such an inspired pairing, and I hope that P's drabbles make it over to ao3 in full)
Something good (will come from here). Taylor does not answer, because she is too busy licking her lips and pitching forward, as if Eleanor is the sky, or the sea. (you can practically SMELL this fic, El/Taylor drabble)
I Must Confess (I Still Believe). Harry is the new girl at an all girl Catholic Girl's School, and Louis is the unattainable, dashing senior who changes her forever. (this fic breaks my heart, the entire experience of its production and aftermath will forever be bittersweet, a gorgeous swansong)
Only One at the Finish Line. “I want to be another alpha’s omega,” is what he says, and it comes out like something reckless, something wild. Like he doesn't care anymore if Louis hates him or not, if Louis understands, he just needs to speak his truth aloud to darkness, to the slender pines that surround them like a jury panel. (Phoenix was the gaybo mod, and this was her contribution, and it is PERFECTION PERSONIFIED, fest goals)
The Pink Ghost of Princess Park. The thought of the vibrator does not go away. It’s sitting there collecting dust all through January, and every time Harry and Louis have to leave town for a press event or a show or to record or what have you, they come back home, and it’s still there, the Pink Ghost of Princess Park, the fucking glittery haunting that Harry cannot stop thinking of Louis stuffing up his arse. (a very good year in general for Princess Park clapbacks)
Life Saver. Louis is a sweetheart punk with a theater background and a heart of gold, Harry is an inexperienced nerd who plays by the rules. Classmates, lab partners, and eventually friends, what happens when Louis knows he’s in love, but doesn’t know how tell Harry? (this one came out a year ago tomorrow, and it had a tough birthing process, but it's so good, so hot, my love for virgin Harry gettin’ it on knows no bounds)
10 AU fics
(yes, yes, this could be LOADS longer, but I’m sticking to my theme!)
breathless for an eternity, by cabinbythesea. Harry conquers double duty on SNL and Louis wishes he was Nick Jonas. (dangggg, this came out too late for me to rec it along with my other snl-related fic, but it joins that lofty canon!)
Pretty Baby, by @littlelouishiccups. Louis helps Harry unwind after a busy week. (I was NOT expecting a new chapter in the iconic sugar baby Harry series, but HERE WE ARE)
into another (another) serotonin overflow, by @mercutionotromeo. Sweet first time sex wherein Harry's adorably awkward, Louis is achingly cool, and Harry rides Louis wearing his jersey. (this is one of my all-time fave fics, and I'm not sure what changed in it to get it reposted, but yeah, HERE FOR IT, THANK YOU!!!)
'Sup, by @mediawhorefics. All Louis wants is to finish the play he’s been commissioned to write, but one of the regulars at his local coffee shop keeps distracting him. ft. older larry, pushy gemma, harry being a disaster gay and silver fox louis. (this is so short but so tantalizing, GOD, DO I WANT MORE OF THIS UNIVERSE)
Tan Lines and Some Memories, by twoshipstiedup. Harry Styles is the indie movie darling he’d been avoiding ever since Louis saw his movie at Cannes and harbored an unreasonable grudge against him. A unicorn t-shirt finally brings them together in person. (I honestly thought we'd get more unicorn shirt fic, but this is a wonderful standard-bearer, banter city)
Bitter Tangerine, by purpledaisy/ @daisyharry. Nine months after they break up, a twist of fate brings Harry and Louis back together at Christmas. (so much ouch in this, but wow, do you feel like you're reading fully realized, realistic, growing characters)
We're Driving in Your Fast Car, by @sadaveniren. Harry felt himself light up - both with excitement and the thrill of getting what he wanted. “Really?” “Of course, anything for you." aka Louis and Harry are car thieves about to pull off a million dollar job. (another one I'd love to read more of...how did they get here, where are they going, etc.)
remember you well, by @fondleeds. Harry’s a criminal, Louis’ a cop, and they’re stranded overnight at the Motel 6. (what's with me and my love of heist/caper fics this year?)
Tied Down, by HamPalpert/ @ham-palpert. The most interesting case in Liam and Niall's careers falls directly into their laps, courtesy of an epic fuck-up of one Harry Styles, partner to the almost-infamous drug dealer Louis Tomlinson. The investigation yields an unexpected yet satisfactory outcome for Liam and Niall. For Harry and Louis, however, things are far more complicated. (SEE ABOVE, JESUS, I THINK ABOUT THIS FIC...ALL...THE.......TIME)
Harry Styles Cooks..., by sunsetmog. Louis owns all of Harry Styles’ cookbooks, and he never intends to cook a single thing out of any of them. (yeah, it's a wip, yeah, I flatline every time it updates, what of it, I'm living my best life vicariously through it!!)
#fic rec#faves of 2019#i have so many more i love that i read#but this is a theme lmaooooo#hope that one anon loves it!
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Falling in Love | Connor Brashier
A/n: this is a repost from my Shawn account!! This is my piece and is not stolen.
Summary: you just can’t believe how in love you are with your fiancé.
Warnings: fluff
Word count: 1.8k
***
Staring at my fiancé from across the room, I still can’t help but think I’m dreaming. Never in a million years did I think I would be able to keep this man interested long enough for him to even want to marry me. But here we are a month into our engagement, at our party with all our friends and family, and I still think I should wake up any second now.
I knew I was a goner the first time he kissed me - when the whole world stopped existing until we pulled away for the much needed oxygen to find its way back to our lungs. It was almost too perfect, the way his lips curved against mine, the way his hands cradled my face like that was its rightful place - since that day, it has been. I’d never understood what people meant when they said sparks flew when they kissed someone. But I understood that day.
Our relationship was never rushed. We took everything slow and steady (even though people had their opinions about how long it took us to go public on his insta, or how long it took for us to say I love you. Except, hi, that’s no one’s goddamn business, but go off, I guess.) And I’ll admit, it did take longer than expected for either of us to say those three words to each other - eight months, actually. But you could feel the love in the relationship even without them. It was in the way he always picked up the phone when I called, no matter the timezone. It showed when he would come back from tour and he’d come to my apartment just to fall asleep on my chest because my heart beat lulled him to sleep. And how his hands always found their way to lock with mine whether we’re walking to the car, or dancing in a crowded club, or eating dinner and we’re sitting on opposite ends of the table, so he reaches over and it’s like that cutesy couple thing you see in all the movies. We didn’t need the words to feel them.
And just looking at him and his nonchalant attitude, no one would think that he had a romantic side. And they definitely wouldn’t guess that for our first six dates, before he finally asked me to be his girlfriend, he sent me flowers the next day. And then when we started actually dating, little love notes would just pop up everywhere. Like when he slept over and would wake up before me, I’d find a sticky note on my bathroom mirror that would say something like “Your smile is the best part of my day.” And there have been a few instances where I wasn’t feeling my greatest and he just showed up hours later - seeing as these moments only seemed to happen when he was off on tour - and he’d cuddle me on the couch while we watched shitty rom-coms until I felt better. And it may not be a big deal to anyone else, but when he talks to me, or listens to me talk, his eyes are always trained on me, and I think it’s kinda cute.
And he’s the most caring person. Not just with me, either. He looks after his own. His brother got in a fight one time and Connor was there instantly to patch up his wounds and give him a place to stay so he wouldn’t have to face their mom. Another time Alessia fell coming off the stage and he sprinted to get her ice for her swollen ankle. He made sure to check on her every thirty minutes or so, even though he was working and couldn’t do much for her then. And he is always, always there when I’m sick to my stomach, or sick of life. He’s there drawing hearts and smiley faces over the problem area with his finger, whether it be my stomach, or back, or my mind. He takes care of his own and that to me says everything about our future.
And this boy, Jesus Christ, he is so creative. I’ve never known anyone whose mind works like his. He can see a plain brick wall and immediately his brain clicks and it’s suddenly turned into an aesthetic Shawn’s next shoot. And he doesn’t just focus on faces, he goes and he gets the beads of sweat on Shawn’s hairline, and the rings on his fingers. And he edits his videos in such a way that you can’t possibly watch it only once and feel like you’ve seen everything. It’s fast paced and beautiful and I could watch him edit for hours on end and never get bored. The way he layers photos on top of videos and how he knows just the right time to make the music swell in a scene. He’s talented and I hope he knows I think so.
