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eirist · 4 months

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One More Sleep

Disclaimer: One Piece (and its characters) belongs to Eiichiro Oda-sensei.

Reminder: I have no beta-reader. Any grammatical and spelling errors are solely mine.

Warning: OOC possible. One shot.

Rating: T

Note: A ZoNa Holiday Events is up at Tumblr for the month of December. We got selected themes for each day and we’d love other ZoNa shippers to join and celebrate our favorite couple with holiday-themed fanarts and fanfics! Feel free to check it here: @zonamievents

Unexpectedly wrote this one just this Christmas dawn/morning (my timezone) because I can’t sleep from too much eating. And coffee. Zoned out once this is done. It’s what I would say a go figure work and definitely smells of a companion one-shot.

Anyways, Merry Christmas everyone!

Theme: # 25 - Hibernate

Summary: “Why don’t you go up and check on him?” “Why does everybody keep telling me that?”

“Is he still asleep?”

Nami raised one eyebrow as she directed the question to the tinkering sniper. Usopp momentarily paused from what he was doing and blinked up at her.

She just continued looking at him, waiting for an answer. The curly-haired lad shrugged his shoulders in response. “Probably,” he said as went back to adjusting the screws on his latest invention. “Didn’t hear any sound coming from the nest since this morning.”

Nami pursed her lips at that. It was already late afternoon. Scratch that. It was nearing sun set to be more precise.

“Seems overboard even for him.” She flicked a glance at the crow’s nest before her eyes riveted to Usopp. “Are we sure he’s still alive in there?”

Now Usopp stopped working, shooting her an incredulous look. Then his face broke into a grin that Nami finds a bit irritating.

“You seemed concern? Why not go up and check on him?” He suggested with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

Nami fought the urge to punch him on the head. “I am so not! I’m just wondering why he hasn’t lugged his stupid ass down here, being a nuisance and pissing Sanji-kun off!”

“O-kay,” Usopp mouthed looking like he’s not buying her explanation. He studied Nami for a moment and snickered when he saw her looking up at the crow’s nest again.

“What?” Nami asked in a sharp tone when she heard it. She glared daggers at her so-called friend knowing full well that he plans to subject her to some teasing.

“Nothing.” Usopp was quick to answer and he immediately went back to his work, feigning concentration.

“Urgh,” Nami groaned. “What a waste of time.” She muttered before stomping away from him to head at the galley.

Behind her Usopp snickered again.

She didn’t bother turning around to confront him or scare the shit out of him. Instead she just said, “All that snickering’s gonna cost you Usopp.”

She ignored the shout of protest that came from behind her.

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

“Is he still not up?”

Nami asked that question again. Only this time she directed it to her captain instead of the long-nosed sniper.

Luffy blinked back at her. Almost the same as what Usopp did earlier, exactly three hours ago.

He looked a bit confused as if he did not comprehend what she was asking.

And based from his answer… he definitely did not. “Who?” Her idiotic captain questioned back. A nerve ticked on Nami’s forehead before she replied. “Zoro.” Luffy paused for a moment, before he broke into a grin and laughed. “Oh. Zoro! Shishishi! Guess not. I haven’t seen him since…” he tilted his head, as if pondering. “Uhm…” “Stop that.” Nami instantly decided to put a stop to his thinking with a slight wave of her hand. Or they’ll be at it until… some other things manage to catch Luffy’s attention. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

“Why would I hurt myself?”

“Ugh, never mind.”

Luffy was looking at her strange. Then he blurted out. “Oi! Have you seen Zoro, Nami?”

Nami stared at him disbelievingly. Her fist throbbed from the effort of holding back and preventing herself from thumping him on the head. “I already asked you that Luffy! So that means I haven’t.”

“Oh! Why are you looking for him?”

“Because I haven’t seen him since…” she trailed off. Sweet heavens! Did she really fell into the Luffy loop where they’ll just keep asking each other, confusing each other and actually ending up with no clear answer?

Luffy was looking at her eagerly.

She exhaled loudly. “You know what; Sanji-kun is cooking something delicious in the kitchen for tomorrow.” Nami decided to just distract her ever gluttonous captain. “You might want to check it out.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially.

That perked the rubber man up. “Really?” His eyes went wide and Nami could swear she can see meat in them.

She nodded and just like that Luffy went bounding towards the galley, shouting meat at the top of his lungs.

There were a lot of cursing coming from the kitchen and something about ‘It’s way past dinnertime!’ and ‘That food is for tomorrow!’ and ‘Luffy you idiot captain!’. Then some sounds of scuffle and a few thuds here and there.

Nami just shrugged like it wasn’t her fault.

Sorry Sanji-kun! She internally apologized for distracting Luffy with their chef.

------------------------ “No one’s seen him since yesterday.”

“Huh?” This time it’s Nami’s turn to blink in surprise at the sudden information. She had just stepped inside the girl’s room after spending the rest of the night in the library working on one of her maps. It was almost midnight when she finally decided to get some rest and finish the other charts tomorrow.

The whole day passed and still the person she was looking for haven’t shown himself. Not during breakfast, lunch or even dinner that Sanji-kun was a bit peeved since ‘that stupid marimo is wasting food’—his exact words. Yet, the blond cook did not bother going up the nest to check on him. ‘That idiot is a grown man after all and the hell with him!’. He had grumbled while in the middle of dinner.

Robin was sitting on one of their comfy sofas; the round coffee table in front of her was filled with open books. She was poring over a thick history volume when Nami entered.

“What was that?” Nami prompted when Robin did not say anything after what she declared.

The raven-haired beauty lifted her head to regard Nami. She smiled. “Zoro. He hasn’t gone down the nest since yesterday.”

“Uhm… I wasn’t…” the navigator began.

Robin raised a curious eyebrow at her. “You’ve been asking around.”

Nami felt her face heat up at that. She was about to say she wasn’t. Besides she made sure to ask their crewmates randomly and one by one to appear surreptitious and not pique their curiosity so much on why she’s inquiring about their green-haired swordsman.

But the archaeologist was sneakier than her, for she had known exactly what Nami is up to.

So lying definitely won’t work. Robin knows everything and anything that goes in their ship with her convenient ability to produce her eyes and ears everywhere.

That or maybe Franky tipped her off after she asked him earlier. That speedo-wearing pervert!

“Why don’t you go up and check on him?” Robin spoke again as she flipped a page of her book.

Nami pouted as she plopped down her bed, crossing her arms over her chest. “Why does everybody keep telling me that?”

“Maybe because it’s the obvious thing to do instead of going around and asking everybody about him.” Robin threw her a small smile as her tone emphasized the word ‘everybody’. “Would’ve saved you the trouble.”

The orange-haired girl flinched slightly at that. Robin had caught her slip. Well, it’s not like she didn’t know already.

And did she really went around and asked everyone on the ship? She only questioned Usopp and Luffy… … and Sanji-kun and Chopper and Franky and Brook and Jinbei…

Her shoulders slumped at her realization. That’s the whole crew… almost.

Robin was looking at her expectantly. “We’re nearing a winter island right? Weather’s been too cold these last few days…”

Nami stared at her. “Yeah we are,” she agreed with a nod of her head. She considered what the older woman just said. “What? You mean he’s like hibernating or something?” Nami’s eyebrow lifted high at that, disappearing behind her orange bangs. “What is he? A bear?!”

Robin laughed softly before returning to her book. “With the weather this cold, he’d definitely prefer sleeping. Can’t blame him right?” She lifted her eyes again and looked at her pointedly. “He’s probably just catching up on sleep. After all he’s been pulling double shifts these last few days,” she tilted her head slightly, still gazing at Nami meaningfully. “Isn’t he?”

Nami winced. Zoro was indeed pulling double night-watch shifts lately. But no one knows that.

Except her and him.

And Robin… apparently.

She didn’t answer so as not to affirm what Robin was saying.

“Can’t be that comfortable on the nest’s floor.” Robin murmured, that certain smile never leaving her face even as she perused her book again.

Nami’s brows furrowed at that.

“How about a nice pillow and one of those wonderful blankets we got from Sherpa Island?” She suggested and multiple hands sprouted to open their closet door to pull one out, lightly throwing it at Nami.

“Eeeh?” Nami retorted even if she held out her arms to catch it. She gaped in surprise when Robin’s hands made a grab for her pillow and placed it in her arms.

“He’d probably sleep until he’s on watch again.” Robin smiled at her. “You can bring it up with you. I’m sure you’re going to go up there to finally check on him.”

“Robin!”

“Ara, aren’t you planning to do that?” Robin now has a cheeky smile on her face. “Or do you need me asleep before you sneak out?” She gave Nami a wink.

The map maker was speechless. How much does Robin knows???

“It wouldn’t hurt to make sure he gets a good rest right? After all it’s your shift he’s been covering.”

Nami blushed hard at that. Zoro was indeed covering her watch shifts. But only because HE said he WILL!

“For the record. He insisted.” Nami explained with frown as she bundled the blanket and pillow in her arms. “I did not force him to!” “Oh? Then that’s sweet of him to offer don’t you think?”

Nami blushed harder than she ever thought possible.

“He just… I just… He…” she stuttered before finally finding her ground.

“Why am I even explaining?!”

Robin looked at her knowingly, mischievously. “Why indeed?”

#zoro x nami #ZoNa #zonami #zonalove #zona fanfiction #zoro nami fanfiction #zona one-shot #ZoNaHoliday2023 #zona holiday prompts #roronoa zoro #nami

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deltaengineering · 4 months

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Fall Anime 2023: A Fallful of Fail

you will be shocked at what happens at the end

horse_ebooks S3

Umamusume S3 is bad. Not that that should be a surprise to anyone – the anime was never beyond decent and even then mostly just the price of admission to a galaxy of fanart. And looked at from the outside it is simply shaped liked itself: nothing more (or given the context, rather nothing less) than a fat and lazy gacha franchise advert.

The question is why S1 and S2 apparently were not when they were materially barely any different, and the answer to that is simple: S1 had the novelty and S2 apparently brought the best material Umamusume can realistically offer – which already wasn't that much. If you just want the quick take, S3 is very much like the boring first half of S2, and then just keeps rolling like that until episode 12. However, since it drops all the distractions and embellishments and just presents itself naked and at the most basic level, S3 works as exactly one thing: A case study why Umamusume was never good, will never be good, can never be good and is fundamentally just a bad idea.

It's a confluence of things that are each on their own questionable, but each of them boosts each other's shortcomings in such a profound way that it's hard to say what the "core issue" even is: It is obsessed with a "sport" that is so simple that all events are short and indistinguishable, and winning just comes down to whether you decide to go fast that day. It values gambling results from decades ago over having a structured story. It wants to pick protagonists that are popular, and horses are popular when they win. It needs to have a vast yet simplistic character roster where having two personality traits makes you Rice Shower, the deepest character in the franchise. It plays it so safe that there shall be no villains or even adversity – having injuries in S2 was apparently already too spicy so we just don't do that anymore. It despises continuity, which means that Gold Ship can get a random episode about ending her career and this making no difference whatsoever to her presence, which remains exactly the same as it has been since the first episode of season one. And yet, it thinks it can have all of these and tell a character-focused underdog sports story, because that's what you do when you hear "racing".

The end result of this is that we have a two-episode loop that is intensely centered on one unbelievably shallow protagonist with the personality of "everyone loves her", who constantly keeps winning unless she gets sad, and then people tell her she is popular to cheer her up, and then she wins again, and then we do this 5 times in a row, and this being framed as some epic triumph over adversity. And none of this is new, it's just really apparent when your protagonist is "Teio, but worse", your sidekick is "McQueen, but worse", and your supporting cast is "you liked these characters last season and they like Kita-chan, maybe you should too". Intellectually, it's astonishingly awful and yes, I'm mad.

But with high production values and a bunch of cute hors doing cute things, it's still nothing more (or given the context, rather nothing less) than a fat and lazy gacha franchise advert. Just don't ever consider turning on your brain while watching it because that shit hurts. 4/10

Tearmoon Empire

I'm probably only putting this one over Umamusume out of spite, because while Umamusume did pretty much everything wrong on a high level for interesting(?) reasons, Tearmoon is just a bottom-shelf product and that's the the long and short of it. To be fair, it starts out as a pretty good one of those, with a decent twist on the "I read the script" style of story that these always are, and watching trash princess Mia stumble around trying to save her head from getting lopped off with inexplicably positive results for everyone involved is a decent, if easy, laugh. This already doesn't ever reach its full potential, because it's ultimately bland and one-note and there's nothing else (apart from a very funny OP). Tearmoon was cursed by amateurish light novel writing from the start, but what really does it in is Volume One syndrome: That plot is resolved about two thirds in, and what follows is just staggeringly uninteresting political machinations in a thoroughly dull universe. The beginning was weak, yes, but it was followed up by stuff I could not possibly care any less about. In a way it's a positive that nothing comes together, because then the show's single biggest lategame misstep by far (guess what, nothing was Mia's fault after all!) would total the show's thematic core. If it had managed to establish it. Which it didn't. 4/10

Bullbuster

I'll give Bullbuster one thing: It at least feels like a show anyone wanted to make. And while "robots, but realistic and working class" is not a new angle, doing a mecha show through the lens of workplace laws and corporate policies instead of technology is a pretty good starting point. It's just that things went wrong when developing this into an actual story – something with this grounded a concept should not stumble around for weeks until it eventually ends up with the "twist" that the local Umbrella Corp experimental biotech plant is the source of these weird mutations, for example. The characters also just aren't strong enough to keep this weird mess of a plot together on their own either. It also notably has some of the worst monster CG in recent memory, and as an action show (something it isn't, to be clear) it would have been a laughable failure. This is not at all surprising coming from the Deca-Dence studio, but everyone somehow gave that show a pass while I don't think this one will be on anyone's hidden gem list in a hurry. In any case, "could have been good, but isn't" is all that really needs to be said about Bullbuster. Sometimes an anime isn't good for no other reason than simply lacking in quality. 5/10

16bit Sensation

I was always going to watch 16bit Sensation due to personal interest in the subject matter, and honestly the best I can say about it is that "it gets better". Not that that means much because it starts out badly, with just a bunch of uninspired 90s vndev references and anecdotes that the people who were there probably find very relatable. That said, the show notably improves once it starts going down some weirder parallel timelines & moefag aliens paths – but it has so far to go that that really isn't enough either. Unlike its simpatico Animegataris, 16bit Sensation doesn't go to really weird places and also completely lacks bite because eventually it just wants to be like, about the power of creativity, maaaan, which drives it more into "Eizouken without the production value" territory, and logically very little of it makes sense. Admittedly it doesn't strictly have to, but it's not very funny or insightful either. In any case, the real loadbearing part of this show is the character of Konoha anyway, and she's a mixed bag. Her goofiness is endearing, but it's also hard to deny that her character mostly consists of Aoi Koga's voice performance, and that is in turn mostly just consists of "the wacky bits from Kaguya-sama but extra hard and all the time". It's certainly something, but whether it's a selling point is a deeply personal decision for every viewer. Unlike the undisputably crappy opening song performance by Shokotan of all people, what the hell. 5/10

Under Ninja

Under Ninja has one thing going for it, and that is that it's unlike anything else (well, I hear that all the other mangas by this author are exactly like it, but in animated from at least). It's a weird mess of an absurd Metal Gear plot presented with all the ambiance of a 4chan greentext story, which gives it an unusually deadpan sense of humor similar to something like Burn After Reading. If nothing else, it's an experience... but I still don't like it very much. For starters, this show looks like absolute butt, and only half of that can be attributed to intentionally grimy stylistic suck. No-budget James Bond might be a joke, but at the end of the day you still have to watch it, and there is far too much action in the show for it to look this crappy. Characterwise, it starts with exploring the more sympathetic sides of unlikeable losers, towards the end it just keeps spamming more unlikeable losers because... funny? Also, the story is wilfully obtuse but appears to take itself increasingly seriously as it goes on, which makes it eventually cross over from "shaggy dog" to outright "just a prank bro". Now, I will say that this is more than just random nonsense. I think that it does try to say something about Japanese society – I'm just not sure what that actually is. Instead the intense cynicism gets the better of the the show and it just disappears up its own ass, and I don't think that is particularly hilarious. 5/10

Otona Precure

I can't hate Otona Precure. It's just exactly what it says on the tin, a basic-ass Precure show with mildly adult topics while everything else remains as generic as it it gets, production included. This was never going to be extraordinary or subversive (and if it attempted that, it would probably have gone badly), so I'll just take things like razor thin characters, baby-level takes on environmentalism and egregious reuse of 20 year old stock footage as a charming part of the package. In fact, if it was less rudimentary it would not be watchable for someone like me who doesn't care to explore the 100+ episodes of old assembly line magical girl anime that this ostensibly a sequel to – I get it just fine from context clues, thank you very much. It's very much a slim novelty, but enough of a novelty that it can just about sustain 12 episodes and that is it. 6/10

Overtake!

Overtake is, to put it simply, thoroughly competent, as expected from Ei Aoki – a small-scale, vaguely bromantic character drama with a moderately novel setting that can take full advantage of its traditional underdog sports story trappings. It certainly won't blow anyone's socks off but compared to all the questionable jank above it does feel like a breath of fresh air when something just works, and I really can't stress this enough – I did not particularly care about Overtake and its characters at first but godammit if it didn't put in the work and skill to make me care. The characters are fleshed out and fun, the plot is well paced and goes to some less predictable places, and it looks really appealing without coming across as living above its means. I had a genuinely good time all the way through but ultimately wasn't invested enough to consider it a classic, and that's fine. It's an "exceptional midcard" type of show, and I wish there was more of this tier between the cheap trash and the ultra-premium crowdpleaser.

And I cannot keep myself from saying this, but this tangentially-about-racing character drama just so happens to utterly clown on Umamusume in regards to making racing exciting, without even trying very hard (Redline it is not), via groundbreaking additions such as left turns and actual strategy. And that is before it's actually a good show with characters and a story worth caring about. Imagine that. 7/10

but consider the following:

In all honesty, this was a pretty good season and almost all the reasons for that are not on the above list. Yes, the premium material on top of the rankings did actually deliver hard this season, which is to say that both Frieren and Apothecary Diaries would be easy AOTY contenders had I not learned my lesson regarding continuing shows with Ranking of Kings. Both were great but face some rough road ahead – Frieren is heading into a Shounen Exam Arc™ while Apothecary Diaries is starting to show signs of classic shoujo romance pitfalls, so I'll hope for the best and give them their due once they end. And there's also Undead Unluck, which is simply the Fire Force that Weekly Jump has at home, and by that I mean that it's two thirds delightfully unhinged psychedelia and one third Jump brand "I should really drop this" pablum, a ratio that is highly unlikely to improve. Besides that, I'm quite a ways into Pluto but haven't finished it yet because it is indeed Naoki Urasawa's Award-Winning Masterpiece Pluto – expertly made and decently meaningful but also bloated with self-importance past the point of flatulence. We'll see.

#anime #review #fall2023 #uma musume #tearmoon empire #bullbuster #16bit sensation #under ninja #otona precure #overtake

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bastillewolf · 4 years

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Shinigami Eyes (II)

Pairing: Corpse Husband / Reader

Summary: After you distastefully kill Corpse in a game of Among Us, he wants you to make it up to him and invites you to come over for the week.

Notes: Thank you so much for the love on the previous chapter, I’ve never gotten this many notes before. I hope you enjoy, and maybe leave an ask if you want to? I can’t promise I have time to do them, but I’ll pick out a couple.

Also, I might rewrite this. I kinda rushed it because I wanted to finish it by tonight, but there will be a final and third chapter to this afterwards. Please do let me know what you think.

Tag list CLOSED!

Shinigami Eyes - Pt. II

5… 4… 3… 2… 1…

Impostor

You were teamed up with Sean.

Your fist violently slammed down on the desk. “Goddammit! I don’t want to be impostor anymore! This game has no compassion for my poor nerves.” It was the third time in a row now, and you were really craving to do normal tasks now without all the scheming. “Fuck it, I don’t care if they kill me. I’m just gonna do my thing without thinking about it.”

You decide to follow Toast for a bit to watch him do some task. You kill him in Laboratory. You vent back to Launchpad and take your time walking towards MedBay while the kill button restores. You meet up with Corpse, and follow him while pretending to do wires in the Y-hallway. You watched the green bar go up, and continued. Sabotaging and then fixing lights, you made sure your place with Corpse was settled. Then the body of Lily was reported.

As you expected, Corpse easily vouched for you as he’d seen you do a task. The round was skipped, though Rae was sussed for ‘chasing’ Sean, by his own words.

“Corpse, you’ve grown weak,” you muttered to chat.

You were in Greenhouse, and decided it would be best to kill him there and sabotage Reactor. “Sorry baby, but I can’t keep following you around.” You quickly set off Reactor and murdered him in front of the plants. “Your blood shall keep the plants hydrated.” You did an evil laugh. “Pretty sure that’s not how it works, though.”

You vented down to MedBay and as you walked out you met up with Rae. She’d be the vouch who would confirm you weren’t anywhere near Greenhouse. “I’ll just have to fix my own sabotage so they’ll never suspect me.” You helped her with the handprint, and noted Sykkuno and Felix being there. Sean sabotaged lights, you killed Sykkuno, and ran out to follow Lily into Laboratory. Felix reported the body.

“Holy shit,” Rae gasped. So far, five people had died. You only needed to kill one more person. “It was Felix!”

“Wait, what?” the man in question asked. “I was fixing Reactor!”

She mentioned that only you, Sykkuno, Felix and herself had been there and that you’d helped her do handprint. “Sykkuno must have fixed it, and then you killed him!”

Sean asked if you’d seen anything.

“No, the lights were out. I followed Rae into Laboratory after the scan.” Your voice didn’t tremble or raise, a tactic you’d taken up from the best lair in the group. Well, the one who was now dead. Oops. “I haven’t seen Felix this entire game, though.”

He was evidently at a loss for words, so the group was quick to vote for him.

Pewds was ejected.

Victory.

You thanked Sean for a good game who was laughing his ass off. “I can’t believe you did Corpse like that! Poor guy!”

“I deadass thought you were innocent,” Corpse replied, “I’m hurt.”

“Why do you still sound dark and menacing when you say something like that?!”

You agreed with Sean heartily, “He’s just salty I’ve bested him at his own game.”

“Hey now, no need to actually insult me.”

The group laughed. You decided to call it for the night, right before Corpse did the same.”

***

He was calling you again. “What is it this time, you salty?”

“Salty? Nah, never,” he said, but you weren’t convinced.

“Then why you calling?”

“What, I can’t call my friends after playing a nice round of Among Us?”

“Not when you lost the game and you call the person who you lost to. Kinda sus, dude.”

“Alright, maybe a little salty.” You smirked.

“Aw, you need me to make it up to you?”

He laughed. “What did you have in mind?”

A bunch of thoughts, most not rated PG-13, crossed your mind. You were suddenly starting to feel uncomfortable. This was probably just something innocent, which got twisted in your fucked-up mind. You shrugged, “Uh… I don’t know.”

“I got an idea.”

“What is it?”

“Come over this week. You said you needed a break, right?”

“That sounds more like you’re doing me a favour instead of me making it up to you.”

“I don’t have any friends. You’d be making it up to me by being the first physical person here in years. I usually don’t invite people over.”

“Wow, I’m flattered. So, you don’t consider me to be your friend after all?”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” he chuckled.

“Sure, sure. Tell me that again when my presence suddenly brightens your life making you not want to get rid of me, ever.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

***

You walk through the gates following a hoard of people, all the while still feeling drowsy from not getting any sleep during your flight. At least you didn’t have any turbulence and landed safely. Glancing around here and there with no result, you figured Corpse would be waiting outside, until you spotted a figure clad in black a little ends away by the escalator. You were glad you were still awake enough to have found him, because he appeared to silently linger halfway behind a fern.

At least, you hoped it was him. The only indications were his clothes, mask and dark hair. You saw him run a hand through it, and identified the chipped black nail polish and familiar rings. Oh yea, that was him alright.

He seemed to be paying more attention to the floor until he saw two feet appear in his line of sight. “Hey,” you awkwardly greeted. A bit taken a back, he replied, “Oh, wow. Hey.” A mask was covering the bottom of his face, but as far as you could see his eyes were a very dark shade.

“Wow?” you repeated. He chuckled, scratching the back of his head. “Yea, sorry. It’s a compliment.” You held your elbow out in a safe-distance gestured hello, but he shrugged you off. “You’re gonna be staying with me anyways.” Suddenly in a daze, you felt him wrap his arms around your waist and instantly hugged him back. His baggy sweater felt warm and soft to the touch, and strands of hair tickled your face. You very much tried to repress your smile and blush, but how could you? Hugging someone wasn’t supposed to feel this good. When he pulled back he reached down to take your suitcase from you. “I don’t own a car, is it okay if we take a cab?”

“Y-Yeah, of course,” you stuttered, “But it’s on me. Same with food and stuff.” “Don’t worry about it,” he chuckled. “No, you’re letting me stay with you and a hotel would’ve been a lot more expensive than this. It’s my treat.” “Yeah, we’ll see.” He gave you a look and even with the mask you could tell he was smirking underneath it.

It’s about half an hour drive to his apartment complex, and it’s rather nice. “All that YouTube money paying off, huh?” you asked in amusement. “You’d know,” he replied. You insisted on carrying your suitcase up the stairs yourself, which he silently shook his head at, until after a few flights he noticed you struggling and settled on carrying the thing in between the two of you. “How many clothes did you bring?” “Oh, it’s mostly filled with bricks I might need to throw at your head.” He laughed at that.

His apartment was simple, but cosy. “Home sweet home,” he said, almost sarcastically. You furrowed your brow at him. “I’m sure you could’ve had it a lot worse.” He reluctantly agreed.

He helped you set down your luggage in what appeared to be his bedroom, where the curtains were still closed and the black bedsheets fresh. He had a few pieces of fanart up on his wall, and some on his closet. You turned to him and gave him a look. “You’re not sleeping on the couch.”

He quickly shook his head, “You’re not sleeping there. If you won’t let me sleep on the couch I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“If you’re sleeping on the floor, I’m sleeping on the floor.”

“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” he murmured. “What?” “Nothing.”

He suggested playing video games as you were both too tired to do anything else. You’d landed quite late yet were still confused about what time it actually was. Flying is weird. You hopped onto his couch and grabbed a controller.

He sat down next to you, but suddenly seemed tenser than before.

“You okay? You can just go to sleep if you want to.”

He shook his head, “Nah, I don’t sleep a lot. It’s fine.”

You didn’t stop looking at him, though. He was still wearing that mask. “You don’t have to take it off, if you don’t want to. I understand if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“It’s not that, I just…” He took a deep breath. You hadn’t expected him to take it off then and there. You stared at him, your mouth slightly agape, controller barely held by your numb hands.

“Disappointed?”

It was as if he was expecting you to make a face or something, but you didn’t give him anything, except for a blatant “Nope” and an “Are we gonna play now or what?”

“You don’t have anything else to say?”

You shrugged, and looked him up and down again. “You’re kind of what I imagined you to be.”

“What’s that?”

“Handsome.”

Neither of you could stop smiling for the rest of the night.

You eventually forced him to sleep in his own bed, even going as far as to shove him into the room and keep your weight against the door so he couldn’t get out, so he eventually relented. “Inviting you here was a mistake.” “How come? All I’ve done so far is look after you!” “You’re a nightmare.”

You mostly stayed in for the week, which you didn’t mind at all. Being in such a closed-off environment with someone you got along with was nice. He attempted to get you to lift the weights in his room and succeeded for around fifteen minutes until you nearly dropped a dumbbell on your foot. You ordered take-out from his favourite restaurant, watched horror movies until you adapted to his sleeping schedule because you were too scared to close your eyes now, and even streamed a bit together with your friends.

“Wait, is Corpse with you?” Rae had asked.

“No, I’m at Corpse’s. He’s sitting across from me so I can’t see his screen but we’re gonna have to share the Discord unless you want to hear an echo.”

“Ah, man! You got to see his face, too?” Sykkuno whined.

“Stop simping, Sykkuno. You get enough attention from him already.”

“Don’t worry, I still love you,” Corpse said.

“Huh?”

It was probably a good thing that you got teamed up again, because you could indeed start to see his hands shaking right as the word ‘impostor’ appeared on the screen. You reached over and stroked it with your thumb. He smiled gratefully back at you.

“Just please,” he pleaded later that day, “Sleep in the bed. If only for one night.”

“No. I’ve heard about and now seen your sleeping habits. If you take the couch you’re never going to get any sleep.” You made a real effort to show him how comfortable you were – even though your back had started to hurt already after the first night – by crawling underneath your blanket and rubbing your head into the soft pillow. He snorted.

Next thing, you feel yourself being lifted by an arm underneath your knees and one around your back. “Corpse! Put me the fuck down!” you shrieked. You knew he lifted weights, but how the hell did he still have the energy as an insomniac? He ungracefully dropped you onto the matrass and turned the lights off. “Good night.”

You quickly got hold of the back of his hoodie before he could leave and pulled. He fell down next to you with a low huff. “Fine, I’ll sleep in the bed. But only if you sleep here too.”

“I snore.”

“Don’t care.”

For some reason, there wasn’t any tension or awkwardness. You were comfortable, and the soft rhythm of his breathing seemed to soothe you. He called out your name, to see if you were still awake.

“Hm?”

“…Thanks for coming over.”

“Any time.”

This was how you would spend the rest of the nights, and whenever either of you woke up suddenly curled up around the other, you didn’t mention it or move away from it. It was the first time in years Corpse got a few nights of complete rest.

#corpse husband #Corpse #corpse husband x reader #corpse x reader #youtube #youtube fanfiction #pewdiepie #jacksepticeye

5K notes · View notes

burnedbyshoto · 4 years

Text

hawks_littledove.mp3

— You’re an avid listener to NSFW ASMR artist Hawks. It’s just your luck that he’s offered to have phone sex with you.

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pairing: takami keigo (hawks) x fem!reader

warnings: smut, 18+, slight abuse of power/influence, phone sex, masturbation, degradation, praise, nsfw asmr artist!hawks

word count: 5,018

a/n: my keyboard is broken and i could actually cry. but hey, hawks do be sexy even tho I would never trust him with my life. also LOL this might be a call out to a lot of us, do not be offended or I will cry.

kinktober day 14 main kink: phone sex | kinktober masterlist

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Fantasizing about being in relationships with fictional characters was entirely healthy and normal.

That was something you believed to the core. It was fictional; thus, no one but you were to be hurt at the end of the day. The character, being fake, could never have an opinion because you must be real in order to have an opinion. So when you were between boyfriends, you discovered a new anime, and before you could stop yourself, you fell hard for a character.