He’s so random too. I never know what to expect with him. We can lay in bed while he’s stroking my hair, pulling me to sleep when he asks, “What if cows screamed when you milked them?” Or, “You know, Popeye ate a lot of spinach, but I don’t think that’s the real reason he was so strong. He had to be taking steroids.” One time he came into the room at 3 in the morning, woke me up and asked, “When you were a kid, did you have those suction cup ball things that you would throw at a wall or a window and they’d just stay there?”
“Connor, I’m trying to sleep.”
“I know, but this is important.”
“Why?”
“Because I just bought a dozen of those and a dozen of those sticky slappy hand things.”
And he’s spontaneous (not just in the things he buys off Amazon at 3 AM). There have been many occasions where he has called me up and told me to pack an overnight bag because he wanted to go to the beach or Disney or because he found this bookshop in Nevada that he thinks I’ll enjoy. And then of course there are the more “extravagant” trips he likes to take at random points in the year. We spent last Christmas in the Bahamas because he wanted to wear shorts on Christmas day and he couldn’t do that if we were going to a family Christmas party apparently. Another time we flew to New York because I said I was craving something from this one restaurant we went to last time we were there. He doesn’t wait a second. If I mention wanting something, we’re gone in hours, or it’s already ordered and on it’s way. There is no way to fully know what his next move is gonna be and that keeps the relationship exciting.
And he sees things so vividly, remembering them in soft light, sometimes though in overexposure. He tells stories- AMAZING stories - through the lens of his camera. He puts everything into perspective in such a way that you can’t picture it any other way. You can’t see Shawn on stage and not immediately think of the thousands of girls and women crying because they’re in the same room as him and he’s there and he’s beautiful. And you can’t see him running to hug his fans without seeing the pure elation from the ones he touches. Connor gives you the pieces to make one whole and leaves nothing out, not even once. He never strays from the real story he’s telling, although he might go into a few others while doing so,he always finds his way back.
And despite his resting scowl, he’s not a fighter. He puts off this “I dont give a fuck” type of vibe, but he’s a softy. Until someone says something they shouldn’t. It’s only happened twice. When we were out with friends and I was getting us a couple waters from the bar. This man, who was way too close to me, tried to buy me a drink, his hand playing with the straps of my dress. I was uncomfortable, but I couldn’t find Connor in the crowded space and I had nowhere to escape to when he started getting even more touchy. And then I heard it, the unmistakable sound of skin hitting skin. “Come on, we’re going home.” He said roughly into my ear and he pulled me away, out of the club. Only for him to be Connor again, my Connor. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you? God, I oughta kill him. Can I get you something?” I just shook my head and wrapped my arms around him. He let me. Of course he did.
The other time was early on in the relationship. We were hanging out with his brother and some of his friends from school. I don’t really know what happened, but one of Dylan’s friends said something about me. Connor told me later it had to do with him having me in his bed while he did awfully dirty things to me. Con went off on the younger boy, his face red with anger. He looked like he would blow steam out of his ears at any second. Dylan and I had to pull him out of the room, and let’s just say, he and I don’t go anywhere near that guy anymore.
“You’ve been staring at me for a while now, sweetheart.” Connor said, suddenly at my side, his voice low in my ear. “You’re giving me bedroom eyes. Can’t take care of you with all these people here.”
I hum, finding his fingers to lace mine through. “Hmm… that’s never stopped you before.”
“No,” he presses a gentle kiss to the side of my neck. “But we are kind of hosting this party. So it would be rude to just disappear for 20 minutes.”
“Who said it would take that long?” I giggle, connecting our lips in a quick peck.
He hums into my skin, “Later, kid. When I have you all to myself and we can be as loud as we need to be.”
I nod, biting my lip. “We could always kick them out early.”
“Patience, y/n. Want me to take care of you?”
I nod desperately. “Please.”
“Then you gotta be good for me. Because the guys are staring at us right now and neither of us will hear the end of it if I take you right now.”
I whine. “Okay… but I want everyone out in an hour.”
He kisses my lips one more time before pulling away from me. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“I love you,” I say just loud enough for him to hear.
“I love you, sweetheart.” He throws me a wink before disappearing in the sea of people that fill our home.
***
I hope you enjoyed (again)! Please like, reblog, and leave feedback!!
#connor brashier#connor brashier x reader#connor brashier x y/n#connor brashier imagines#connor brashier imagine#connor brashier fanfiction#connor brashier blurb#repost from old blog
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The Extra Late Night Show
What can I say except surprise?
CW: Surgery, Mentions of Death, suggested death, Talk Shows, POV Second Person, Remus being gross, Virgil mention, Sympathetic Deceit Sanders, Sympathetic Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, only a tiny bit of angst at the end, Mostly funny
Archive of our Own
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You blend into the Miami crowds, lost in your own world. You consistently check your pocket to make sure your phone was still there. At this point, you aren’t entirely sure where you are. It's a nice part of town by the look of it, with shiny buildings on either side of the packed road and crowds mulling around you without a care in the world. You have quite a bit to do, but who would want to be doing that? The only way you can think of procrastinating is to take a walk.
You can almost feel the endless viruses floating into your mouth as you pass a gigantic building with more windows than walls. A large open courtyard pushes the building back from the road. Smooth paths cut through tenderly planted flowerbeds, looping around a large statue. The stone statue is a woman with a cloak draped around her modest black dress. She holds her hands to her torso. One hand loosely grips a large crucifix while the other nurses a tiny bouquet of flowers. Oh, now you know where you are! This is the main entrance to St. Gemma's Hospital! You passed by the statue a year ago to visit a friend who had heart surgery here. They got stuck with a pretty big bill (the joys of the American healthcare system), but the doctors did a fairly good job. You’re so distracted by the pretty statue, you’re not prepared for something to fly into your head and send you tumbling into the nearest stranger.
As you get your bearings, you look around for whoever hit you. Standing against the hospital wall with a trash bag over their back like a greasy Santa Claus is someone wearing a dark green jumpsuit, grinning wildly at you.
“Enjoy the show!” the person squeals. Before you can say anything, they race off, the trash bag jumping against their back. You look down at what the person threw at you. It’s a DVD, sitting in a clear case. There’s something written on the case cover in Sharpie.
The Extra Late Night Show!
Starring Remus Duke!
Now, when someone throws a mysterious DVD at you, the usual reaction should probably be to throw the DVD away. But you’ve got nothing better to do. So, nursing your aching head, you pick up the case and make your way towards home. You’ve got a movie to watch.
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The footage pops to life. You see a small office space, or what someone attempted to look like an office space. Shelves line the walls covered in cleaning supplies and napkins. The desk in the middle is a child’s school desk. The nameplate on the desk reads ‘Remus Duke’. Someone begins humming from somewhere off-camera.
“Do do Do do DoOoOoOoO,” they hum. “Do do Do do dooooooooo. Do do Do do Do! DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Do do do do do!” Someone pops out from behind the desk. It’s the same greasy person you saw throw the DVD at you!
“Welcome to the Extra Late Night Show!” The person chirps. “I am your Duke of Dirt and King of Chaos, Remus! As always, I have my loyal cameraman, Mitchell!” The camera shakes slightly.
“Dude, this place is a mess,” the cameraman, Mitchell, huffs.
“It’s a janitor’s closet, I don’t know what else you expected,” Remus laughs.
“I thought you had OCD,” Mitchell mutters.
“Nah, my writer decided to throw that out,” Remus scoffs.
“Huh?” Mitchell asks.
“Anywho, welcome to tonight’s show!” Remus declares, dramatically waving his hand overhead. “We’ve got a wonderful line-up for you, folks. Starting off tonight, we’re taking you on a tour of the geriatrics bathrooms! One of the grossest places in St. Gemma’s! Sprinkled throughout this show like eyeball shavings, we’ll include everyone’s favorite segment, Dumpsters of Miami, where I review the contents of my latest dumpster dive, alongside Emergency Room Horror, What’s In My Mouth, and tonight’s Top 5 Hottest Patients! Number 3 will surprise you!”
“You do know I have to work tonight,” Mitchell scoffs.
“Like anyone is going to notice one missing anesthesiologist!” Remus grunts, sitting on his desk.
“Yeah, my boss,” Mitchell huffs. “And the people I’m operating on.”
“But those segments will be highlighting tonight’s main event!” Remus continues. “We’ll be following Dr. D on his rounds tonight as he operates on burn victims and terrifies patients with his morbid scars!”