It started as a mild obsession.

You had looked up fanart via google images, your heart warming when you saw the plethora of different fanart. The anime itself had been in circulation for a few years now, the manga for much longer, so the content was endless. Then google images wasn’t enough, and you began crossing into Twitter and Tumblr.

The fanart became better, more engrossing, and definitely much more NSFW. And then, one night during your endless rabbit hole down Tumblr after your daily search on Twitter, you stilled when seeing a new type of content.

⇒ grey fullbuster x reader

The obsession grew worse.

So much so that you had followed nearly five hundred self insert writers and artists on Tumblr, and maybe seven hundred artists, meta writers, and thread makers on twitter. But three months into consuming all the content you could find, you came across a new name that made you tilt your head.

Hawks Fierce Wings

It was a name that was being repeated and heavily talked about on both sites. It was an ASMR artist, apparently, and you frowned at the thought. You didn’t have anything against ASMR videos, but you weren’t exactly sure how to handle an anime ASMR artist. Were they cosplaying while making all those weird ASMR sounds? You really didn’t have any idea, but due to the immense boredom of your lazy day in, you decided to hell with it and tried out his most popular video.

It was simply entitled: Hawks is Jealous.

Did you have any idea as to who Hawks was? God, no, you didn’t. But if it was just some random cosplay he was going to do, you didn’t think it was going to matter. So as the only slightly educated ASMR listener, you never truly became invested when it was a thing; you slipped on your earbuds and pressed play.

The introduction screen faded into an illustrated picture of a slightly handsome man, and some calming yet tense music played in the background. You shifted, eyebrows drew as you waited for the ASMR session to begin, and when it did, you were not ready.

“I saw you walking around with that asshole today,” a voice practically growled in your ear, and you froze.

Oh, no.

Oh, no!

For almost an entire hour, you sat glued to your sofa, your fingers digging into your lap as the jealous, spiteful words of this man named Hawks poured bitterly in your ear. His words were a near aggravated assault on you and definitely something you were beyond uncomfortable hearing from a stranger, but there was something about his voice that kept you there. Maybe it was the tenor of his tone or the way there was this sly, cunning scent to his words that he seemed to hide deep within his throat, but there was something that kept you there.

The second the passionate, heated kissing noises and heavy moans began to spill from his lips, you screeched, slamming your laptop closed as your cheeks pounded heavily.

Oh my god?!

It took a bit, but eventually, you were able to finish the audio and quickly figured out why he was an NSFW artist. You had never, ever heard a man eat a pussy fake or real as eagerly or vigorously as he did. Your hands were gripping the pants of your leggings, and your chest heaved.

Oh, motherfucking shit.

Finding out there were almost seventy other videos for you to still experience sent you scrambling for more, and eventually, you had to confess you were obsessed. Despite the anime fandoms you had discovered him for, Hawks seemed to be more famous for the content he created as himself. His real name was unknown by the looks of it, and he was only addressed as Hawks by his audience, something you caught on to quickly. So only after creating a new profile for his Youtube account, you made quick work of liking and commenting on every single of his already published seventy-eight nearly one hour and thirty-minute videos.

Each one was different.

Each one filled with various roadmaps on how Hawks' scenarios would play out for you — the listener. When he used his own persona, he called the listener his little dove or his chicken nugget, sometimes his KFC thigh, or his shish kabob.

You were glad at the very least he didn’t call you by any of those nicknames when pretending to fuck you at a speed only a “porn-is-my-only-education-on-porn” virgin teenage boy. You knew it wasn’t ideal, usually, but for some reason, it just worked. You commented on everything, read his summaries and thoughts on each video. Eventually, when you found yourself on his final, most recent video, you were ready to go a step further.

The Patreon app on your phone seemed jarringly out of place as you opened the app and subscribed yourself to Hawks' highest tiered option for the price of twenty USD.

And when you got your access to his page, you were immersed in more heavier, better content.

It was a goldmine in a sea of fools gold, and you absolutely went insane.

You weren’t sure if you were insane, needy, or just straight-up idiotic for scrolling to the very first Patreon post and indulging in the content Hawks created.

There was a stark difference between the warnings alone between the Youtube videos and the Patreon posts. While the porn was readily accessible on Youtube, the kinkiest thing that ever happened in a video was a slight implication that Hawks had left the listener on a vibrator and fuckmachine as he went to go talk to the visiting neighbors.

It was a slight, tiny zone out and miss a detail, but one you had clung onto like an obsessed psycho and even commented on in your comment on the post. Of course, Hawks hadn’t responded, not that you had ever expected him to because all things considered, a video that was eight months old and hadn’t done that well, to begin with, didn’t seem like anything he would remember: notifications and all.

But Patreon? Oh good, sweet, ravishing Patreon.

The very first video was of the following:

Stepbrother!Hawks fucks Stepsister!Listener in the stairwell during Christmas Dinner.

After praying and swearing to all the deities of the world that you were merely a person with a voice kink for this man and not, in fact, a perverted pseudo-incest worshiper, you clicked on it and began. It was downright sinful.

There were active voices whispered in the background as Hawks laughed about how fucking slutty you were for letting your brother fuck you like this. In the hallway, like a dog, where anyone in your joint family could walk out into. He laughed that you probably wanted it, how your wet ass pussy was greedily sucking him in, so how could you even begin to deny your lust for your brother.

You had to take a break five times during that audio.

Eventually, you do end up catching up.

Each video he had ever posted to your disposal, and most likely due to the different tier levels, you always commented on the videos. Even if it made you feel awkward for lusting over things months old, even if there were no other comments on the videos, which was much more common than you thought, you always commented and liked. It wasn’t anything ever crazy, you had seen the rarest comments bring a whole essay of analysis on why they loved it or the hating words, but you kept it simple.

Just something to keep Hawks spirits high without draining you even further of energy.

A simple: holy shit, that was hot as fucking hell!!!! you never disappoint me!!!

You never expected anything out of it; as a matter of fact, you had merely thought that you were doing the least by merely appreciating his creations when, one night, a few hours after you had gotten home. Your phone chimed with an alert.

Your mouth formed an ‘o’ in surprise; you hadn’t realized there was going to be a new release after he had just updated four days ago. Still, you popped in your earbuds and began the audio with a simple title.

i fuk ur stupid lil pus until u cri

He wasn’t precisely putting much effort into his titles these days, but his tags were definitely accurate and entirely explicit in what was to come. And in this newest video, the prominent tag was degradation.

You weren’t entirely into degradation, but still, you did what you had to do because you weren’t turned off by it. With the beginning sounds of the music playing in the background, you warped into the situation Hawks carefully carved.

But, oh?

Your face simmered with heat as Hawks dirty words dripped from the earbuds, the wet, squelching noise of your cunt and throat being fucked like some inanimate object made you soak through your panties as his disparaging words burned against your spine like a hot brand. After the thirty-minute audio was finished. Your body trembling with the aftershocks of an orgasm that had come despite the lack of actual stimulation of your clit, and you panted on your bed.

Opening your phone once again, you quickly liked the new audio and typed out your comment.

listen, i know i always comment about how fucking hot this shit is, but i have /never/ fucking soaked through my panties… you just did that and i expect a full refund for these panties 💦

You pressed send and, without so much of a second thought, continued your night. You had dinner, talked with friends, and ended the night curled back on the couch with a wine glass in your hand and a simple sit-com playing on the TV. The familiar sound of the Patreon alert rang in your ear, and you frowned, confused.

Grabbing your phone, you opened up the device and nearly shrieked at the sight of the information the notification that said:

Hawks F.W.: lets see those panties before i refund anything

A chill ran down your spine as you quickly put together the indications of this message, and you smirked, despite your quivering hands.

Me: I have a seven inch dick requirement before seeing any of the goods — yes, that includes my panties

And from that very moment, you began a strange arrangement between you and the NSFW ASMR artist Hawks.

Working was the worst part of your life, you would say.

At work, you would sit in your small 4x4 cubicle, your shelves stacked with plenty of papers and items you needed, not to mention the computer that took up the majority of your desk. You weren’t quite sure what your job here was, you sort of sat at your desk and did meaningless assignments when assigned, but you did nothing for the most part.

Before becoming an active Hawks stan, you would spend your time doing nothing playing video games. You had somehow managed to install a VPN onto your hard drive so that your employers wouldn’t be able to see what was on your screen outside of the home screen. They couldn’t trace what you did all day, but they could care less, given you got all your work completed on time and done in an over exceptional way.

But lately, since you had dropped into this… engrossed whore like relationship with Hawks, things changed.

To be honest, it still shocks you to no end when he tells you that he had always been aware of you. Well, with your consistent, ever appearing comments on his posts and overall enthusiasm for everything he posted, it was hard to not be aware. The mental image of your soaked through panties after a long day at his own work had sent him over the edge, and he finally messaged you.

Through the DM’s in Patreon, the two of you grew to become quite the friends with benefits. He would send you countless personalized audio files because you had quickly confessed to your voice kink and how his voice sent your stomach into hormonal knots. In return, you’d send the picture of an occasional soaked panty, and if he was lucky, an audio clip of your pathetic whines back to his audios.

You couldn’t complain about this arrangement.

But as the number of his patrons doubled, and he wanted to entice his subscribers with paying him even more money, Hawks began to offer a bimonthly personalized five minute audios for his $20 tier. The fans poured into that spot, and Hawks and proudly sent you the new number of adoring fans he was getting. On account of growing platforms such as Tiktok, the number of new listeners he got was nearly exponential, as he currently passed one million followers last week.

The cheeky bastard was also making enough money to stop working his regular work hours anymore. Choosing to transition slowly into his Patreon career while recording.

Hawks, however, seemed to have other ideas for your eventual personalized voice audio.

Hawks had simply asked if, by any chance, you were going to be working tomorrow the night before. Groaning loudly in recognition of your work schedule, you had texted him back that you were going to be working. Snidely including the fact that you weren’t rich like him, you needed the tedious old nine to five job.

Hawks: how utterly boring anyway u can b free around 2?

Me: Eh… probably not. Busy girl w busy schedule, ill be back from lunch so no break Why?

Hawks: well, u knw tht uve been amzing & th bst follower so i wanted 2 give u smthing better then the personalized audio

Me: Oh? Well, what is it?’

Hawks: pick up tmrw n find out

He had changed the subject immediately afterward by dodging all of your questions with ease. So you dropped it, and the two of you resumed a night of flirting. But now, sitting in your small cubicle, your eyes flashing to the clock that read 1:57 p.m., sweat began to build on your palm.

You peered down to your phone as you waited for something, anything from Hawks to show up. The fucker was too cheeky, evasive, and quick for his own good. You felt like pouting as you glared at the phone, waiting for the screen to light up.

And you stilled when finally, at precisely 1:59 p.m., your phone gleamed with light. You couldn’t abandon your computer mouse quicker than you did as you grabbed your phone, unlocking it, and reading the message from Hawks.

Hawks: do u have earbuds?

Me: Yes?

Hawks: good put them on n pick up

The moment you had read the first message, you were already pulling out your earbuds, synching them up to your phone, and placing them into your ear. But your jaw dropped when, for the first time, the call feature highlighted onto the screen, the time immediately changing to that of 2:00 p.m. The decline or accept button had never looked as daunting as it did right now.

Despite the call trying to go through, you still saw his follow up.

Hawks: if u dont pick up u wont get shit

[Accept]

You felt your heart hammering in your chest as both fear, apprehension, and excitement boiled through your veins, the hammering blood pounding in your ears as you waited for some sort of noise on the opposite side of the line.

“Little dove?” Hawks' voices filled your ears, and despite yourself, you smiled softly. The naturalness of his voice sends warm thumps down your spine.

“Hi, Hawks,” you whisper breathlessly, your head already checking to make sure your neighboring cubicle mates didn’t try to look over the divisions to stare at you. For the most part, the office building was quiet except for the phone calls, the clanking of computer keys, and the monotonous music playing softly on the speaker's head.

“Whatcha doing?” he drawled, and you felt your skin heat up when you heard the all too familiar sound of his shoes hitting the top of his desk, the soft whine of his chair as he leaned back onto it. “Are you really at work?”

“What do you mean, am I really at work?” you squeaked, half horrified at the way the lazy, warm heat of lust was infiltrating your body at the sound of his voice, and the annoyance that he thought you had been lying? “Of course I am; it’s two p.m. on a Wednesday!”

“Ah, so little dove-chan is a raging pervert who engages in phone sex to bypass her long hours at work?” Hawks sighed his tone that of understanding and dismissal. You splutter. “You never fail to surprise me.”

“I do not do… that!” you stammer, your face feeling like hot cinders, your fingers and eyes double-checking to make sure that the audio was going to your earbuds and your earbuds only. You also couldn’t help the way your eyes swept around you, trying to make sure you hadn’t accidentally invited unwanted attention. “I said I was busy!”

“But, you picked up my call?”

“You said, or else!”

“Mmm, okay, I think I see,” Hawks tutted, and although you had never seen what you supposed to be his handsome face, you could imagine a lazy, toothy smirk on his face. “Don’t worry, I don’t mind using your little cubicle to talk you into fucking yourself good for me.”

Your jaw drops.

It hits the desk, and the muffled shriek of utter humiliation is only silenced because you bit onto your tongue like a rabid animal.

“Aw, you sound so excited for me already, little dove. I bet you want to know what I’m going to do to you, don’t you? I just know that I’m going to make you feel so... good…”

“Hawks!” you plea in a hushed whisper, your heart hammering where you sat frozen like a deer in headlights. Sure, you had definitely played his audios before to pass the time, but never before in your existence had you had actual phone sex. This was riskier than just listening to his audios; his audios always had a pattern, a way to escape from the madness of his voice when people were closer than you’d like. But this? No, there was no escape. “I’m at work! I c-can’t!”

“But, fuck, I want you so bad,” Hawks' voice dipped into a gravely tone, his voice just perfectly scratchy enough that your shoulders trembled in unspoken, untouched want. “I want to feel your cunt around my cock, baby, your pussy is so hot and I want to be the fucking lucky bastard that gets to fuck you through your bed.”

“O-Oh my god…”

“I’ve been thinking of what your tits look like,” Hawks continues on, his voice continuing in the style you liked the most. It was raw, heavy, and deep. No character impersonations, just him, pure Hawks. “I hope they bounce the way they do when I imagine you riding me. I want to see you moan when I kiss the underside of your tit, I want to see your face when you realize that you’re my girl, nobody's else's, but mine.”

Heat floods your panties at his words, your shallow breaths making him chuckle on the other end.

“You’d be so lucky to be just mine, wouldn’t you, little dove?” Hawks snaps, his voice demanding a response, and you heave.

You look around, no one is near, and you croak out: “I’d be so lucky.”

“Louder.”

“I’d be so lucky.”

“Mm, there we go,” Hawks laughs, and your ears prickle for any noise that may indicate that someone was listening in. “What? Are you getting nervous that your needy ass will be heard by your coworkers right now? Answer me.”

“Mhmm,” you hum loudly, your cunt pulsing with more incredible heat and your hands shaking with a slight fear of being caught.

“Aww, don’t worry, little dove. I’m sure your boss will understand that you’re my newest fucktoy and will let me continue. Maybe they’ll want to join in?”

You whimper softly, shifting in your seat at that thought. You didn’t really want your boss coming anywhere near you, he was old and gross for one, and nothing could take the place of this beautiful man's voice in your ear right now.

“Oh, was that a no? You don’t want other people fucking you, do you, y/n? I bet you only want to have my cock in your tight little pussy, bet you want to watch the way that greedy little thing sucks me in, begging for my seed. Would you want me to cum deep inside you? You would like that little dove; you’d like to be full of my cum.”

“H-Hawks,” you keen as quietly as you can, your hips shifting uncomfortably in your seat, your heart hammering in your throat. The pressing heat in your cunt is growing, your panties growing with wet slick as Hawks' voice whispers down your ear, filling every empty and void space in your brain until you were having trouble focusing on the very much public spot you were in.

Hawks let out a soft, guttural moan, and you froze, face entirely combusting into an inferno as the familiar slick slapping of his fapping cock filled your ear. Immediately, you forgot everything.

“A-Are you—?!” you splutter, unable to find the words or the energy to come up with a way to ask if he was masturbating right now. Your eyes spun, your mind in a complete haze as soft, raunchy moans spilled from his lips, striking against your nerves and soul with each successive sound.

“I’m only trying to help you out here, dove,” Hawks growled, undoubtedly in effect to a rather loud smack of his fist colliding with his thrusting hip. “You’re the little office slut who picked up a phone call to entice in phone sex. I bet you knew exactly what I was going to do, and your pathetic, needy whore self caved to my instructions.”

Your fingers curled into the armrest of your chair.

“I bet this makes your boring ass job tolerable, the perfect distraction to a shit job, then imagining a few minutes of fucking yourself against my hard cock.”

“That’s not true!”

“No?” Hawks laughed, not believing you any more than you did. “So you wouldn’t hate it if I showed up and fucked you into the wall of your cubicle? You wouldn’t mind if I claimed your sweet-smelling pussy against your desk for everyone to hear? I know you can scream like a bitch in heat. I know that pretty little cunt of yours would milk my cock dry. Oh, I just know you would look so fucking sexy with your back arched, eyes closed, and you begging for hours just to cum. You wouldn’t cum without my permission, right?”

You gasped, heart fluttering, hammering in your chest as you shook your head, not trusting yourself to speak.

“I need a verbal answer, little dove.”

The heat in your core was blistering, your thighs shaking with your unadulterated lust and need as you ground into the cushion of your chair. All logic and moral long gone as he snarled and moaned your name in your ear, the slick of his fapping cock echoing like a great bell in your ear. You wanted to hear him cum, wanted to listen to the pithering sound of his echoing moans as he spilled the contents of his balls onto his hand — and how you wished it was your womb.

“I won’t cum w-without your permission!” you whispered, your skin shivering with your fear of being caught.

“God, you sound like such a dirty fucking bitch. I bet your pussy is fucking soaked already. Bet you really want to run that slutty embarrassed finger against your clit but don’t want to be caught by your perverted coworkers,” Hawks hissed, his breaths turning into steady, heavy hot pants. You mewl softly, confirming his spoken thoughts, and he huffs out a laugh. “How many fingers do you normally shove up that pretty cunt of yours, little dove?”

“T-Three!” you gasp, your forehead pressing to the cool of your desk, your eyes glazed over and looking at the entrance of your cubicle, fervently wishing that no one tries to check on you as you grind against your stable chair. “O-Only three fit.”

“Fuck, you really do have a tight cunt, don’t you,” Hawks snaps, the wet sounds of his fisting hand around his cock a beautiful melody in your ear that makes you whine at the back of your throat. “Bet you can’t even fit cocks up your cunt without lube, huh. You gotta stay on top, or else you’ll get hurt with how thick and long my cock will be up that baby pussy of yours.”

“H-Hawks!” you grit out, the friction of grinding on the seat no longer working.

“Go to the bathroom, now,” Hawks commands, the small gasps on his voice from his approaching orgasm more than enough ammo for you to do as told.

You sprint to the bathroom, the slick of your cunt hot, and evident to you as you sped to the bathroom. Your phone clenched in your hand as you locked the door behind you, glad the room was empty. Barely managing to get yourself into the stall, the toilet paper placed on the seat as you raised your legs up, already prepared. The skirt you wore was bunched above your ass, and the panties you wore, stretching out around your knees.

“Sounds like you’re ready to start fucking that pussy for me,” Hawks laughs, but there's no humor, just bite. “Put in three fingers, now.”

Without even arguing or caring, three fingers slip into your cunt, and you cry at the feeling of your fingers completely stretching you out. The smell of sex and slick filling your nose as your fingers slick up, fucking your tight cunt as you moan louder and louder for Hawks.

“God, your fucking pussy is so fucking wet, I can hear it from here!” Hawks moans, the frantic sound of his drilling hips gaining speed and momentum.

“I want it to be you!” you moan, your face burning in your humiliation. “I want it to be you fucking my pussy, claiming me in this bathroom. I need you, Hawks, I want your cock so badly!”

“Fuck,” Hawks gasps, something tumbling in the background. “Such sweet words for a fucking dirty ass cumslut,” he growls, and your legs shake, your clit and cunt thrumming with your increasing arousal and pit of tightness in your core.

“HAWKS, FUCK!” you sob as your hips try to start a merciless speed against your fingers, your body trying to match the speed in which Hawks was fucking his own hand.

“Keep screaming my name, whore.” Hawks gasps, his noises of pleasure beginning to grow louder and louder, your eyes crossing in satisfaction. “Screaming my name like the fucking slutty mess you are. All this shit just to get me to fuck you? God, you’re so fucking pathetic y/n. Begging for me, begging for more? I think you’re my favorite little dove ever, gonna make you mine whenever I get to fuck that pussy.”

“Hawks!” you wail his name again, your arms and pussy throbbing with the energy it takes to keep up with his inhumane speeds. Your vision seeing stars as you tremble more and more, your legs slipping from the toilet seat, yet. “I am your whore, your little dove. Please let me come, please! You fuck me so well, fucking hell, please, I needa cum, I needa cum!”

“Cum with me,” he snaps, his voice so deep, so dangerously smooth. It was precisely what you needed, the voice kink you had for his tenor exactly fulfilled entirely with that simple, last command. And just like that, your jaw slackens, head slamming backward, and pleasurable waves crash through you.

Your fingers still rock at your clit, and your vice gripped walls, your toes curling within your shoes as you soundlessly scream. Hawks, on the other end, is practically snarling, voice deep and altogether dangerous as grunt after grunt leaves him, and you can imagine the milk-white cum splattered all over his chest and hand. A beautiful, perfect sight that you wish you could see for yourself.

Exhaustion settles in your bones as you sit on the toilet, still entirely exhausted as you heave for air.

“I think that was the best fucking orgasm I ever had,” you mumble, your eyes closed, not ready to stand up and move. “Thank you.”

“I’m good at what I… at what I do,” Hawks stumbles, husky exhaustion ringing in his own voice. “Now, little dove, finish up work, and I promise there’ll be a surprise waiting for you when you’re done.”

Not entirely agreeing, but not disagreeing with his command to go finish you last… two and a half hours at work, you begrudgingly said goodbye to Hawks before washing your hands and exiting the bathroom.

When five o’clock came, you watched as your phone screen lit up, and your face flushed as you read the DM from Hawks.

Hawks: this is my fav audio now ↳ hawks_littledove.mp3 but you surprised me today, so in case u ever want to have more fun sometime call me 03-9183-2495 ;)

#hawks smut #hawks x reader #bnha #bnha x reader #mha #bbs kinktober 2020

2K notes · View notes

bakubub · 3 years

Text

In which racer!kuroo is your roommate, and seems to only like it when you treat his wounds... (word count: 1.9k)

Ngl quite proud of this one!!

Warnings: 18+, a whole lot of swearing, a whole lot of blood, innuendos and implied nsfw, reader almost vomits (NOT from pregnancy chill, I know we're all scarred but its going to be just fine) and if you're squeamish perhaps skip the scene where reader stitches his wound?

Also bit of a disclaimer: I am in NO WAY a med student and literally all of my knowledge is from movies and other fics... so if you acc know what to do in this situation this may be a torturous for you :D

All due credits go to @aikk00 for this AMAZING fanart!!!!

I watch as my roommate enters the penthouse, once again scratched up and bleeding, covered in so much blood there is no possible way that it was all his- if it was he would not be standing.

I launch myself off the couch- where I was sitting for the past hour nervously waiting for his return- and slip my arm under his, supporting him as we inched towards the bathroom.

"I can do this by myself you know," he grumbles, his grimace revealing just how much pain he was actually in.

"Mhm, I'm sure you can. Just like you boiled that poor egg by yourself last week, hmm?" I say sarcastically, trying to keep my mind calm and clear, because oh my god it looks really bad this time...

"Oi, its not my fault it fuckin' exploded," he mutters, voice laden with pain.

"You put it in the microwave because 'the shitty water wasn't doing its job.' Of course it would explode," I say, gently seating him on the closed toilet seat and taking out my supplies that I unfortunately have become rather accustomed to using. He's made it a habit to get himself injured.

"Where's the injury?" I ask, setting down my half-empty bottle of antiseptic and box of bandages. He peels off his shirt, cringing at the pain it brought him as the fabric was stuck to the gash that went from his left pectoral down to the middle of his chest.

"Pissed off a bidder after winning a race, fucker took out a knife once he realised he couldn't beat me up," he huffs out, arrogance still lacing his tone even with sweat dripping down his brow as he leans the back of his head onto the tile wall behind him. His Adam's apple bobs down his bloodstained neck as he speaks, and I quickly look away, focusing on the injury at hand.

Not his blood soaked, but nevertheless well defined pectoral muscles, nor the abs that my hands occasionally brush up against and know how hard they really are, and definitely not the trail of black hairs that lead down, down, down...

"What's wrong, the view too hot to focus on the work at hand?" He asks suggestively, raising his pierced brow, even in this state.

I'm quick to reply, having gotten used to his flirtatious remarks from the second I moved into his penthouse, "nope can't even see the view from that massive head of yours. Not to mention your permanent bed head."

He huffs out a laugh, then proceeds to flinch from the pain it must have caused.

"Stop moving, idiot. You're going to exacerbate the cut!" I say, quickly grabbing a damp towel and beginning to clean up his abdomen, whilst simultaneously pressing another rag to his wound to stop the bleeding.

“At least you admit that there is a hot view,” he says in his low voice, gazing at me from his position.

I simply roll my eyes.

No falling in love. That was the deal we had made on the day he offered me a place to stay in exchange for my services as a maid and apparently, a nurse. I cook, clean and basically keep the house running while this moron goes out and acts like the idiot he is. In my defense, dorms are expensive as hell, and his penthouse is nearby. Plus, I don't have to pay rent. It's a win-win situation.

But the feelings stirring up inside my heart might just ruin the dynamic we have going on and simultaneously take out a whole lot of cash out of my pocket.

At least, that's what I keep telling myself.

Once his skin isn't completely saturated in blood, and the wound has (thankfully) stopped bleeding, I add some antiseptic onto a make-up pad and begin to dab at his wound, earning winces and slight grunts from the massive man.

"The cut looks deep, Kuroo. You need to go to the hospital," I say, worry lacing my tone as my eyebrows crease and earn yet another huffing laugh.

"Do you want me to rot in prison for the rest of my life?"

I roll my eyes at his response, deliberately dabbing just a little harder which earns me a yelp and an attempted glare in my direction.

"First off, illegal street racing won't send you to prison for your entire life, just for like, half a year. Second, this wound needs stitches, and believe it or not, I'm not a fucking licensed medic. In fact, the only experience I have is with you!" I say, immediately regretting my choice of words as I wait for his remark.

"That's what she said," He says, chuckling at his own innuendo.

I sigh in frustration, pouring more antiseptic to make sure there was no chance of infection from whatever grimy ass knife stabbed him, and beginning to gently scrub the wound with a soft towel, so as to make sure there was no debris left in there.

"You're gonna have ta do it," he mutters, his hazel eyes boring into mine.

"I- I can't Kuroo, you can't possibly think-"

"Fine. I'll do it. Go get me a needle and thread," he states, struggling but nevertheless, sitting upright on the red stained toilet.

I stare at Kuroo in disbelief as he utters these words. Was he dumber than I thought? Does he have some sort of head injury too?

I examine his face and all I come up with is unnerving determination. I exhale out of my nose sharply, "fine, dammit. I'll sew your fucking wound shut."

I am extremely handy with a sewing needle and thread, used to really be into embroidery back when I had the time so...it should be fine.

He just shrugs, leaning his head back against the tiles and closing his eyes.

"Fucking asshole. Can't believe I'm saving your damn life," I mutter, leaving the bathroom to dig through my wardrobe for my sewing box and taking out a gold silk thread that I was saving for a special project.

Well, I guess that will never happen.

"Hey, I found some silk thread. It's literally known for its strength and durability in high temperatures, so it should work like a charm!" I say, walking back into the blood stained bathroom and trying to psych myself up.

He grunts in response. I sigh as I begin with mopping up the excess blood and sanitising the needle and thread before chucking on gloves.

I wipe the antiseptic over the wound once more, and examine it carefully.

Well, if his condition worsens, I can always knock him out and call an ambulance...

I decide, screw it, and thread the needle, pretending it was just another embroidery project.

It's okay, it's okay, it's okay, I chant as I puncture his skin with the thin needle.

Kuroo gasps in pain, and I place a hand on his knee, telling him to suck it up and deal with it, half talking to him but also to myself.

To my surprise, he listens, stretching his head back once more and gritting his teeth.

"Don't do that, here put this in-between your teeth," I say, grabbing yet another towel and shoving it into his mouth.

He obeys as I continue to stitch. I feel my gag reflex kicking in as I think about how stitching skin feels as though I am stitching leather, it feels hard and tough while pushing the thin needle through.

Must hurt like a bitch.

Once I've completed my neat stitches down the wound, without vomiting, I tie it off as I would with any embroidery, and clean the area free of any remaining blood. After rubbing some antibacterial ointment over the gold stitches, I stick on a particularly large bandage over the wound and start tidying up.

"Thank you," Kuroo mutters, still seated on the toilet seat and practically panting for breath.

"Ah, the criminal knows his damn manners!! Now get up and get in the damn shower. You ruined my pristine bathroom!" I complain, putting the last of the materials away before walking to the door.

"Wait, I- I can't get up." I turn around and look at him incredulously as he utters his next few words, "will you... shower me?"

My eyes just about pop out of their sockets at his request. "Are you insane?! I'm not your mother, nor your wife! Call your pudding haired friend and tell him to come shower you!"

He shakes his head, a rare pleading look taking the place of his usual arrogant smirk, "Kenma's too lazy to shower himself, Y/n, please!"

I contemplated it for a moment. Sure, I've seen him naked before, accidentally of course, and so what if I have to scrub him clean. God knows he can't do it himself with that damn injury.

Fuck this shit.

"Fine, get up right now." I bark at him, leaving to change out of my blood soaked pjs into a pair of shorts and a tank.

"...I just said I can't."

---

"Ow, y/n, you're scrubbing too hard!" He complains, his exfoliating glove around my hand as I rub his toned back clean of any dead skin-cells and blood remains.

"But look how much stuff is coming off!" I say gleefully, enjoying this a little too much.

Kuroo, seated on the built-in bench in the open shower with his red boxers on, looks back to see the satisfaction dripping from my features.

"Are you secretly a sadist?" he whispers. In response, I begin to rinse off his raw back with hot water, causing him to screech like a cat.