“Hold up,” Mitchell stammers. The camera pans down, showing Mitchell’s scrubs. “Dr. D? We can’t follow that guy! He’ll rip our skin off!”
“He’s a kitten,” Remus scoffs, waving his hand dismissingly. “We’re friends! It’ll be fine, trust me. Now come on, the geriatrics ward is calling our names!” Mitchell groans and turns off the camera. You decide to fast-forward through the geriatrics ward segment.
You stop at a clip of Remus pushing a large cleaning cart down the hall. St. Gemma’s hallways are just as clean as you remember them. You’re honestly surprised as you realize the dirty man you’re watching is the one in charge of cleaning this place. He polishes off a door handle, giving it a bright shine. He finishes the clean by sticking the doorknob in his armpit.
“You done?” Mitchell grunts.
“We’re almost at Dr. D’s office!” Remus laughs, continuing down the hall. “While we’re there, we’ll get an overview of what he does and convince him not to tear our faces off and let us film him! Here we are!” The camera pans to a wooden door with the words ‘Inter Hospital Consultant’ on it. “The doc’s not a fan of having his name on the door.” Remus pushed the door open and strolled right into the office.
Now THIS is what an office should look like. The room is very professional! Diplomas line the walls, but the names are covered with sticky notes inside the glass cases. The smooth faux-wood desk is clean and tidy, with a computer, a jar of pens and pencils, a black hat, and a phone. The man you assume is Dr. D seats in a comfy modern seat. Long burn scars trail down half of his face and turn a few strains of his black hair white. He wears a black shirt with a yellow tie under his white coat and a pair of yellow gloves. He’s glaring at the camera with an intense stare that makes you look away.
“Dr. Elting,” Dr. D sighs. “Shouldn’t you be preparing for the leg surgery on the 35-year old Latina woman that’s supposed to begin in…” He looks at the clock on his computer. “An hour and a half?”
“Relax, D, he’s with me,” Remus giggles. He sits on Dr. D’s desk and crosses his legs. “I called him in sick.”
“Dude, you can’t—” Mitchell stammers.
“I told them you had explosive diarrhea,” Remus says. “They didn’t ask too many questions. So, D, how does it feel to guest star on the Extra Late Night Show?”
“Your world famous talk show,” Dr. D groans. “It’s wonderful, Remus.”
“Woo!” Remus whoops. He lays on his back, knocking over Dr. D’s jar of pens. “So here’s what we’re going to do. You, my rough-skinned friend, are the star of our show! The audience wants to know what a night in the life is like for a surgeon! What’s it like consulting at other hospitals? You ever get the urge to squeeze someone’s heart and feel it beat in your hands?”
“Remus, Remus, Remus,” Dr. D tuts, shaking his head. “I already have that power. Now leave.”
“Nah,” Remus says. You hear a soft beep from somewhere in the room. Dr. D pulls something out of his pocket. His face tightens.
“A 7-C-3 from the EMTs,” Dr. D mutters. “Emergency surgery.”
“Oooo, what’s that?” Remus purrs, but Dr. D ignores him. He launches out of his chair and out of his office. Remus scrambles off the desk.
“Remus, this is an emergency call, we can’t follow him!” Mitchell hisses as the pair stumbles out of the office. The camera shakes so much, you can’t see much of what’s happening.
“Do it or I’m putting the leftovers from the geriatrics ward in your locker, chicken,” Remus growls. “Bak-Kah!” The camera angles towards Mitchell’s feet as the pair jog after Dr. D.
“You’re lucky I like your humor, Prince,” Mitchell chuckles.
“It’s Remus Duke when we’re filming!” Remus groans. “You have to use my stage name! Get the camera up!” Mitchell pulls up the camera, and you get a better view of the St. Gemma’s halls. Remus runs alongside the edge of the camera. “So, what’s a 7-C-3?”
“I don’t know EMT code,” Mitchell explains. “I think sevens are for burns.”
“Well then no wonder they called D!” Remus laughs. “He’s the best in the business for burns! I’ve handled the ‘hazardous materials’ from those operations, they look like chicken!” You can see Remus do quotation marks around ‘hazardous materials’. The camera pans around a corner just in time to see Dr. D enter a large elevator.
“Welp, he’s gone,” Mitchell says, stopping. “We better end the show.”
“He can’t lose me that easily!” Remus barks. Remus runs into the nearest elevator and presses a button. The camera barely gets inside before the doors closed.
“Dude, you left your cleaning supplies outside Dr. D’s office,” Mitchell remarks.
“If someone steals it, hey, free food!” Remus laughs. His face pops on camera. He’s so close, you can see each individual hair of his mustache. “This seems like the perfect time to cut to the next segment of our show! We’ll be right back!” Static fills the screen before going black.
You think it glitched out for a moment before white words slide into view. ‘Getting Personal With Remus’. Remus’s messy office pops on screen, but the lights are off. The only light in the room is a small fire inside a trash can beside Remus’s desk. Remus sits on top of the desk, staring into the camera with a smile and a wink.
“Happy Valentine’s!” Remus says. “Hope you like the candle. On tonight’s ‘Getting Personal’, we’re talking about how I met Dr. D. It’s quite the story! I was looking for a job when I suddenly stumbled upon a Help Wanted sign for… can you guess? You’re right, Taco Bell! I began working that same day! I loved tossing frozen food into the fryer. Well one day I got a bit too carried away with my tossing and I got shipped to St. Gemma’s with second-degree burns! And Dr. D was my doctor. I got fired from Taco Bell. Once I was all healed up, I got a job as a janitor here, and D and I have been friends ever since!” Remus kicks his leg out. His foot knocks against the trash can and tips it over. Fire begins to crawl towards the desk. “Now back to your regularly scheduled program.” The screen goes black again.
The DVD cuts back to the elevator just as the doors slide open. You vaguely remember seeing an article online about how good the burn ward at St. Gemma’s was, back when you were trying to find where the hospital was to visit your friend. It’s tough to get a good look inside with the moving camera, but you can see plush furniture and gentle lighting over a receptionist’s desk. Voices shout and give orders somewhere in the ward. The receptionist doesn’t seem to care.
“The patient in Room 705 just kicked it,” the receptionist mutters, glancing up at Remus. “You need to clean it out.” Remus ignores the receptionist and jogs down the hall towards the voices.
“Is there enough undamaged skin for the graphs?” one person asks.
“We may have to use some cadaver skin,” another responds.
“Oh, they’re doing skin grafts!” Remus chirps. He stops by a half-open metal door. The sign on the side reads ‘Operating Theater 2, Level 7’. Remus carefully pulls the door open.
“Remus, no!” Mitchell hisses. He grabs Remus’s arm and tugs him back. “You aren’t sterile.”
“I should hope not,” Remus chuckles, wiggling his eyebrows.
“If you go in there, you could spread an infection!” Mitchell groans. “Burn victims are the most in danger from them! You could kill the guy!”
“All in the name of a good show, right?” Remus sighs, shrugging. “Here, give me the camera.” The camera switches hands, and you finally get a good look at Mitchell. His long blonde hair is tied into a ponytail behind him. He’s wearing black scrubs under a thick white sweatshirt. While Remus’s stare bounced all over the place and Dr. D glared into your soul, Mitchell had the eyes of an emotional teenager ready to do something dangerous.
“I’m not getting fired because of you,” Mitchell hisses with gritted teeth.
“Relax, Anx-Mitch,” Remus says, correcting himself halfway through. The camera pans down and slips just inside the door. The operating theater is split in half. The half you can best see is a long row of sinks below a long window. Through the window you see doctors huddling around a patient. The angle is so bad you can barely tell what they’re doing. You can pick out Dr. D, since his burns pop up under the harsh OR light. He’s focused on the task in front of him, silent while the other doctors discuss how to proceed. He simply works.
“What are you doing?” the receptionist’s harsh voice screams. The camera jumps back and flies through the air, landing in Mitchell’s arms. Remus and Mitchell zoom down the hall with the receptionist’s threats echoing behind them.
“Time for a commercial break!” Remus laughs. He grabs the camera and pushes it down as it cuts to another segment. Here, Remus is outside in the middle of the day, leaning against a large, dirty, green dumpster.
“Here at the Remus Academy of Dumpster Diving,” Remus states with the full professionalism of an actual salesman. “You’ll be taught all the best locations in Miami to score some sweet goods! But don’t come near St. Gemma’s or I’ll steal your kneecaps!” Remus flips open the dumpster with a loud clang. He hoists himself up and tumbles into the half full pit of disease. “For the simple cost of your social security number, you’ll get first hand experience at discovering the untold treasures of garage cans and curbside trash. For example…” Remus pops up with a broken baseball bat. The top half has been ripped off. “Weapons! Or…” He ducks back down and brings up a handful of shredded paper. “Confetti!” He tosses the paper in the air. “Call the number below in the next half hour and you’ll get your dumpster personally looted!” The ‘phone number’ Remus mentioned isn’t even composed of numbers. It’s A#@-JRD-(D#$. “Join the Remus Academy of Dumpster Diving today!”
The show quickly cuts back to Dr. D’s office. Remus is laying on the floor, kicking his legs in the air. The camera sits beside him.
“Can I stop filming now?” Mitchell groans. “My phone’s going to die.”
“Sadly, we couldn’t get more juicy surgery footage,” Remus huffs. “So we’ll just have to wait for D to come back!”
“Surgery takes a while, Remus,” Mitchell scoffs. “Don’t whine about it. It’s only been a few hours.” The office doors creaks open. Dr. D steps inside his office, slipping on his yellow gloves. You get a glimpse of the burns covering his fingers. Remus shoots up like a puppy. Mitchell clambers up, groaning.
“So how’d it go?” Remus chirps. Dr. D slinks to his desk and sits down.
“Do your job, Remus,” Dr. D grumbles, staring into his computer.
“What, too squeamish to share details?” Remus scoffs, sitting on the desk.
“Exactly,” Dr. D sighs.
“Come on,” Remus purrs. He pokes at Dr. D’s cheek with each word. “Come on come on come ON!” Dr. D glares at Remus and the camera takes a step back. He settles his hands flat on his desk.
“I want you to imagine you have some resemblance of medical training,” Dr. D mutters. “You’re creative, I trust it’s not too difficult. Now I want you to imagine your patient is a 30-something man who was nearly beaten to a pulp by his abusive parents.” Something drops in Remus’s gaze. He’s no longer poking at Dr. D. “I want you to imagine yourself in surgery trying to repair the damage to this man, but as soon as you fix one issue, another issue comes up. The man’s body is destroying itself on the table and there is nothing you can do until a fellow doctor announces the time of death.” Dr. D’s words come out as a violent hiss. His fingers clench inside his gaudy gloves. “Now imagine myself in that situation, but the patient was asleep as their apartment burned around them, and tell me if you would be excited to talk about it!” Remus hops off the desk. Dr. D’s hands unclench slightly, though his jaw is threatening to break his teeth.
“I am in no mood for your ridiculous show,” Dr. D grumbles. For the first time in the show, Remus seems softer. His edges aren’t so sharp. His dirty nails rest over Dr. D’s glove. Dr. D fixes his black hat and takes a deep breath. Then he glares into the camera.
“Leave,” he hisses. Mitchell takes off, out of the office and into the hall before the camera cuts. After a few seconds of darkness, Remus’s office space reappears. He’s sitting behind his desk, once again carrying his demonic smile.
“Come on, don’t be shy!” Remus laughs. Someone groans behind the camera. Dr. D steps into view and takes a spot standing behind Remus. He seems a bit calmer than earlier.
“That’s all the time we have for this episode!” Remus chirps, rocking back and forth. “We're ditching the rest of our line-up because I don't care! I’d like to give a warm thank you to Dr. D for being a fabulous guest on our show tonight!” Dr. D seems resigned to his fate, but far more happy than Mitchell ever did. “Tune in next time for live coverage of the Sanders Hospital hosted Nurse’s Rally!”
“A rally?” Dr. D asks, glancing down at Remus. He takes a phone out of his coat and types something in. “...organized by Virgil Lawson.” He puts the phone away again. His expression is unreadable, unchanged from earlier. “Remus, could I assist you in your next episode at this rally?”
“I’d love that!” Remus shouts, throwing his hands in the air. “See you next time on the Extra Late Night Show! Bye, everybody! Do do Do do DoOoOoOoO. Do do Do do dooooooooo. Do do Do do Do! DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Do do do do do! ” Remus waves goodbye. The screen turns black. The show is finally done. Without saying a word, you take the DVD out of your player. You gently put it back in its case. You walk into your kitchen. You open up the trash can and put it inside. Then you decide to look up how to rid a home of curses because you are certain there was a violent curse on that DVD.
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Repulsion
On a Hiding to Nothing Masterlist
Author’s Note: Written to fulfill my Demon!Dean square for @spnkinkbingo also tagging @darkspnimagines ‘cause... well, it’s dark.
Pairing(s): Demon!Dean x Twin Sister!Reader
Summary: Y/n and Dean Winchester were inseparable when they were young. Dean’s always wondered why his twin went cold, but it’s not until he’s a demon that he forces the truth from her, about a drunken night he doesn’t remember that she wishes she could forget. THIS IS A DARK FIC!
Word Count: 5935
Story Warnings: angst, depression, 18+ HERE BE SEX! DO NOT READ IF YOU’RE A YOUNG’UN!!! NON-CON, past non-con fingering, manipulation, unprotected sex, incest, sister wincest
You sighed, looking over the paper for the dozenth time. Sammy Let Me Go on a small piece of lined yellow paper. He hadn’t addressed it to you, just Sam. Dean knew Sam wouldn’t stop looking for him, but you… well, you were too tired to keep up the fight, had been for years.
You’d seen your twin brother die too many times. You’d seen your baby brother die too many times. You’d seen Castiel die and far too many other friends. You were tired and Dean knew that. So, he didn’t think you’d go looking for him, but you weren’t so gone that you’d let Sam go looking for him alone.
So you went. You went alone while Sam summoned demons to torture for information. You found him easily. Dean, as a demon, was interested only in enjoying himself. You found him at a strip club, tossing twenties at the Thursday afternoon dancers. He ignored you as you approached, eyes never leaving the mostly bare woman on the stage. “Dean.”
“Go. Away. Y/n/n.”
“Sorry, brother. It doesn't work like that. Sam needs you home, so by extension, I need you home. Come on.”
“Sorry, sister. It doesn't work like that. I told Sam to let me go. Guess now I gotta tell you.” He turned his head just enough for his green eyes to catch your matching ones. “Leave me alone, y/n. Just walk away.”
“Yeah, unfortunately, you’ve shared a dangerously codependent relationship with Sam so he can't just let you go. So I can't walk away.”
He turned to you fully, then, dropping his boots off of the crossbeam of the chair and standing. “You ever wonder why you an’ I don't have a relationship like that? I mean, ain't twins supposed to be creepy-close, makin’ up secret languages together and feelin’ each other's pain?”
You swallowed hard but stood your ground. “Look, D., I will be the Tomax to your Xamot and we can develop Winchester Latin together if you just come home.”
He wagged his finger at you. “Nah, see, I think there's something there, y/n. ‘cause I remember we were close when we were young, taking care of Sammy, only havin’ each other to lean on, being Dad's perfect little soldiers, but you pulled away. I think it was right about the time Sam ran off to Stanford, you went cold.”
You licked your lips and shook your head. “Dean…” You struggled with the words and you knew that meant he had won. The demon your twin became was going to latch onto this one thing, this one harsh memory, and pull it from you. “It's not-”
The smirk that turned up the corner of his mouth made your stomach roil. “What's not what?” He faked a sincere look, right down to the Winchester puppy dog eyes. “Come on, y/n. You know you can tell me anything.”
You took a step back, moving toward the fire exit. You’d call Sam and Cas for backup. You shouldn’t have approached him alone, anyway. “No, I can’t. Not this.”
Dean followed you into the dark hallway, either incensed by curiosity or the fact that you were planning to call in assistance. In a flash, your face was pressed into the sticky wall next to the men’s restroom, your arms twisted behind your back with Dean leaning over you. “Come on, y/n. It’s gotta be somethin’ big if you’re running from it. Tell me.”
“Dean, don’t.”
“Start talkin’, sister, or I’m gonna start breakin’ bones,” he whispered, getting a hold on your first finger on your right hand and twisting it to just before the breaking point.
“Ow, fuck! D. please.”
“I like the begging, but it’s not what I wanna hear right now. Story time, bitch. Go.”