"It burns, it burns-”

“Shut the fuck up, moron! It's 4 in the morning, you’re going to annoy our neighbours. I tried very hard to get in their good graces, and Mrs. Suzuki still doesn’t like me! She definitely thinks I’m some kind of hooker…” Kuroo laughs at this, and I can’t help but watch as his whole face brightens up from his usual emotionless expression. I find myself smiling in response.

I grab his expensive shampoo and pour some into my hands, beginning to massage it into his scalp. With wet hair, his raven strands are for once flat on his head and reach down to his defined jawline. Kuroo groans under my touch, leaning into my fingers. I snatch my hands back and pour hot water over his head.

"ARGH! Y/N!" He screams, hastily getting up and wetting me in the process.

"Ah- what are you-" I don't get to finish my question as he grabs my arm and yanks me next to him under the hot water, soaking my clothes and my hair.

"You asshole!" I screech as I reach up to pull his hair in defiance, but he only grabs my arm and hooks it around his neck, leaning down to look directly into my eyes.

Our noses brushing against one another, he mutters, "You look pretty with your hair wet and your shirt see through."

It takes me a moment to get past the compliment and to hear the perverted comment that he just uttered.

He sees my look of confusion and laughs, bends over, clutches his stomach and laughs, before bellowing in pain because of his injury.

Smiling smugly down at him as he grimaces, I force him to sit back down and continue massaging the shampoo into his hair, warning him that if he so much as moaned I would leave him in here, dripping wet and in pain.

"That's what he said," is his reply.

I smack his head in response.

Notes, interactions and reblogs are highly appreciated <3

#kuroo x reader #haikyuu drabbles #racer!kuroo #kuroo tetsuro scenarios #haikyu fics #haikyuu!!#kuroo x y/n #kuroo x gender neutral reader #kuroo x gn!reader #kuroo x you

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kylie-writes-stuff · 3 years

Text

“wife”

pairing: corpse husband x reader (female)

words: 1,714

requested?: no (send some in tho pls :) )

plot/summary: felix invites his friend, y/n, to play among us when they need an extra player. her and corpse get along well

authors note: so this isnt that good and i know a lot of corpse fics use a similar plot. i just wanted to try to write for corpse. hopefully things i write for him in the future are better. let me know what you think tho! also i really wanted reader to be best friends with karl bc i love him sm. uh every swiggly line is like a small time skip. this was written late at night btw and i didnt take much time to go over it

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

You sat up from laying down when you heard your phone ring. You looked at the caller ID.

Felix.

"What's up Felix?" You ask with a small yawn.

"Aww, how sweet," You hear in the background.

You giggle and ask, "Is that Sean? Hi Sean!"

"Yeah, we're playing Among Us and need an extra player. You down?" Felix explained.

"Sure, just give me a few minutes. See you soon, whore"

"Bitc-" You hang up before he can finish.

You got up and turned off your TV, going to get ready.

⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒

You quickly tweet out that you're going live and say something on your insta story as well. You start your stream and slowly watch people flood in.

"Hey everyone! How are you guys doing?" You wave and smile, reading the chat.

"Everyone doing good, awesome! And i'm sorry to anyone having a bad day. I hope i can brighten it a bit!"

"Okay, sorry i didn't give you a further notice. I didn't even know i was gonna stream. Felix invited me to play Among Us so... here we are!"

You quickly join the discord and pull up the game, putting a cover over where the code goes.

"Hello?" You ask as you join the call. A chorus of greetings came your way.

"(Y/n)?"

"Karl!" You smile brightly.

Karl Jacobs was a good friend of yours. You would play on the Dream SMP sometimes. When you would, it would mostly be you being stupid with Karl and Alex, also known as Quackity. You were even a well know citizen of El Rapids.

"LET'S GOOOOO!" He yelled, making you laugh.

"Hey (Y/n), do you know everyone here?" Sean asks you.

"Um," You quickly scan through the names, "no, i don't think so."

You recognized names but you only personally knew Felix, Sean, Karl, and Ethan.

"Oh my god! Your voice is so cute!" Pokimane exclaims.

You giggle softly, "Thank you Poki!"

You're voice wasn't high pitched or anything like that, you just always spoke very softly and calmly. You were also a bit quiet.

Felix introduces you to those that you didn't know.

"There's one more person we're waiting for," He says.

While everyone waits, you and Karl run around each other's little characters and make jokes between yourselves. You mute yourself to read donations every once in a while.

You hear the discord chime, signaling that someone joined the call.

"WAIT CORPSE! DON'T SPEAK YET!" Felix yelled. "We have a new player. This is my friend (Y/n), say hi to her"

"Hello (Y/n)," Corpse said. You were taken aback by how deep his voice was but you didn't show it.

"Hi Corpse! Nice to meet you!" You said happily.

"Okay, how is she not freaking out?" Bretman said, making everyone laugh.

"Uh, (Y/n), do you mind letting me have black? It's cool if not.." Corpse asked gently.

"O-oh sure, no problem." You were usually black with the pink flamingo hat, but you ran over to the little computer and changed your color.

"Simp," Ethan mumbled, knowing you never switch from black.

"Thank you," He said, then the game started.

The word “Imposter” appeared on your screen in red, yours and Corpse's characters underneath.

As the game started, you thought no one could hear you so you spoke to your chat. "His voice was so deep, what the fuck? Holy shit that was hot, i'm gonna-"

"(Y/n)," Rae laughed, "You know we're playing proximity chat, right."

You blushed as you realized and said "Ha, anyways..." and ran to start faking tasks.

You ended up in electrical with Karl. "(Y/n)! My good friend, my buddy, you would never kill me right? Haha..." He said.

"Of course not, Karl! My good friend, my buddy. Why, I'm not even imposter," I said as i quickly dipped into the vent and back out, making him laugh.

I decided to show him because I knew Karl wouldn't say anything, and it's funny.

"Oh that's good then. Are you sure you're not imposter?"

"Mhm, pretty sure," You said, going back in. As you came out, Sykkuno walked in and froze.

"Uh, (Y/n)?"

"Fuck... Karl run! Go!" You said, Karl starting to leave. You walked closer and quickly killed Sykkuno then vented to security.

"That was close..." You told your chat.

You saw Corpse as you made your way around the map and walked into navigation.

"Hey, Corpse, how ya doing?"

"Ah you know, good. Just being crewmate and all."

You stifled a laugh, "Oh yeah I feel that, buddy."

"Yeah because there's no way that i'm imposter. No way i could be faking tasks and there's no possible way you could be the other imposter" He said quickly.

"For sure. Hypothetically speaking, though, if you were imposter, how many people would you have killed by now?"

"I would say probably around two."

"Interesting," You said right before a body was reported. It was Sykkuno's. Felix and Rae were also dead.

"WHAT!" Corpse yelled.

"Where was the body at?" Sean laughed.

"Uh I found it in electrical," Bretman said.

"I'm pretty sure Karl was in there earlier."

You calmly said, "It's not Karl, I was with him for most of the round."

"How do we know the two of you aren't imposters?" Sean asked.

"I was alone with him, he would have taken the chance to kill me."

"No, he's your best friend."

"He's also ruthless,"

"TRUE! SO TRUE!" Karl yelled.

"So skip?" Corpse asked.

Everyone agreed and the voting was skipped.

The next round, I spent with Ethan. He was pretending to be mad at me because Sean said Karl was my best friend.

"What happened to Blue Boi Buddies, huh?!" He exclaimed.

"Neither of our hair is even blue anymore!" You argued back.

You were in reactor with him when Corpse and Poki walked in. He hit the lights and you took it as a sign to double kill. He killed Poki, you killed Ethan, and the two of you made your way to electrical to help fix lights.

You and Corpse went the opposite direction of reactor after the lights were fixed, Karl going with you.

Poki's body was reported. That double kill only left you, Corpse, Sean, Karl and Bretman. You only needed two more kills.

"I still think it's Karl and (Y/n)," Sean said quickly.

"I was with (Y/n) the whole time," Corpse said, "In fact, I think it's you."

"That does make sense. Why so quick to accuse others, Sean?" You ask.

"It's not me!" He yelled.

"I actually agree with Corpse and (Y/n)," Bretman said.

"I was with you!"

We all voted for Sean, him voting for Karl. Sean was ejected.

When you load into spawn, you wait for the kill cool down and kill Bretman, saving Karl.

"Victory" appeared on your screen.

"God damn it!" Sean yelled.

"Good job, (Y/n)," Corpse said lowly.

You smiled, a slight blush on your cheeks, "You too Corpse."

"Their voices go together and they're a fuckin dream team? What have i done...," Felix sighed.

⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒

A few more games went by. Most of them you and Corpse spent together, whether you were both crewmates or if one of you was imposter.

You really enjoyed his company and you actually got along with him pretty well.

⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒

"(Y/n), before we get serious, I have one question to ask you." Corpse said as both of your characters stopped.

"What's that?" You giggled.

"Do you know Bingus?"

"Bingus? As in, our lord and savior, Bingus?"

You could hear the smile in his voice, "It's settled, you're my wife now."

This made both of you laugh and your chat go crazy.

⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒

Eventually, people had to start leaving. You said your goodbyes to everyone and left the discord call and the game.

You set stream to where it was just your face cam.

"Guys, what should we do now?"

You saw some people asking what time it was for you.

"It's 3 AM right now... I’m not tired though.” You had been streaming for a few hours; You never even noticed how late it got.

People in chat were yelling at you to go to sleep, making you chuckle.

“How about we do a quick QnA, then at 3:30 I go to bed. Deal?”

You watched as the chat filled with questions. They obviously seemed to like the idea.

“‘Who is your best friend? Karl or Ethan?’ Neither, Alex Quackity. Next question.” You answered quickly.

You laughed, “I’d like to clarify that that’s a joke, i love all my friends equally.”

You answered more questions. Some were from new viewers asking basic questions, some were about future streams and videos.

“‘How do you feel about people shipping you and Corpse?’“ People are already shipping us?” You laughed, “I’ve said before that I’m okay with shipping, as long as the other person is too. I think it’s funny.”

You continued to read chat. “Wait, we’re trending?”

You checked Twitter and “#(your and corpse’s ship name)” was trending in the US.

You laughed as you scrolled through the tag, “Oh this is so funny.”

“Fanart already?! You guys are so talented!”

You read chat, looking for more questions. You saw people telling you that it’s 3:30.

“Okay fine, a deal’s a deal. I hope you all have, or had, a great day and I’ll see you guys later. Depending on what time it is for you, you should also get some sleep. Stay hydrated, love you!” You ended stream.

⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒

You scrolled through Twitter as you laid in bed, liking fanart and dumb memes. Also replying to a few of your friends’ tweets.

karl :) @/KarlJacobs_

@/(your username) what the honk ?

*clip of you saying Quackity was your best friend*

You liked the tweet and replied, “karl no,,, look away,,,”

You continued scrolling, feeling your eyes get droopy. Your eyes fell closed but quickly opened when your phone vibrated. It was a DM.

From Corpse.

You two had followed each other earlier.

Corpse: hey (y/n), just wanted to say you’re really cool and i’d love to play again with you soon

You smiled, a light blush spreading across your cheeks, and replied.

You: i’d love to, corpse

Corpse: ok, see you soon ‘wife’

You: back at ya, ‘husband”

Corpse: :)

You: :)

#corpse #corpse husband #corpse x y/n #corpse x you #corpse x reader #corpse imagines #corpse fanfic #uh #corpse husband x reader

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genshinobsession · 3 years

Note

About the sentience au, i have no idea if u take request/ consider ideas so feel free to ignore

I got some thoughts so i hope u don't mind me ranting here hehe

But here's the thing, if the character somehow got to our world and found out that their life was created by someone for ppl to pass time and entertain themselves, what would be their reaction to the fandom (fics, ships, reader insert stuff, fanart and other fan made stuff), the creator (and them getting profit or being responsible for their suffering and creating them the way they are? Like flaws/ appearance/ personality n that shit), the gatcha, other characters that they knew, and just generally to the whole thing about them being a fictional character from a game in a different world

Thank you for coming to my ted talk <3

Sentience Au

characters included:

Diluc,Kaeya,Zhongli

(More is coming after, I just didn’t want there to be do much scrolling to get to the character you want)

Diluc

“So, what you’re saying is I’m from a video game, and I am a very desired character. And because of this many people draw pictures of me.” He asks, standing with his hand on his chin as he tried to process this.

You nodded and you got your phone and looked up a simple

“Diluc fanart”

And showed him the results.

He was a little put off now knowing that there were so many people watching him at all times. Not only were they were watching him but they liked him enough to draw him.

“Well, they all are very talented, but why is this one titled ‘Daddy Diluc’ with my shirt off?” He asked, and you snatched your phone from a him as quick as possible and closed out of whatever file or photo album he scrolled to.

With a nervous laugh you turned back to him hiding your phone, not wanting to admit to what he had seen.

“How about we look at some fanfics instead.” You suggested, changing tabs on your phone. You showed him the Tumblr thread as he began to scroll.

“And these are-?” He asked as he looked back at you.

“Stories about you and other characters, or somethings you and the person reading. Those are called self inserts.” You explained, he nodded, slightly understanding until he had scrolled to an NSFW story.

“What does NSFW stand for?” He asked, you shot up from your chair and smacked the phone out of his hand as quickly as possible.

“Okay maybe that’s not a good idea either.” You laughed nervously again as Diluc stared at you curiously. As far as he was concerned NSFW was just a couple of meaningless letters thrown together, but your reaction makes him think it was obviously more than that.

“How about I explain it this way. Because you’re a very desired character, many people are attracted to you,” You began. He nodded, understanding.

“myself included,” you mumbled, he didn’t catch it so you cleared your throat and continued.

“Many of them make art of you and other characters together and more often than not it’s because of a ship.”

Right at that moment you completely lost him. He looked at you confused,

“What do boats have anything to do with this?” He asked, his eyebrows were furrowed together as he tried to think of a logical way that a mode of water transport would have anything to do with him and other characters.

“No no, this kind of ship is a pairing of you and another character, like a relationSHIP.”

Diluc nodded in response,

“So wait, people pair me with other characters? Like who?” He asked, you sighed knowing the question was going to come up sooner or later.

“Well-“ you began as you listed off every person he had been shipped with. As you went on Dilucs face began to contort out of confusion and slight disgust.

“Just... don’t ask and we can both forget about it.” You suggested and he nodded in agreement.

“Gladly.”

Kaeya

“Well this is... interesting.” The blue haired man muttered as he had scrolled through the object that he held in his hands.

He had just seen it lying face up on the counter and his curiosity got the better of him.

And he was very surprised by what he saw.

Just, pages and pages and pages of him in different poses with different people, in varying levels of... intensity.

He was very confused at first, unsure of how to respond but as he wen through he realized each post had a red heart underneath it.

What could that possibly mean?

As he scrolled through he eventually got into the works of writing, all with the same ‘Kaeya x reader’ underneath their titles.

Before he could scroll any farther he heard the door creak open as you walked into the room with a warm joyous smile on your face.

Well until you saw Kaeya with your phone.

“Kaeya, why do you have my phone?” You asked, he looked down at the bright object then back at you.

“So that’s what it’s called, well you did just leave it open so I decided to have a look.” He admitted with a shrug.

You quickly snatched it from him and looked at it realizing he had been through all your posts that you had saved under the label ‘Kaeya’.

Your heart pace quickened out of embarrassment,

“How much did you see?” You asked, he chuckled and moved closer to you, he lightly lifted you chin so you’d look at him, he leaned into your ear and whispered,

“You seem to like me in some interesting positions.” He teased, and let go of your face.