You whimpered, unable to stop the audible evidence of your weakness from leaking out. “Fine! God, I’ll tell you! Fuck.” You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. “The week after Sam left… you got drunk.”
“That’s not news. I spent the first two months he was gone in a bottle.”
“Yeah, well, this night didn’t end with you passed out in the back of Dad’s car or in some roadhouse chick’s bed, it ended with you crawling into mine,” you whispered. You could feel tears popping up along the lashes of your closed eyes. “Ended with your tongue in my mouth and your hand down my pants.”
There was a long moment of silence before he let go of your finger. “Really?” he drawled quietly.
“You-you didn’t remember it the next morning, so I just never said, but I had to distance. I couldn’t…”
He chuckled, darkly, and pressed himself closer to you. “You fuckin’ liked it, didn’t you?”
Your eyes snapped open. “That’s disgusting! No, I fucking didn’t.”
“Lie-ar,” he said in a singsong tone. “Even when I’m blackout drunk, I’m real good with my hands. You, at twenty-two, inexperienced, innocent little virgin? Bet you came, didn’t’cha?”
Your cheeks heated at his words, at the memory of Dean giving you your first orgasm with his long fingers buried in your virgin pussy. “That’s not- I didn’t-”
“Not your fault you were a virgin for so long, ya know? I spent more’n a decade chasin’ off any guy who might be interested. Starting with that quarterback douche in Fairfax that wanted to take you to the drive-in.”
“What?” You twisted to try to see him better. You’d always thought it was you scaring guys off, that the switchblade in your purse or the warrior mindset your father had impressed upon you from such an early age was just too much for most men. It never even occurred to you that you didn’t lose your virginity until Dean was in Hell. Bobby introduced you to a hunter friend to watch your back while Sam ran off to be with Ruby and he just happened to end up enamored with you. He didn’t stick around after Dean came back. He said he couldn’t handle the Winchester drama. That loss, it was the tipping point of your depression, the thing that made the pain your every day normal.
“Yeah. After I kicked Jesse to the curb, you seemed to finally get it, stopped trying.”
“What?” you repeated, tears popping up in your eyes again. “You made Jesse leave?”
Dean took a step back, allowing your arms to drop limply to your sides as you pulled away from the wall and turned around to look at him. There wasn’t a speck of guilt or shame on his face as he shrugged. “Wasn’t good enough for you. None of ‘em were.”
“Are you- I loved him! I gave up when he left. I-”
“He obviously didn’t love you if he left.” He shrugged again. “Didn’t try to fight for you, didn’t try to convince me he was worth a damn, just scurried off like the cockroach he was. Not worth your tears, y/n.”
“Why? Why would you do this?”
He pursed his lips, then scratched the side of his nose. “The old me, I’d say it was all to protect you. Save you from a bunch of guys who wanted to use you, but… eh, what’s the point of lying? If I couldn’t have you, no one could. And I really could not have you.”
“That’s sick!”
“You know you were my first wet dream?” he continued, speaking nonchalantly, as he leaned against the opposite wall of the hallway with his arms crossed over his chest. “We were thirteen, you just started to get tits, practically overnight. You lifted your first bra from Sears, but you got the wrong size. Guess you were already a B cup by then and you got an A. Your tits were just spilling out of the thing and I had this dream, recurring one for about a year, of you getting so frustrated with the thing that you just whipped it off right in the middle of the motel room of the week… and then you’d let me play with ‘em, suck ‘em, bite ‘em.”
You shook your head and covered your chest with your arms, too, trying to occlude his view of your breasts and give yourself a hug. You had a growing feeling of disgust weighing your stomach down. “You can’t… I’m your twin sister, Dean.”
“Oh, I know. That’s why I shoved that shit down in the dark recesses of my soul. Put it away with the sadistic part of me… but, you know, I am really surprised that I only got shitfaced and forced myself on you once. And I’m kinda disappointed I didn’t dick ya.”
You gagged a bit at his words. You wanted to respond with something, but there was nothing but revulsion in your throat. You felt like you might throw up. He wanted you? This whole time, your whole lives practically?
He smirked and pushed off from the wall. “I guess it ain’t too late, though, is it?”
You shook your head, cringing away from him. “No.”
He chuckled and leaned in closer. “Tell you what, I’ll make you a deal, y/n. You’re gonna come with me. There’s really nothing you can do against that. I’ve always been stronger and faster than you and there’s no way you can win now. I’m gonna fuck you. If you don’t cum, I’ll go back to the bunker with you and let Sam do whatever he wants to ‘fix’ me.” He did air quotes around the word. “When you do cum, though, you’re gonna be stuck with me.”
“What does that even mean?” you whispered.
“Means you come with me, you never talk to Sam again, and we do whatever the fuck I want for the rest of your life.” You closed your eyes, swallowed, and tried to keep your lunch in your stomach as he wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you close to his side. “Come on. Let’s get outta here.”
You tried to resist as he pulled you out the side door and into the parking lot, but he was too strong. He shoved you into the passenger side of the Impala and walked around to the driver’s side. You looked around at the mess in the car. You hadn’t seen it this messy since before it came into your brother’s possession. “Where are you taking me?” you asked, quietly, as Baby roared to life.
“Motel. Where else?”
You sighed, bringing your knees up to your chest, hugging them tightly. “Is-is there any way I can talk you out of this?”
He laughed, loud enough to ring in your ears. “Not a goddamn thing, y/n/n.” He looked over at you and licked his lips. “You gonna beg me to let you go?”
You shook your head. “I don’t beg for demons,” you whispered.
He hummed, his lips twisted into a smirk again. “You will. You’re gonna beg this demon.” He wrapped his hand around your wrist and tugged you out the driver’s door as soon as the car was in park. You weren’t sure he’d even taken the keys out of the ignition.
“Tell me ‘bout that night I got drunk. Wish I could remember it. Go on and jog my memory. Where were we? Were we on a hunt?” he asked as he kicked the motel door closed behind him. You started to shake as he stepped in front of you and started to unbutton your red and pink flannel. “I asked you a question, y/n.”
“You asked two, actually,” you argued, quietly. “We were… we were in Puyallup, Washington. That poltergeist. Dad went to question the former owners in Bend, Oregon. He wasn’t gonna be back ‘til the next day and he had the Impala. There wasn’t a bar within walking distance-”
Dean nodded in recognition as he pulled your shirt down your arms and dropped it to the floor. “But I had a package store in my duffel bag. Turned on Tombstone and started drinking.”
“Weren’t very far into it before you were trashed. You were slumped in your chair before ‘That’s Latin, dahlin’, but you kept drinking.” You closed your eyes as he pulled your black undershirt off over your head.
“Keep going.”
“You kept looking at me. I was just sitting there, just sitting on the bed, reading Dreamcatcher and you kept looking at me. Eventually…” You took a deep breath and tried to stop shaking. “You came to sit next to me. You took the book out of my hands, threw it on the other bed and you pulled me into a hug. I thought it was nice, it was okay, it was just you showing affection in that way you only do when your inhibitions are lowered. You… you told me that everything was gonna be okay, that we had each other. You said even if we didn’t have Sam, even if we didn’t always have Dad’s support, even if we didn’t have Mom, we-we had each other.”
Your throat clenched around the next sentence, maybe because your memories were raging in your head, but maybe because Dean’s fingertips were sliding across the swell of your left breast where your anti-possession tattoo sat. “Not gonna tell you again, sis,” Dean said, threateningly.
“We laid down together. I d-don’t really… we laid down, you were holding me. Your h-hand slipped under my shirt, but it was nice. It was… your skin warm on my back. I was falling asleep. I was so close, I didn’t realize until it was too late that you’d slipped your other hand into my pajamas. I tried to push you off of me when your hand went into m-my underwear, but-”
“Always been bigger and stronger. I start fingering you then?”
You stiffened as he reached behind your back and unclasped your bra. Your arms moved to cover your chest as he pulled the straps down. You could lie. Let the story end, don’t tell him more than necessary, but what if he really did remember? What if all this had been the demon messing with your head?
“Um, no. You just, sorta, kept your hand there for a while, waited for me to drop my guard a little, I guess. You kissed my neck, told me you were gonna take care of me, that you loved me, that everything was going to be okay. Then you started kissing me.”
“You let me.” It wasn't a question.
“No. No, I just… didn't fight you,” you admitted.
“You liked it, y/n/n,” he said in that ‘Do not lie to me’ tone. “Someone being there for you, for your pleasure. Never had that before me, I made sure of it. So, we kissed, ‘cause ya kissed back, didn't ya? And then I started playing your pussy like a fine fuckin’ instrument, huh?”
You didn’t respond, but you didn’t have to. The shame on your face was more than enough answer. He nodded, moving around behind you and wrapping his arms loosely around you. If this weren’t a demonic version of you brother, if you weren’t bare-chested, it might have been a comforting hug, but instead it just made your body stiffen. “Don’t worry, y/n. I’m gonna take care of you.”
“Oh, god.” Bile rose up in your throat as he gently pushed you toward the bed. “I don’t wanna do this.”
“Shhh. Relax, baby. I’m not gonna hurt you,” he whispered. “I promise I won’t hurt you.”
“You’re lying,” you said as your knees touched the mattress.
“Not this time, I’m not. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m gonna make you feel amazing. When’s the last time you felt good, sis? When’s the last time you were happy?” He turned you and looked into your eyes, looking for all the world like the portrait of sincerity.
“Not since you were in Hell, before you scared off the love of my life.”
“Jesse wasn’t the love of your life. He didn’t love you how I did. He didn’t fight for you. I fought for you.”
“You’re not supposed to love me like that, Dean. It’s not right,” you whispered.
“So?” He sighed, softly, and moved his hand to caress your cheek. “Can’t change how I’ve always felt. You were all I had, for so long. The thing that held me together when I was holdin’ Sam up. I’ve always loved you more than I’ve ever loved any other woman.”
You scoffed, reminding yourself that this was just another layer of demon bullshit. “You’re a demon. You’re not loving me, now.”
“I’m still me, y/n. I still know how to treat my other half.” ‘Other half’ reminded you of your childhood, of Dean introducing you as his other half instead of his twin. You shivered as he leaned down, pressing his full lips to yours. It was a soft kiss, sweet. If you closed your eyes, maybe it would have been nice. If it wasn’t Dean… Tears popped up in your eyes as he pulled away from the kiss. “I’m gonna make you feel good. Lie down,” he whispered, nodding toward the bed.
You wanted to deny him, to resist in some way, but you didn’t. You climbed onto the mattress and laid your head on the pillow. He climbed in beside you, snaking his right arm under your neck and letting his left hand settle over your belly button. He looked down at you with a gaze of absolute adoration. “It’s okay. Everything’s gonna be okay, y/n,” he whispered. “I’m here for you.”
As he skimmed his lips over your neck, your eyes fluttered closed and you realized that he was trying to recreate that night in Washington. You’d told him exactly how to get to you, exactly what he’d done to get you, the sober twin, to yield to his sick desires. That’s why he was being so soft. “Th-this… this isn’t-”
“Shhh. It’s okay. Gonna make everything better,” he promised, swiping his tongue up the column of your throat. He let his hand slide under your waistband and you stiffened, again. He pressed his lips to your jaw, sucking lightly. It was ridiculously pathetic how quickly his soft kisses and caresses had you melting. The six years of celibacy had your body aching to respond. When he felt you relax, he propped himself up on his right forearm and pressed his lips to yours again. He pushed his tongue against your lips and you opened them, allowing his tongue entrance.
As your tongues pressed against each other, his hand moved to cup your mound, but you ignored it. You couldn’t focus on where his hand was when you were so focused on his lips and tongue, on the fact that you were kissing back and how ashamed you were going to be in the morning. His middle finger pressed against your slit and you moaned into his mouth. His right hand pulled back to bury in your hair, fingertips grasping at your scalp.
The wetness that seeped out of you, the pulsing throb of need that started up as he began to rub gentle circles on your clit, made your mind snap back to what he said at the strip club. If you could keep yourself from cumming, he’d come back to the bunker with you. You just had to focus.
He grabbed your left hand and placed it over the bulge in his jeans, curling your fingers over the hard lump of flesh and encouraging you to rub him. You did what he wanted, marveling at how big it seemed. Jesse wasn’t that big, you were sure of it.
Jesse. Focus on Jesse. Dean made Jesse leave you. Dean made Jesse leave you. Dean made Jesse… Jesse left you, not Dean… Dean was always there for you, even when you were too cold to care. Dean loved you, horribly and inappropriately, but he never wavered.
His middle finger pushed into your entrance, slipping through your wetness and making you whimper. Your fingers tightened around his hardness and he groaned, deep in his chest and you were proud to make him make that noise.
You were going to Hell, but, hey you were the only Winchester who hadn't been. It was your turn.
You told yourself, again, to focus, but you couldn't. You tried to think about the fact that this was Dean, that this was a demon, that this was everything you'd tried to distance yourself from and worse, but you couldn't. All you could think about was the way your body was singing, the way your brain couldn't focus, the way everything weighing on you finally felt like it was light enough to carry and the whole of that feeling rested in your twin brother's actions.
Dean pulled back from the kiss, just looking down at you as you panted, his long, thick finger dragging in and out of you. “How's it feel, y/n?”
“I… I can't…”
“It's okay. I'm not gonna have you cum on my fingers,” he whispered, pushing his first finger in beside his middle one and curling them against your inner walls. “When I claim you, sis, it's gonna be on my dick.”
“Oh, god!” you whined as he started scissoring his fingers to open you up.
“Unzip me, y/n. I wanna feel your fingers on me,” he instructed, still maneuvering his fingers in you.
You reached over, using both hands to pop the button on his jeans and pull the zipper down. He wasn’t wearing boxers so the little bit of shuffling you did to get his jeans down his hips exposed him to you.
He was big. You knew he was. There’s a lack of privacy in motels; even if you’re actively avoiding the knowledge, it seeps in. You knew he was big, but it was different to have the thick steel length in your hand. He hissed, bucking his hips, and you tightened your grip. You looked up at his face and immediately looked away again. His eyes had gone black. You forced yourself to look again.
Maybe that’s what you needed to combat the heat rising up in you, the tight coil trying to snap in your core. Maybe you needed to force yourself to face the demon to push yourself through this.
By the time you looked, though, the black had fled his eyes, leaving on his brilliant green eyes, dark with lust. Fuck, how had you lived for thirty-five years without realizing how gorgeous Dean eyes were?
He leaned in and pressed you into a fierce kiss as you started to stroke him in time with his fingers dragging in and out of you. When he pulled his hand from you and sat up, you instinctively tried to follow the kiss, but he moved quickly, pulling your pants and underwear down your legs as he got down off the bed.
“Ya know, I have spent so much of our lives watching you,” he started as he moved to start undressing himself. “And I know how sad you are. I mean, Famine said you were empty, too.” You bit your lip and ignored the pang of sadness at the reminder. “Shit’s always been so hard for us, but you used to find things to be happy about. Those books you used to read, that guitar you used to pull out every time we went to Bobby’s, the poetry in your journal…” He dropped his pants to the floor next to his shirts and stepped out of them before moving to kneel at the foot of the mattress.
“Know why you’re always sad, y/n?” he asked, covering your body with his and smirking down at you. “Why you’ve felt so empty?” He swiveled his hips, grinding his cock against your soaked slit. You bit your lip to hold back your moan. “Same reason I always did. You were missing your other half.” He made sure to catch your eyes as he slipped his hand down to line the head of his cock up and slide the first couple inches into you. “I’m gonna make you whole.”
His eyes filled in with black as he pressed the thick length of him in further. You squeezed your eyes closed, partly in pain from the stretch of your inner muscles, partly to shut out the vision of your demon brother. “Fuck, you’re tight.” He pulled back until just the head of his dick was in your hole before pressing in again. He got a little further that time, but still couldn’t get all the way in. “If I didn’t know Jesse got your cunt, I’d think you were a virgin. Knew it was the right decision to save you for me.” He scraped his teeth across your shoulder and you cried out. “If you don’t relax, this is gonna hurt.”
“Do you really care?” you whispered. You wanted him to say ‘no’. You wanted him to hurt you. If he did, maybe you could keep yourself from falling over the edge. Maybe then you could take him back to Lebanon, Sam could fix him, and you could spend the rest of your lives pretending none of this happened.
He kissed his way up your neck to your ear. “Of course, I care. I care more about you enjoying yourself right now than I care about anything else. I want you happy, y/n. I want us both whole.” You gasped as he took your earlobe in between his lips and sucked on it. “I can’t wait to feel you cum on my cock, to finally have you… all mine.”