You covered your face, not wanting to look at him.

“Oh, don’t be shy now, its quite cute that you like me that much. I find it, oddly endearing.” He admitted, patting your head lightly.

You finally took your head out of your hands as you looked up at him. He smiled at you as he leaned in close to your face yet again.

“Although, you should be more careful about having your ‘phone’ open to such a... suggestive image.” He teased yet again as you backed up from your face and walked out of the room.

You looked down at your phone which screen has been dimmed a bit, as you raised the brightness you saw a picture of Kaeya you definitely would not be able to unsee for a long while.

Zhongli

Zhongli is definitely a fan of stories,

But the stories he found were definitely not the ones he had in mind.

You didn’t know how to explain to Zhongli that he’s from a game and people all over the internet love and adore him, without showing him.

He doesn’t even know what technology is, let alone the fact people use it to create artwork of him.

“Traveler, I apologize if this is a bit odd, but I saw you looking at some paintings of me on your phone item. How do you have so many? Did you make them also yourself? You’re quite talented if so.” He asked, as you looked from him, to your phone, then back up to him.

He was just patiently standing infront of you, waiting for an answer.

You sighed slightly as you put down whatever you were doing and grabbed your phone.

“Oh, I’m sorry, was that not something I was supposed to bring up?” He asked, confused by your reaction.

You shook your head as you patted the spot next to you, gesturing for him to sit down next to him.

“No no, you were going to find out sooner or later.” You said as he politely sat down next to you and faced you, ready to listen to whatever story or explanation you were going to give him.

As you explained he asked a few questions, which you answered as best you could.

After you explained how the world Zhongli came from was not exactly real, he was just a character in a video game, and because of that, many people around the world love him and make things to show their love and appreciation for him.

He nodded, trying to understand,

“Well that’s definitely not what I expected. I’ve always had some sort of following but this, admittedly was not what I expected. So all of these people know about Rex Lapis?” He asked, to which you nodded in response.

“I see, well. There’s not much I can to about it now I suppose.” He said, turning back to you with a slight sigh. All the effort putting into hiding and it was, somewhat for nothing.

Liyue was going to have to learn how to be on their own regardless, so leaving wasn’t going to affect them to much, which was comforting to him.

“Thank you, traveler, for answering my question. I understand it was probably hard to explain this to me but I believe I understand now.” He thanked, you nodded accepting it and smiled at him.

However, your smile faltered when you saw Zhongli so lost in thought. You supposed it was because he basically left behind the only thing he’s every known.

You lightly put your hand on his shoulder, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“Hey, Why don’t we make some tea, I feel like you’d want to try these flavours.” You said, as he looked back over to you, he recognized this as a way to cheer him up and appreciated it.

“That would be wonderful.”

(Next part coming out is ‘they escape Part 2 pocket edition’)

-Birdy

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maxdark158 · 3 years

Text

OOOH two chapters in one week??? damn even i’m jealous. of myself. though this also isn’t edited so i might read it tomorrow morning and regret life, soooo

Angel in Gotham: Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3 ~ Part 4 ~ Part 5 ~ Part 6 ~ Ao3

Demon in Gotham: Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3 ~ Part 4 ~ Part 5 ~ Ao3

Fanart for AiG: Riddler ~ Joker thank you @thegreysman

Please tag me in any fanart you draw for this guys ^^

oooOOOooo

The large plant in the street wasn’t promising.

Neither was the very loud scream of pain they heard as they arrived to the scene.

Damian might’ve popped some knuckles when he clenched his fists, he wasn’t fully paying attention. What the ever-loving fucking hell in a fuck was Ivy doing? Harley best not be here too or Damian may strangle both of them for coming near his Angel.

Deep fucking breaths I’m going to fucking lose it-

When they arrived, father signaled a quick “to first two follow” plan and he and Grayson went ahead, leaving Damian and Drake on the roof. Damian itched to jump and move forward. The worry was awful, filling his mind with the most unrealistic of thoughts. He tried to correct them, prove them wrong, but they were overwhelming.

What if I check through her window to make sure she’s in there and oka- he didn’t know which room she had and it would take too long.

What if the scream was hers- It was deeper, male sounding.

What if she was crushed under that plant- She wouldn’t be, right? There wasn’t any evidence of someone being under there-

What if she’s hurt? Afraid? Dying?

He heard yelling. Angry yelling, in a male voice. The constricting worry reminded him of every dangerous male villain in Gotham right now. He went through a list of those currently MIA, those who might’ve yelled. It didn’t make sense, no villain sighting was reported aside from Ivy…

But it was possible.

And the possibility made Damian want to puke.

He had to move he had to do something. He jumped down. It hadn’t been enough time yet but he didn’t care. He heard Drake hiss something in warning about Batman’s orders or something Damian didn’t fucking care about, because he had to see for himself. He had to walk in there and he had to make sure she was okay.

Before he could go in, he saw Ivy walk out through the door. What?! he moved to intercept her before seeing the blood going down her leg- What the fucking fuck happened?! Why was she bleeding?

Ivy raised a brow when she saw him. “I got a pass this time, bird. Might want to help them in there.”

The sick feeling returned. He didn’t want to trust a villain, a criminal… but Ivy wasn’t the most horrible.

He eyed the blood, the worried weeds supplying images of his Angel bleeding in the same way. Ivy was not the worst that could happen… His mind went through that handy list of villains again. Many much worse than Ivy.

Damian turned away from Ivy. Father and Grayson shattered the window the plant hadn’t gone through, he made a motion toward it before Drake grabbed his shoulder.

“Let go of me you-“

“If you’re going to disobey Batman, at least let me go with you,” Drake looked exasperated. “You’re focused on your friend, right? Someone needs to watch your ass then.”

Damian glared before prying Drake’s hand off his shoulder. If he wanted to follow, fine. Damian wouldn’t stop him. He went through the broken window and finally entered the hotel.

The vending machine was unplugged and face down on the ground, glass surrounding it. Ivy’s giant plant was in the middle of the room, steam thicker than the pot it previously inhabited and petals as big as the Batmobile’s tires. Other miscellaneous things were strewn across the room, including cut hair near the elevator.

But what had Damian’s heart pounding was the playing cards. Playing cards that were embedded in the walls and the front desk and the floor. Razor sharp playing cards. A certain villain’s playing cards.

Fucking fucking shit fuck bitch ass fuck-

“Father,” Damian’s voice was surprisingly level as he spoke. His eyes landed on the fucking purple suited clown mother fucker himself. “What is Joker doing here?”

Father however seemed to be answering something Grayson must have said, “It appears she was rescuing…”

Ivy was rescuing.

Ivy was helping.

Damian’s eyes scanned the room right as someone else made themselves known.

Marinette!

The air left his lungs. She looked worse for wear, dark circles under her eyes and blood- fucking hell blood on her person. She was shaking like a leaf in the wind, and Damian wanted nothing more than to comfort her. Help her.

He opened his mouth to speak, stepping toward her.

She began to sob.

As if Damian somehow needed to panic even more.

“I’m sorry,” the words were quietly choked out between hics and sobs. “I’m a hor- horrible person and-”

“Hey now,” Grayson took a step closer, trying to comfort her. Damian’s feet were stuck to the floor, the words stuck in his mouth, preventing him from doing the same. “I’m sure you’re not-”

She held up her hands, showing the blood on them. Damian inhaled sharply when he saw the bits of glass embedded into her palm – the green haired fuck hurt her.

“I broke his leg,” she took a big gulp of air. Damian bit back the words and he deserved it. “With a rock. And I threw things at him. A chocolate bar, a cookie, a phone, a lamp, a vending machine-”

“A vending machine?” His father glanced at the vending machine on the ground. Damian didn’t bother trying to decipher his expression, Marinette was turning red and gasping between her sobs. She needed to breathe.

“Miss, please calm down,” Grayson began to step toward her. Damian’s feet finally moved, and he began surging toward her as well.

She fell, nearly hitting her head on the way down. Damian caught her before she could though, barely. Fuck, she needed to breathe like yesterday.

“I’m terrible, horrible, I shouldn’t have done this,” the words used the last of her breath and were only a whisper.

Panic made his throat feel stuck and his voice thick. “Angel,” Damian spoke as calmly as he could. “You need to breathe.”

She didn’t breathe.

oooOOOooo

Usually, lack of sleep was associated with the coffee obsessed Drake, but it seemed Damian’s own mind was determined to show him what it was like to live like a lunatic. He wasn’t able to sleep even when he tried, though he didn’t try that much either. He’s pretty sure he spent an hour staring at his weedkiller order – an order that somehow got lost in Kentucky – wishing it to suddenly appear at the front gate. Then again after coming home, most of the night was a blur.

He rubbed his eyes and let his thoughts wander through the memories of last night. Or, early morning technically.

Marinette looked delicate and broken on the stretcher as she was loaded into the ambulance. Damian had to turn his head away. He saw Drake and Todd looking at him, but he didn’t want their fucking pity.

She’d be fine.

She had to be.

After Angel had passed out, she began to breathe again. She immediately got medical attention for her injuries, riding in a different ambulance than Joker, who also got medical attention at Arkham. Damian wanted nothing more than to skin him alive as he left, but he avoided doing it for the time being. Barely.

“There’s some of Joker’s laughing shit over here, B-man.”

“Have Red Robin neutralize it. We’ll have to check the tapes and see if anyone was affected.”

“Besides the guy who’s body we found behind the desk, I don’t think anyone else got hit. But good call. Red Robin, over here!”

Drake got the security camera feed and Damian saw the entirety of what happened in the hotel lobby. His Angel fought bravely and intelligently, though he couldn’t say he was a fan of the bitch who left her behind.

“Why did she go for the elevator? I’d hate being stuck in there with the Joker. And she let her classmate just fight?”

“Maybe she called for help once she got away. And even if she didn’t, we can’t judge a teenager for panicking in this situation, Tim. Damian’s friend is an anomaly.”

“I don’t know… too bad the cameras don’t have audio, I wonder what she’s saying before they realize that Joker is there.”

“Are you able to read her lips?”

“Golly jee I wish I fucking thought of that! Thanks for reminding me to read her lips on this old and grainy camera footage where you can barely tell her eyes from her nose!”

“Jesus Replacement, no need to bite my head off.”

Damian looked into it,and found that no calls were made to the police until the plant fell through the window. The calls then were about Ivy appearing, deduced by people nearby who saw the plant. That good for nothing bitch left my Angel with the Joker-

“No calls were made by anyone within the hotel. All the calls were made by people on the street or living nearby who saw the plant.”

“Hmm… Odd…”

“…I’m sorry but how the fuck did someone sleep through a giant ass plant breaking the main floor windows? How?!”

“Maybe it’s a French secret.”

He shook his head. After they got all the information, father decided to send the French children back early and pay for it himself. Damian, internally, knew why. He painted a target on Angel’s back, if she didn’t have one before.

“You realize he heard you, right?”

“What do you want, Todd?”

“Fucks’ sake demon spawn, listen to me. Joker heard you call her Angel.”

“…”

“I was already aware of that. I’ve made plans to have the class moved back in Paris. If it gets around, She’ll be an ocean away and more difficult to harm.”

“Alright, B. Was just trying to warn Demon Spawn.”

“Maybe next time he won’t fuck up.”

“Tim, no need to be harsh.”

“It’s vigilante 101, Bruce. Damian’s been doing this for years.”

“Perhaps instead of being berated for a mistake he didn’t intend, you should let Master Damian retire to his room to rest.”

Damian grumbled to himself, trying to push the intrusive awful worrisome thoughts out of his head. The ones that said maybe going back to Paris wouldn’t be enough to protect her. The ones that said Joker would want revenge, the ones that-

The ones that he wasn’t fucking listening to right now thank you very fucking much!

Damian sighed to himself. He needed some sleep. After handling the news, getting the class handled, and looking into everything involving Joker’s break in at the hotel he was told to get to bed as the sun began rising. It hadn’t really worked, as now a few hours later he was debating stealing some of Drake’s coffee to make it through the day.

Because he did have one very important task to do today. He needed to check on his Angel, and say goodbye to her. He had her number of course, and they could text as often as possible for the two of them, but he still needed to see her. See her and apologize for how horrible this trip must’ve turned out for her.

I’m bad luck, being near me ruined her trip.

Damian went to the bathroom to brush his teeth, ignoring that train of thought.

Riddler attacked her when I was there. Joker appeared after I dropped her off. I made her unlucky. I got her hurt.

It’d be easier to ignore that train of thought if it weren’t so fucking loud.

Time felt blurry right now. Probably because he was tired. But soon he was dressed in a hoodie and sunglasses, disguised so he didn’t get mobbed by paparazzi while visiting his Angel in the hotel. He was pulling his shoes on when there was a knock at the door.

“What do you want?” The knocking bounced in his head and made it hurt. Maybe he had a migraine, he wasn’t sure.

“Such a nice way to say good morning Demon Spawn,” Todd strolled in like he fucking owned the place and leaned against the wall next to the door. Damian wondered what it’d be like to have Jon’s laser sight so he could glare at Todd and kill him.

“You didn’t have permission to come in.”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“That doesn’t mean you get to.”

“Tough shit,” Todd rolled his eyes. “…You… alright?”

Damian narrowed his eyes at him. “Why are you asking something like that?”

“Your friend got attacked and is leaving the city because of a target on her back. Which, while I did point out that you called her a petname in front of Joker-“

“It isn’t a petname-“

“-It isn’t your fault.”

The words starkly contrasted Damian’s internal beliefs and he had to blink a few moments to make sure what he heard was real. Because what the fuck? Why would Todd try to convince him his fuck up somehow wasn’t his fucking fault!?

“It’s… not my fault that I stupidly revealed a relationship connection to a civilian in front of one of the worst villains this city has suffered?”

“Okay, that was all you, smartass,” Todd sighed. “but the other shit isn’t your fault. You didn’t hurt her, the fucked up clown did. You didn’t put her in danger, her fucking teacher and class did by abandoning her. You’re at fault for your actions, not other people’s, so if you’re blaming yourself then fucking stop. Freckles’d probably get upset if you were using her to hate yourself.”

“What on this planet makes you think I’m doing that?!” Damian’s voice rose in a snap, hypocritically, because he realized as he spoke the words that he… kind of was doing that.

Fucking feelings and fucking worry and fucking weeds in his head were the reason, of course, but he… was… fuck, he’s tired isn’t he?

“I died, Demon Spawn.” Damian raised a brow at Todd, waiting for the halfwit to continue. “Bruce and I… aren’t on the best of terms, but I did realize he… he did that. Where what Joker did was his fault. I’m not happy the fucker is still alive, but that doesn’t mean Bruce was the one who killed me. No that was all Joker.”

“What does that have to do with anything again?” Damian really just wanted Todd out of his room and not talking about things in the past. He totally understood his point and everything, but it wasn’t anything a gallon sized bottle of weedkiller wouldn’t fix.

“Wow, you must be really tired, damn,” the fucker smirked before his expression changed into something less asshole-ish. “I’m saying that if you’re blaming yourself for what the Joker did to Freckles, stop it. The fucker lost a leg and she’s on her way to the hotel from the hospital now.”

Wait.

Wait what?

“Wait what?!” Damian wasn’t even sure which one he was reacting to – the news that Angel was okay or the news that the Joker was permanently damaged.

Angel’s self defense might’ve permanently helped Gotham?!

Okay maybe he knew what he was reacting to.

Todd turned to leave like a fucking dickhead and Damian could hear the smirk in his voice as he walked away. “Check the news for the Joker thing and ask Alfred to take you to Freckles in like an hour.”

Damian was smart enough to realize that not checking out of spite for Todd would only disadvantage himself.

He still only checked a couple minutes later though. After glaring at his phone willing himself to somehow know without checking.

He needing headache pills.

oooOOOooo

The Unnamed Teenager That Defeated The Riddler Cripples Joker!

Just days after beating The Riddler at his own game, the same teenage girl holds off The Joker until Batman arrives!

“We had to amputate him below the knee,” Arkham doctor says. “There was too much glass in the wound, it cut several muscles, tendons, and arties. The shattered bone didn’t help.”

French Teenager Unavailable for Comment.

[Read More]

oooOOOooo

Damian had snuck through the lobby up to his Angel’s room. Some of her classmates were downstairs, but he hadn’t paid much attention to them, not caring at the moment.

The last memory he had of her was the blood on her hands and tears in her eyes before she fell to the floor. He wanted to change that, wanted to maybe even see if he could get her to smile. Though that felt ambitious…

He just… needed to make sure she was okay.

Damian knocked on Marinette’s hotel room door.

#daminette #maribat #damimari #maridami #marinettexdamian #damian x marinette #Damian Wayne #Marinette #joker #joker mention #he's pretty quiet in this POV #the badassness is in AiG #rip mari's health #in a week alfred be like master wayne #why is there a delivery for weedkiller in your name #damian takes it from his hands #and chugs

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pikelansource · 4 years

Text

Class AU part 2 Love Domain Pike

Pikelan day prompt: CLASS SWAP (part 1, Swashbuckler Scanlan)

inspired by fanart

When Scanlan Shorthalt heard the words “Grog’s sister the cleric,” not many ideas beyond Grog in a wig with a magical staff came to mind, so he was extraordinarily surprised to meet Pike Trickfoot, a very cute gnomish adept of Sehanine, patron of moonlight and illusions, the fey goddess of trickery and lovers trysts.

He could not believe his luck.

Scanlan had never paid more attention to Sehanine more than any other god, even though she did sound, admittedly, right up his alley. Faith wasn’t really his thing. Devotion sounded even worse. And idea of giving himself wholly to not just someone but some thing in the cosmos made him laugh, except for a tiny space deep in his stomach that didn’t find it amusing at all, and in fact, found it just a bit infuriating megapowerful celestial beings leveraged magic for people’s love and how unfair that was. Since Scanlan didn’t like to think things like unfairness, he didn’t. He would scrounge for magic all on his own, thank you very much.

But the mischievous glint in the eyes of the black-haired cleric and the ever present waves of love she exuded really could be.

Except it didn’t take long to see that while Pike had a needed skill in healing, Pike and Scanlan’s specialties in magic overlapped a bit. She did things differently, her magic imbued with a strangely close, warm divine feeling that was totally foreign to want he knew. But the first time there was a witness not responding to questions and Scanlan prepared to charm him, Pike stepped in before him to do it herself.

He saw the soft warmth of her magic around her perform a charm that previously he’d never known anyone but himself to do. It was beautiful.

And he hated it.

She could charm and inspire and make some illusions and heal. All the skills Scanlan had to offer, spread out in slightly different directions. Scanlan had worked with groups before, traveled around for fire to kill beasts or find treasure, but his time with them never lasted long. And he figured it would be the same this time. Why would they need two gnomes with similar magic, when she was a much stronger healer?

Scanlan decided to take the opportunity of The Shits arriving in a new bustling town to part ways with the group. Quick and easy, he snuck out of his shared room at the Inn, not even disturbing Grog’s heavy snoring. But Pike stopped him not more than three steps down the stairs that went down to the now mostly abandoned tavern of the late late night or early early morning.

She was just unnaturally there, sitting on the stairwell landing, under a window the moon shone through. There was a covered bench smelling faintly of stale beer and the ancient wooden planks off the inn wheezed beneath them whenever either of them moved, but she smiled serenely like she belonged there in her slinky red nightgown and lacy pink robe and the glittering pendant of Sehanine she always wore.

“Aren’t you going to say goodbye?”

He quickly ate the frown that had appeared on his face. It wasn’t good to let people know what you were thinking. “Goodbye, sugar. It was fun while it lasted. Give my regards to The Shits. If we ever cross paths in the future, I’ll be sure to skip town before I’m settled with another bar tab.”

He attempted to continue on his way, but her soft voice, reminiscent of some kind of frosted cookie he always felt for some reason, wafted across him like crowbar to the kneecap.

“Leaving us won’t make you less afraid.”

Once he could swallow the gorge of unexpected emotion back down to wherever he hid it normally, Scanlan turned to look at her. In a move of unexpected cruelty, her perfect gnomish face was a perfect composition of perfect kindness tinged with sadness.

“Who’s afraid of anything? Possessions? Gross necromancers? Hulking monsters? That’s the adventuring life and I’ve been doing it longer than any of you.”

“No, that’s true. I was a little surprised by that, but that’s not what you’re afraid of.”

Scanlan sighed, gratified by the annoyance. “Can the cryptic. I’m leaving because it doesn’t make any sense to have two people with the same skillset on a team.”

“I really don’t think overlap is the problem. Our methods are different enough. And Vex and Percy both deal ranged attacks. Vex and Vax are both sneaky. Redundancy isn’t bad.”

“Well, you’re not the one being made redundant so your opinion on the topic is of limited value to me,” Scanlan said, trying for an edge he normally didn’t have.

It may have succeeded, a sour little frown appeared on Pike’s face. Unless she was in battle, she always looked beatific as standard fare. So he felt a small degree of satisfaction in winging her on his way out, as it were.

“I don’t look at it that way. It’s fine that we can both rely on charms. It’s fine that we both have illusions and boons at our disposal. It’s great that we can both heal.”

“Except you can heal more than I can, and if you can cover all the other areas I’m situationally useful in, why would they need me?”

“Ah, so” she said knowingly. “It’s not just that you have to be special, you have to be useful too.”��

Terrifyingly, he opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. There were plenty of times he had no plan for what he was going to say, but it was rare indeed that the well was ever empty. She continued to speak in his place and given the circumstances, he couldn’t tell if that was good or bad.

“Is that why you’ve left every other group you’ve been with? Someone else could do the things you can do?”

“We--we’re adventurers!” Scanlan said, raising his voice to a level he did, maybe once every five years. “Everyone has to be useful. Why are we even doing these things if not to succeed, get gold, or renown, or hell, even turn a good deed every once in a while. And you can’t do any of those things if everyone on the team doesn’t play their part. With you here, I don’t exactly have a part, do I?”

Pike’s face softened again with sympathy, that kindness within her blooming on her face again, in her cheeks and her eyes. And while it was lovely, it only made Scanlan angrier because that hadn’t been his goal at all. At least point, he wanted her mad, at least a portion as angry as he was, so he could leave feeling safe with a bridge burned behind him.

“Of course you still have a part, Scanlan. So what if we do some of the same things. We do them entirely differently. We think about illusions and charms differently. Just as Sehanine will, hopefully, continue to bless me with gifts no one else can understand, you use the arcane in a way none of us can understand either. And I’m surprised you never thought this worth mentioning considering how often I’ve heard you brag about it, but... Scanlan, you’re a bard! Just being that you can get us audiences with people we would have never otherwise. You’ve created stories about us that people know about Vox Machina before we’ve even met them. So, I’m sorry you felt like I was replacing you, but maybe you can understand that to me it seems at least a little bit like you’re fooling yourself so you don’t have to get any more comfortable with us than you already have.”

After waiting for a word from Scanlan that did not come, Pike continued, “Because that’s what you’re afraid of, isn’t it? Attachments. Real ones that really attach to you. Loving people, or letting people love you. Either or.”

He was laden down with his bags, pouches, bedroll, a lute, flute, and a shawm and they all felt like a hundredweight heavier. Still he shook his head.

“You obviously aren’t familiar with the legacy of Scanlan Shorthalt. I’ve loved many people. Probably hundreds,” he said, but even to him his voice was empty of the humor or bravado that gave him his usual panache. It was just empty. It had always been empty, only now he couldn’t pretend.

Pike touched her holy symbol, grasped her fingers around it reverently even though she must have been blindly intimate with it at this point. Yet still, reverent.

It made him think. He hated thinking.

“You can leave if you really want to, Scanlan,” she said. “But I wouldn’t be happy with myself if I let you leave thinking you needed to, or that you aren’t allowed to want something else.”

Scanlan looked down the stairs to the empty tavern and back at the moonlight spilling over Pike’s dark hair.

“Maybe I should give it more time. Think it over. If you’re... okay working together.”

Pike’s smile lit up the small tiny space deep in his stomach that, if normally anything at all, was dull and bitter and distant, now felt lighter and more present.

“Good.” She rose and stood shoulder to shoulder with him as they walked back towards the rooms Vox Machina had rented.

“But I should probably confess something.”

“Well, well, well, a cleric’s confession,” he said, with more humor than he felt, still reeling from all her words, but really, truthfully, “I definitely want to hear that.”

“You need to stay for your own reasons, that’s true, but I still have selfish reasons for wanting you to stay.“

“Oh?” Scanlan said casually, white-knuckling the strap for his lute around his chest.

“Sehanine loves music,” Pike said with a devilish smile.

Scanlan thought that was all she would say, but she paused, leaned into Scanlan’s space and kissed his cheek. Just a soft press of her lips that left a warm lingering pulse spread across his face.

“I love music.”

And with that, Pike left him.

For the first time in a long time, when he went back into his room, and put down his packs and supplies and bedroll, he was pretty sure it was a decision his heart made.

#pikelan #pikelan day #critical role #pike trickfoot #scanlan shorthalt #pre vm #au #class swap au

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withoutaconscienceorafilter · 4 years

Note

UNEXPECTED VISITOR 👀👀

WIP -- UNEXPECTED VISITOR(S)

This is supposed to be during Cable & X-Force, because that has both de-powered Nate with pre-cog visions that are slowly turning his brains to jelly and Hope chasing after her dad, but no sign of Wade and that made me sad. :( And there’s this fanart by aortdn on Tumblr somewhere with Nate sprawled on Wade’s couch with his head in Wade’s lap and Wade’s holding a gun with this absolutely mystified expression......

Also, I hate how most comics writers make Nate really mean to Wade. :C

Oh yes, this was written before it became canon that Hope is vehemently opposed to Wade. ;P Stupid canon.

A lot of my WIP ideas like this get abandoned because I decide I’m being overly dramatic and I feel a little ridiculous. Plus they end up full of plot holes. So this is something I wrote myself in a spurt of romanticism and never bothered to move out of the WIP directory. Mindless self-indulgence.

If you think I should go ahead and post this snippet on ao3, leave a comment. Otherwise it’s probably going to just live here and nowhere else.