“Dean… I…”
He rolled his hips, slipping further into you with a groan. “God, you are… exactly what I dreamed of. Fuck. Waited so long.” Your eyelids opened, but you still couldn’t see because your eyes were rolling back as his pelvis finally stopped flush with yours.
You were so full, stretched so far past any point you'd previously imagined, the burning pain of your inner muscles slowly ebbing as your body adjusted to the intrusion. Your hand buried in his hair, longer than normal and perfect for holding onto, as he bent his back just right and took your nipple in his mouth. “D., god!”
He hummed against your breast and reached over to run his thumb across the other nipple until it puckered up, plucking at it with his fingertips when it stiffened. He began to rock his hips against yours, miniscule movements sending shockwaves through your body that had you gasping. He bit into your nipple and you clenched around his dick, making him buck into you. “You ready for more?” he asked, running his tongue along the teeth marks to soothe the skin.
You brought your knees up to notch at his hips in answer. You closed your eyes and tried to breathe. It was sick. It was wrong. It was disgusting, but you couldn’t really care, anymore. You felt better than you had in years. You felt right. You felt whole.
He leaned up on his forearms and looked down at you. “It’s okay. I got you.” He slid his cock out until just the head was inside of you before thrusting forward again. It was perfect, how he felt inside you, how his lips slotted against yours, how his tongue tasted. He grabbed your thigh, digging his fingers into your flesh and thrusting into you a bit harder, making you grab at his shoulders and throw your head back into the pillow.
“God, Dean, this is…. Oh, god this is…”
“Not God, y/n,” he whispered into your ear.
You could feel your orgasm rising. Your abs were tightening, your heels digging into his ass, your toes curling as you met his thrusts. You were getting so close. You wanted it so badly… but you knew that as soon as you came it’d be over. Your only saving grace was the lack of attention he was paying your clit. You had never managed an orgasm without clitoral stimulation.
Leave it to Dean to be the first to pull it out of you. He pushed your knees up toward your chest, the angle changed, and his cock slammed your cervix. Your eyes rolled back, back arching, a low, harsh moan pulling from your throat as your muscles went rigid and your thighs tried to close against the sensation. Your whole body jerked and jolted as he slowed down and fucked you through your orgasm. He kissed his way across your shoulder and up your neck to your ear. “I win,” he whispered and you whimpered. He leaned on his forearms again, smiling down at you with black eyes. “I got you to play and I won, and now? You’re mine.”
You were flipped over, face in the pillow and ass in the air, before you could register movement. His hand wrapped in your hair and he slammed back into you. You screamed, but he just pressed your face harder into the pillow to muffle the sound. His hips snapped against your ass hard, his cock impacting your cervix like he was trying to punch through to your womb, his fingers bruising your hip and tearing at your hair. “You’re gonna cum again, y/n. I wanna feel it from this angle,” he demanded, not slowing his pace, reaching the hand from your hip around your body to rub at your clit.
Your walls fluttering around his cock sent him over his own precipice and he growled, a rumbling dark sound like a demon makes when you splash it with holy water, as his cock splashed spurts of cum across your pussy walls. He pulled out and flopped to the bed next to you as you went limp, only able to turn your head so that you could breathe. Dean chuckled and reached over to slap his palm across the swell of your ass. “Yeah. This is gonna work out just fine.”
You were too exhausted respond, closing your eyes and letting sleep take you.
You woke to the sound of voices. Dean and Crowley, speaking in low tones, likely in the doorway of the motel. “What do you want?”
“Well, I was coming with the option of another job, something that might quell a bit of the dark energy from the Mark, but it seems you've got some other outlet of depravity, don't you? That is your twin sister fucked to bits on your bed, isn't it?”
Dean chuckled. “Yeah. I've wanted to break off a piece of that since we were teens. Just couldn't let myself do anything about it back then.”
“And was she a willing participant in this sickness?”
“Eventually. Why the fuck do you care?”
“Just was thinking that it might be a bit awkward for her to go home after she-”
“That's fine ‘cause neither of us are going home, Crowley. I finally made her mine last night, finally took what was fuckin’ made for me. Might get some vamp to turn her so I can keep her around for longer. We've got a lot of years to make up for.”
Crowley made a huffy noise. “Maybe don't turn your sister into a bloodsucker yet. There are other options, like witchcraft, that wouldn't leave her so vulnerable.”
“Yeah, why don't you leave y/n to me and go play with your dogs? I'll find you when I need you, which’ll be never.” There was a moment of silence and you could feel Dean’s eyes on you. “She's awake. Get out.”
“Dean, you-”
“Out.” You chanced a look at the door as Crowley disappeared and Dean slammed it shut. He smirked as he turned to you, pulling your phone out of his back pocket. “Good morning. Sam's been calling you for hours. Took the liberty of turnin’ off your GPS.”
You swallowed, taking a deep breath. “You're really not going to let me leave?” you whispered.
“I told you. You're stuck with me. Besides… it's where you belong. It's the only place you can be whole.”
You shook your head and ran your hand down your face. “Don't think I didn't hear that, Dean. You don't care about me feeling whole. I'm just something else to feed the Mark.”
He shrugged, his eyebrows jumping with amusement. “Wouldn't you rather I feed the Mark with amazing sex than vicious murder?” You looked down. Not a sacrifice you ever thought you’d have to make, but… wasn’t it better than him killing people to satiate the damn Mark?
He presented the phone to you. “Two minutes, no codes, just tell Sam to leave you alone. You need time. Got it?”
You nodded, taking the phone and unlocking it. You dialed Sam and waited. “Where are you?! I’ve been calling you for-”
“Hours, I know,” you interrupted. You needed to keep it under two minutes, so you couldn’t have him jabbering on. “Look, I just need some time, Sammy. I… I think it’s my turn, okay? I need a damn break. I can’t deal with this bullshit-”
“I need you to help me find Dean, y/n. I need your-”
“No, you don’t. You need to let him go… and you need to let me have this time, okay? I just need-”
“Look, I just talked to… you’re not gonna believe this, but… Crowley, and if I give him the First Blade after, he’s ready to sell Dean out. I’m headed to the bar Crowley says he’s gonna be at. I could use your support.”
You rubbed your eyes with your fingertips. “Sam… Call me if you figure out where he is.”
“What? I just told you-”
“Yeah. I wish you the best of luck, little brother.” You hung up the phone and offered it to Dean. “You got any liquor in this place? I need a fuckin’ drink.”
Dean smirked and nodded. “Yeah. That sounds like a good fuckin’ idea. Get dressed. There’s a bar down the street, Flamingo Lounge. Harv behind the bar pours pretty heavy, so it’s good.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sam had been surprised to see you with Dean at the piano, tipsily tinkling out the beginning of ‘Hey, Jude’ on the keys. He’d been further surprised that you didn’t deny it when Dean insinuated that his cum was on the inside of your black cotton panties. You didn’t say a word. When Sam finally got the cuffs on Dean, after he’d wrestled him into the back of the Impala, Sam fully turned his attentions to you.
“What the hell, y/n?”
“Take him home and fix him,” you said, handing the car keys to Sam’s good hand.
“What he said about killing him? I don’t know what he’s done? He might deserve it?”
You shook your head. “He didn’t…” You licked your lips and faked a smile. “He was just talking about what he did for Crowley. Take him home.”
“What about you? I-I might need-”
“No. That ‘time’ I said I need? I need it. I…” You wrapped an arm around his left side, giving him a slight hug and patting his back. “Good luck, Sammy.”
“Good-? How much time do you need?”
“Goodbye, Sammy,” you whispered, walking away. Your eyes flicked to Dean, seething in the backseat, as you passed the car. His eyes narrowed, his lips pressing together in a thin line. His jaw clenched. You swallowed, looking away and breaking into a jog.
You’d assess the damage later. For now, you just needed to get away.
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#cassie writes stuff#spnkinkbingo#demon!dean#sister winchester#sister wincest#reader-insert#demon!dean x reader
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MSA: Take Two (part 9)
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8
Part 10: here
.
It is Vivi’s voice which eventually drags him back from the silence and inertia. Far off, barely a whisper, it lures him out of the void in gentle waves.
“Arthur? If you can hear me? It would be super amazing if you’d come out and talk. Please.”
Until now, Arthur has made a deliberate effort to disregard all of Mystery’s urgings and nagging. Nothing Mystery can say is motivating enough to break his disinterest. Stubbornly, he has ignored reality to remained cocooned in peaceful silence. He can’t ignore Vivi. Not when she sounds so hopeful.
Arthur steels himself, disentangles his being from the void space around him and follows Vivi’s voice into the light. First comes that crackling itch of static accompanied by the buzz of an energy surge, like he’s a battery charging up. Then comes the emotional sledgehammer, and he remembers exactly why he was so reluctant to manifest. The gang’s all here: regret, followed closely by that deep melancholy, sprinkled with embarrassment. What’s the last thing he remembers? He had been talking to Lewis…then…nothing. He must have evaporated right in front of everyone. That’s just perfect. Nice to know he can’t even speak to Lewis without having the ghost version of an emotional meltdown.
There’s no time to worry about that though, because, when he finally takes a solid shape, Vivi is RIGHT THERE! She is leaning in, putting her nose inches from his face. She is WAY TO CLOSE. In a panic, he throws himself back. What he electrocutes her! He’ll accidentally hurt her. Just like he accidentally hurt Lewis.
“Whoa, hey. It’s okay,” Vivi also panics, raising her hands. Mystery is here as well, standing at the ready by Vivi’s feet. The dog’s eyes are glowing red. WARNING. DANGER! Arthur should avoid that, the erratic ghost side of his brain unhelpfully informs him while his logical side struggles to processes all the stuff suddenly around him. Arthur lurches back and smacks into something jutting out from the wall. Frantically, he scans his surroundings for an escape route. Soft pastels. Stacks of books piled haphazardly on the floor. Mounds of paper. Scribbled upon sticky notes decorating every surface. He is no longer in the van. This is Vivi’s room. He has backed up into her desk, scattering paper and knocking over a lamp.
/ Did I not say to step back. /
“Quiet you,” Vivi scolds Mystery, attention still on Arthur, “Arthur. Please. It’s okay. I’m sorry for freaking you out. I didn’t think you would come out that quickly.”
“What are you doing? This is dangerous. In case you haven’t noticed. I’m made of electricity which I can’t control,” Arthur snaps, managing to catch himself in the middle of eyeing Vivi’s partially open window. They are on the second story, but Arthur’s pretty sure he’d be able to make the jump. He doesn’t jump, squashing the urge, but it’s a near thing.
“I shouldn’t be near you guys when I’m charged up like this.” Arthur pauses, taking a second to note the district lack of Lewis in the room. It’s just Vivi and Mystery.
“You’re not dangerous. You saved Lewis, and you helped Arthur. That was a pretty intense situation, and no one was electrocuted then,” Vivi objects. She does, however, take a step back to give him more room.
“That was different.”
When he’d done all that stuff, he’d been mostly numb, barely aware of what he was. Now, the emotions are stronger, triggered by familiar surroundings. He can’t risk it. As if to emphasise his point the light bulb above flickers and busts into a shower of sparks. Now the room is lit only by the daylight coming in through the window.
He points up at the roof and the bulb.
“See.”
“If you were fine then, then you’ll be fine now,” Vivi asserts. She holds out a hand, “If you’re Arthur. Future, ghost, or otherwise, then I trust you.”
Mystery makes a noise of objection and receives a glare. Arthur glances between them. Mystery’s eyes are still glowing, and Arthur hopes he’ll intervene should Vivi become endangered because the temptation to take Vivi’s hand is just too strong to resist.
Torn, Arthur stares at the hand for several seconds.
Slowly, he floats forward and reaches out. Vivi’s room isn’t huge, but at that moment, the journey between them is endless. She wiggles her fingers in encouragement when he gets within touching distance. A golden spark jumps between them, but Vivi doesn’t react.
He takes her hand.
It is warm, soft, and alive. Arthur is surprised. So far, he hadn’t really tried interacting with anything, being more than content to float around. He had half expected his sense of touch to be dulled, making everything dead and cold, kind of like his mechanical arm.
Quickly, he glances up to check Vivi’s expression. A bright smile. Warm. Vivi is fine. The electricity doesn’t hurt her. She’s fine. He pulls back, unwilling to try his luck.
“I knew it,” Vivi declares.
All the uncontrollable, haphazard flickering his form has been doing, calms, stabilising. Mystery’s fur settles along his back and his eyes dim to black. The dog lets out a very human sigh.
Vivi, still smiling, turns to Mystery, remarking, “There you go. Now go keep Lewis company. He’s probably lonely out in the corridor, all by himself.”
Mystery seems thoughtful, but it’s hard to read dog expressions. /Very well, I concede to your judgement. /
Arthur rushes to disagree, “I would rather Mystery stay…you know….just in case?” He hesitates. Mystery makes him a little uneasy, but he trusts the dog to protect Vivi should anything go wrong. Vivi is more important than his comfort.
Mystery, eye searching, definitely surprised by the admission, scans Arthur. Arthur watches nervously. Mystery’s brows crease, coming to some conclusion that Arthur isn’t privy to, /I will be just beyond this door should you need my assistance. I will not go far. /
Vivi nods in agreement, opening the door for Mystery, who slips out into the hallway. Instead of shutting it again, Vivi leaves it ajar. Arthur loosens, focusing on Vivi and backing up a bit, so they’re on opposite sides of the room again.
“You don’t have to do that, you know. I already said I trust you.”
Arthur folds his arms in defiance, “I have no idea why. You know, just because I’m an Arthur doesn’t mean that I’m you’re Arthur. You shouldn’t trust strange supernatural creatures just because they look familiar.”
Vivi snorts, “I’ll have you know I’ve been researching the hell out of ghosts this last week. Mystery’s been giving me the crash course. This lightning? Not really lightning. It’s made of plasma, controlled by a ghost’s subconscious thoughts and emotions. Logically, I’d be fine because Arthur would never hurt me.”
Wow…Where does that trust come from? Vivi trusts him more than he trusts himself. Arthur lets his posture relax ever so lightly.
“He also mentioned that, uh, new ghosts are easily overwhelmed and vulnerable to intense mood swings …” Vivi pauses, looking more annoyed now, “I don’t know what Mystery was thinking, introducing us all at once. He should have done it one at a time, you know, to reduce the stress. A calm, comfortable environment would have gone a long way as well. Don’t get me wrong, the van is great, but it’s cramped and stuffy…no offence.”
“None taken?”
“…and who wants to have a serious, life-changing, conversation in a hospital car park? No one thought that through properly.”
Vivi takes a long breath but ploughs on despite a growing restlessness.
“I guess what I’m trying to say is that it’s cool if you want to take your time getting used to the whole ghost thing. I mean, I really want to know how you got here? Maybe, why you’re here? If Arthur’s in any danger at all, then I’d like to know.”
"But, you are Arthur, and you’d tell us something important like that…sooo yeah. Thanks for coming out to talk with me…I just wanted to check to see if you were okay… If you want, you can go back to hibernating.”
Vivi finishes with a loud exhale and resolute nod.
Arthur, trying to work through the rush of sentences, comments weakly, “Isn’t introducing things one at a time a strategy used to familiars dogs or something.” Yeah, he remembers Vivi’s brief stint working for the animal shelter when she was going through that stage where she had a new job every month.
Vivi grins again, losing some of her stiffness, “It was an inspiration.”
Arthur takes a moment to appreciate the flutter of amusement, which momentarily drowns out the regret and other more negative emotions. He doesn’t know why he’d thought Vivi wouldn’t care. Just because he wasn’t her Arthur.
“Arthur is not in any danger. Well, he’s not in danger of dying like I did,” He says. There was no way Lewis would hurt his friends. Not without spending two years isolated in a cave thinking he’d been murdered. Arthur would die again before he let that happen.
A relieved exhale, “That’s good. Thank you for telling me.”
Weirdly, she’s not specifically asking about his death or the circumstances surrounding it even though she so obviously wants to. Vivi’s not exactly subtle when she’s curious. But, then, he doesn’t know how much time has passed since he last manifested, so she’s probably had time to plan this encounter. Arthur’s grateful. He didn’t think a ghost could be tense, having no muscles and all, but he definitely feels himself relax.
Part 10: here
#MSA#mystery skulls animated#fanfiction#fanfic#arthur kingsmen#Vivi Yukino#Mystery the dog#mystery#ghost arthur#angst#arthur finally catches a break#talking about stuff
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