Nate, Wade, Hope, hurt/comfort, angst, incomplete, probably not entirely canon compliant

~~~~

Some nights start off like all the others, until one thing changes.

Wade Wilson is watching television in t-shirt, boxers, and bunny slippers from one end of his dirty, stabbed-in-places, shot-in-other-places couch. When there’s a soft knock at the door, that’s surprising. When whoever knocks just goes ahead and turns the handle a second later, like he or she has the right to just waltz on in, that’s even more surprising.

Wade isn’t used to anyone visiting his hellhole of an apartment. Visiting him. At least, he doesn’t think he is.

Except maybe Bob, but he doesn’t count.

Especially not visiting and letting themselves in.

So when Cable walks through the door, Wade’s got a gun aimed right between his eyes.

“Hello, Wade.” It sounds tired. Resigned. And of course not the least bit intimidated, because his time-traveling best whatever-the-hell-he-is certainly is never intimidated by Wade. Unclear if that’s comforting to his soul or insulting to his ego.

Reflex keeps the gun trained on Nate while Wade’s brain is struggling to catch up, finally flicks on the safety and shoves it back down the couch cushions after watching Nate close and lock the door and start carefully setting down his larger guns.

“Staying for a bit?” he asks with attempted nonchalance.

“For a couple hours, if you’ll let me.”

He looks tired. He looks different. New: mechanical right eye, working left eye. Gone: techno-organic mesh. New: actual flesh left arm and some sort of mecha robotic prosthetic surrounding it.

Still huge and muscled. Still scars over his right eye. Still all grizzled and old, military, GI-Joe look. His hair is really short this time--Wade misses the slightly longer Nate hair. Better for the running-fingers-through-it stuff.

Wade just watches, brain still trying to catch up, as Nate does something up by his left shoulder and suddenly Mr. Robot Arm opens up, slides off and gets unceremoniously tossed by the guns.

“Why?” It comes out a little too forceful, and it doesn’t say all the why are you here? and why me? and why now? explicitly, but they’re there all the same.

Nate just shakes his head and that might have been the ghost of a sigh. The couch shakes when he drops onto it. For a moment he’s not quite looking at Wade but everything about the tension and line of his body says all his attention is on him.

“Can I … lie down?”

“Lie … what?” Wade has no clue what’s going on. “I mean, sure, there’s a bed--”

But before he can get further, Nate just gives a quiet little sigh and a shake of his head, and he’s turning and slinging his legs around over the arm of the couch and lying down along the length of it, settling his head in Wade’s lap with a tired grunt.

“Jesus Christ, Nate! Are you dying?!” Because honestly, he can’t think of anything else that would make big tough mutant savior do this.

Nate’s eyes close and he turns his head toward Wade’s stomach, shifting in the little ways someone does when they’re getting comfortable.

“Maybe,” is the rumbled answer. “Telepathy and telekinesis crapping out. Precog visions. Tearing my head apart. I just want a couple hours where I can pretend everything’s fine.” Unspoken: everything between us is fine and I’m going to be fine and I’m not dying ... again. And then, before Wade can call him any of that unspoken stuff, “Hold on.” He taps a headset in one ear. “Cable to base. … Yes, I’m fine, just taking a couple of hours to sleep. … No, extraction unnecessary. … I’m …” Now he sounds aggravated. ”Hope, I’m fine. None of my visions are happening in the next 8 hours, so let me sleep before I drop dead. … You keep telling me to trust my team, so that’s what I’m trying to do. Keep watch, deal with any shit that comes up, and don’t screw up! Cable out.”

He taps the headset again, then pulls it off and throws it in the general direction of his guns and arm.

“Hope?” Wade tries to keep his voice neutral. “She’s working with you?”

“Yeah.” Nate’s got his eyes closed again, head turned toward Wade. “She battered her way in, wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“How old is she again?”

A sigh. “Sixteen.”

Wade feels it all over again like it was the first time he heard it, like someone punched him in the gut, punched the breath right out of him. Fists clench. Anger rising. It’s long seconds before he can find the voice to speak.

“I hate time travel. I still can’t believe you ran around without me for sixteen years.”

Because, seriously? Sixteen years. Sixteen years of being chased, shot at, shot up, getting blown up, getting older and grumpier, doing who knows what in bed with who knows who, raising a kid, and all without him? Without giving him anything aside from a quick stopover in Alaska to say see you later? Not dropping by for a proper reunion when he got back? And yet having the gall to walk into his apartment and flop in his lap like they’d just seen each other last week?

“It wasn’t quite that long. We got separated along the way.”

“Still a hell of a long time!”

“I know,” said softly. “You deserve better.” Then, “I’m tired.”

“Dammit, Nate.” Wade lets his head fall back, staring at the ceiling. Because he is not going to get emotional. And his eyes are totally not springing a leak right now. Instead of saying anything else, he settles for lightly running a hand through Nate’s hair over and over, feeling the fuzz and prickle of it, the occasional ridge of a hidden scar on his scalp.

Nate sighs, a long, quiet thing as if tension is flowing out of him, and wraps an arm around Wade’s back, then stills.

Wade keeps letting his fingers ghost over Nate’s hair, and when he finally has it together enough to look down, Nate’s lips are slightly parted and he’s pretty obviously asleep. Chest and stomach rising and falling slowly and regularly.

Wade frowns. Nate must be exhausted to fall asleep that fast.

This universe fucking sucks, running Nate around like this, chasing him into other times for something like a decade and a half. Wade doesn’t want to think about it anymore, so he picks up the remote and resumes channel surfing, other hand still gently resting on Nate’s hair.

He does turn down the sound. If Nate needs to pass out like this, Wade doesn’t want him disturbed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wade isn’t used to anyone visiting his hellhole of an apartment.

He certainly isn’t used to two visitors in one night.

He’s nodded off in the earliness of pre-dawn, head propped on a hand on the back of the couch, dozing in place so Nate can keep sleeping. Who cares if his leg is asleep. If it falls off--can legs fall off from going to sleep for too long?--he’ll just grow a new one anyway.

And then the door knob rattles quietly. Just the little sound of someone testing it to see if it’s locked.

Wade is instantly awake and pulling the handgun out of the couch for the second time. There’s a long pause and then the lock glows blue and twists on the inside, unlocking with a click. The handle twists and the door is pushed open a couple inches.

“Step in where I can see you,” he growls quietly. “Hands come through first and stay up the whole time. Or I’m going to shoot a hell of a lot of holes in my door and send you the bill.”

There’s a long pause, then a pair of slender hands, gloved in green poke through, fingers wiggle as if to say see, no weapons and then a head pokes around the door. Red hair. Green eyes.

“Oh fucking hell,” Wade swears, flicks on the safety, and savagely shoves the gun back down into its hiding spot. Again.

The green eyes blink in surprise and then their owner sidles through the door, pushing it quietly closed behind her. She’s dressed in the usual skin tight superhero outfit, except with a Nate-worthy big gun strapped to her back. Eyes wide, just staring.

Hope. He doesn’t know her very well. Barely at all. That hurts too, that Nate hadn’t bothered to get them together, to have him properly meet his adopted daughter.

“Whaaaaat?” Wade asks defensively. Quietly and defensively. Quietly because don’t wake Nate. And defensively because so what if he has multiple hundred pounds of X-Force leader stretched across his couch and lap? Manly, brawny, probably never-admits-weakness-in-front-of-his-kid leader?

“Sorry, I didn’t know what was-- I borrowed some of his powers to get-- I could feel him but I couldn’t read you--”

“Yeah, telepaths have trouble with me.”

“Is he okay?” she breathes, edging closer, and the ridiculousness of it all almost makes him laugh, that they both figure Cable has to be damn near done for before he does this sort of thing and sleeps through a conversation about him happening right next to him.

Wade shrugs. “I asked him if he was dying. He said maybe.”

And there. That’s definitely a kid Cable raised. Because the flash of guilt quickly covered up and the squaring of the shoulders, taking responsibility for and internalizing problems and failures, that’s all Nate.

She nods, and now she’s looking him over more carefully, scrutiny from head to toe, gaze lingering on his face as if she really wishes she knew what he was thinking. Wade really wishes he had his mask, but it’s across the room and he’s sure as hell not going to ask her to hand it to him.

“Who are you?”

Wade hates being trapped in one place like this, so he pulls the gun back out and starts twirling it around a finger. Most people don’t fidget with guns, but then mostly people aren’t him. She almost doesn’t twitch a hand toward her gun in response.

“Wade Wilson. Your dad and I were kinda sorta best buds back when he was building a floating island utopia.” She just looks at him blankly. “Also known as Deadpool?” And now her eyes get really wide.

“I do know you,” she says cautiously. “A future you saved me from Stryfe.”

“Oh. Do I? Good for future-me. Did Nate see it? ‘Cause it’s always nice when he realizes I have a good side.”

“He … uh. Yes. He also told me not to trust you. And worse.” She gives sleeping Nate a hard look tinged with disbelief, as if to say, you hypocrite.

Wade gently sets down the gun before he shoots something or someone. Hunches forward a little because he really doesn’t need her seeing the hurt he’s sure is all over his face. “Nate,” he says softly toward the man in his lap, “you suck.”

That appears to actually get through, because Nate frowns, makes a frustrated grumbling sound. His eyes squeeze tight as a tremor of clenching and unclenching muscles runs through him, a morning stretch. His arm tightens around Wade and pulls him closer, forehead resting on stomach.

“Hey, Nate.” Wade pokes him in the shoulder. “You might want to wake up. Your girl’s here.”

Nate makes an unhappy noise along the lines of “nnnngg”, but rolls and sits up, blinking blearily at Wade’s second unwelcome visitor. “Hope. What the hell are you doing here?”

Hope gets a stubborn look on her face. “You weren’t answering your com.”

“I was asleep.”

“You still weren’t answering. You always answer, even if you’re catnapping.”

A groan, rubbing a hand over his face. “I wasn’t catnapping. Wanted to really sleep for once.”

The curiosity and disbelief are almost palpable, rolling off her. “Why here? You told me Deadpool couldn’t be trusted! You told X-Force to ‘gut him and dump him!’”

That causes double flinches for very different reasons, and Nate glances guiltily sideways at the other man on the couch.

“Yeah, Nate,” Wade says with deceptively calm. “That's even meaner than usual. What’s up with that when Hope was telling me this future-me saved her ass?”

“Wade, you couldn’t be trusted,” and he sounds deeply pained. “How many times have you backstabbed me? Tried to kill me? Lost your mind or your memories so bad who knows if you’d even remember what side you’re on? It… you… he was roughly a thousand years in the future. Not just crazy. Mad. Falling apart, healing factor running out, a dead man walking. Working for Stryfe. Lost.”

It hurts. He’s only looking at his clenched fists when he says, “I never backstabbed you in a way you couldn’t recover from, Mr. Hypocrite Who Exploded My Head Multiple Times. I haven’t tried to kill you in years, aside from being brainwashed, but that wasn’t really me trying to kill you. And...” He swallows, wishes he had something smartass and irrelevant to say instead. Finally looks Nate in the face long enough to say, “I don’t care what I remember or how crazy I am. I’m always on your side.”

Nate drops his head, folds his hands over the back of his head, elbows on his knees. Not looking at either of them, blocking them out. Hope is hovering, looking unsure if she should get further away or come closer to comfort her dad. Wade is just watching--what he just said was as exhausting as an entire fight. Nate’s shoulders shake with the slightest tremor, but his voice is steady.

“Wade, I can’t trust you. I’m sorry. I can’t trust anyone. Maybe Hope. It never goes right. Plans, intentions, it all leads to weaknesses. I can’t even trust myself.”

“Nate.” He puts out a hand, very carefully settles it on a shoulder. Because he’s pretty damn mad at Nate right now, but it’s also obvious Nate’s got some messed up head stuff going on here. “Listen to yourself. When the hell did you get so lost? You used to trust people. Irene. Gareb. Forge. Prestor John. Johann. Maybe you didn’t tell them everything, but you were a team. Six Pack and X-Force before that. I think you even trusted me, until I screwed up and you kicked me off the island. For god’s sake, you cared about other people enough that you burned your powers out fixing my screwed up, useless head! How’d you get from that to this?”

“This?” It sounds hollow.

“Mean and untrusting.”

“Wait, what?” That’s Hope. Wade flinches again. He’d almost forgotten she was there. “What do you mean, burned himself out?”

Wade glares at her, taps the side of his forehead. “My brain’s a mess. Between cancer, my head getting constantly stabbed and shot, and my healing factor, it ends up as ugly on the inside as the outside of me. Last time I was actually sane and able to remember everything was because your dad went inside my head and fixed it. He could have stayed an omega-level telepath and telekinetic again, but instead he wasted it on me. And it didn’t even stick.” And that totally was not almost a sob, Wade is denying it forever if anyone asks.

Hope stares at him, then her dad. “Is he telling the truth?!”

“Yes.” Nate’s still hunched over, not looking at either of them. “He’d just saved my life. Twice. He had holes in his mind.”

“I told you to walk away!” Wade snarls, hand on Nate’s shoulder clenching.

“Like hell,” Nate snaps back, starting to straighten.

Hope just stares at them, like they’re the world’s biggest idiots and confusing her by being unable to see to what’s obvious.

“Dad, if you care that much but you can’t trust him when he’s broken, why don’t we just fix him again?”

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harmony283 · 4 years

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[DGM] A Shoulder to Cry On

A/N: So obviously I’ve been dead here the last couple of months. Obvious reasons should be obvious. Trying to get back into the swing of writing (again), starting with this: something I actually wrote literally a week ago. So technically it was in time for Kanda’s birthday. Thank a1y_puff for the inspiration (based off some fanart she showed me). Sorry if there are any canon discrepancies! I tried my best.

Also on Ao3

[DGM] A Shoulder to Cry On

Pairing: Kanda/Allen (if u squint) If this was any other time, Kanda would be pointing out that Allen still wasn't as tall as him. If this was any other time, Kanda would be giving a snide remark, probably even pulling away, but it wasn't. Because now, despite the cold air and the fact they both were worn out (and slowly, slowly healing in his case) from the recent Akuma attack, Allen was tall enough to easily prop his head on his shoulder. He’d just gotten done telling…one possible version of his childhood and if what he needed was a shoulder to lean on? Then fuck it, Kanda would give him that.

It wasn’t like anything could get more awkward between them. In fact he was pretty sure they were long past that stage, even if this would be considered a fair exchange. After all, Allen hadn’t exactly asked to see his shitty backstory—it just happened because of mind-reading manipulative Noah’s. Even now, the reason Kanda was here was because of that. Because even if he wanted to die—to be given that choice to die? He couldn’t.

He owed him.

So a listening ear and a shoulder were easy extras to give. He’d already been risking his life before now, it wasn’t like he was going to fucking stop.

Suddenly Allen let out a watery-sounding laugh against his shoulder and reached out with one hand, twisting it in the fabric of his Exorcist jacket like it was a lifeline, “Thanks.” He muttered, followed by a soft, “Sorry. Give me a minute.”

Kanda snorted but remained still, it wasn’t like standing here was going to kill him. All the Akuma had either fled or been cut down and while the threat of an actual Noah approaching was always very real, Allen hadn’t given them any indication of their whereabouts (having run so far from the actual location the Akuma spawned from). Even Kanda’s golem, who’d flown off in search of Tiedoll and Johnny, hadn’t shown back up. Granted Kanda wasn’t exactly sure, still, how far away they were. Allen had given him the name of the town, but Kanda never had a reason to learn geography and he wasn’t going to start learning now.

They didn’t even know where they were going to begin with.

It was when Allen actually shivered that Kanda realized fuck it was getting dark out. They at least needed to start a fire, or find shelter of some kind. While their jackets were definitely durable, they’d been forced to use the Ark and it had gone based off feelings, not necessarily anything else—which meant it didn’t fucking care that their shit was still probably with Tiedoll in that Innocence Carriage. They also didn’t have any money either, and Kanda only had so many buttons left of his jacket before that would be gone too.

“Oi,” He started, making Allen jerk just a little, “We need to get somewhere warmer. We’re close to town—”

“And it’s not a good idea to go back.” Allen sighed into his shoulder before finally pulling away, his eyes were a little red, but Kanda chose to ignore that when he finally turned around to watch him, “Yeah.” He ran a hand through his longer-than-normal bangs, “I’d say maybe there’s a cheap inn somewhere, I still have some cash—somewhere.” He fumbled around a few of his pockets with a frown before pulling out a wad of cash. “Won’t last us long but maybe a room for the night—if you don’t mind sharing.” He hesitated here, smiling a little bashfully and honestly? Fuck after everything—

“It’ll give us time to plan our next step.” Kanda decided it wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Even if Allen meant sharing a bed and not just a room. They’d been on enough missions before, though usually they were able to get their own rooms on those. “Okay. Lead the way. You know where we are.”

Even if he still technically didn’t spend a lot of time here, it’d been memorable enough to send them here. Though Kanda had a feeling Allen had left some details out in his backstory (the abridged version, possibly) he knew better than to point that out. He wasn’t that much of an asshole.

Just like Allen was doing a good job of not pointing out the whole fact that Kanda came back. Out of ‘duty’. Kanda didn’t really want to elaborate either. So they were at a stalemate. A perfect amount of information exchange to be able to work together. If that would hold? Well, they’d find out or Tiedoll would find them first. Kanda hadn’t realized how important Johnny was until he was no longer here, hell, was Link still following them? If so then what? There were just as many unknowns to stack up against the knowns—and Kanda knew there would only be more.

They had a destination, though: a place to get to.

But for now they just needed some place warm.

***

The inn was just about as shitty as Allen warned it would be. It was one bed, a desk, a chair, and a door that led to a small, thankfully private, bathroom. Clearly meant for only a nights' stay—no more. Unless they expected them to just not take a shower. Not that Kanda minded being dirty, it was a necessity that came along with traveling. He also knew they got the best of the best with The Black Order so he wasn’t going to complain, especially when right now that status wasn’t doing him any favors. But at least they were warm without their jackets on, so Kanda could at least take it off for now—and wait for his turn in the bathroom. He’d already chosen a side of the bed, and was now lying on it, wondering yet again what their next plan of action was. His golem was trained specifically on him, and especially if it found Tiedoll? He knew it would be able to find them here.

He could only hope it happened quickly. Tiedoll could only give his help for so long before the others got suspicious. While it was just like Kanda to go off and do his own damn thing, Tiedoll? Had been a General for much, much longer. His goal would be something different. Yes, maybe he knew there would be help in branches Kanda wasn’t even aware of, but The Order definitely didn’t seem like one of them. Who the fuck knew what they’d do to Allen if they captured him again? Killing him almost seemed too easy.

And if they tried, would Neah come out? Would Neah come out now? Kanda was certain he could handle it, hell Tiedoll could too. But Johnny almost died, and of course Neah would know to go for the weakest link first, so he’d have to make sure Tiedoll knew that too. Fuck. They hadn’t had a chance to talk very long, had they? No. Not enough at all.

The water shutting off and the door clicking open was enough to snap Kanda back to the present. Allen came tumbling out, looking half-dead, with his hair slightly damp around his face. He was still awake, though, but only barely. “All yours.” He mumbled, easily stumbling over to the other side of the bed before sitting down on it. He didn’t even seem to care that Kanda was still lying there.

Not that Kanda would make him sleep on the floor, and not that Allen would make him sleep on the floor either. Not that Kanda was about to bring that up, he knew he’d at least not be sore in the morning but still. A bed was much nicer than the damn floor. It was only when he didn’t move immediately that it seemed to dawn on Allen exactly what their position was. Immediately he glanced over, almost warily, but when their eyes met? Whatever Allen saw, it definitely didn’t make him move.

He’d never been afraid of him, had he?

At least now that was a good thing.

Kanda met his gaze steadily, before nodding his head and shifting off the bed. Like Allen he made quick use of the bathroom, and even made sure to splash his face with water much like Allen did. It was enough to wake him up and to remind him yes it’s fucking cold outside before he made his way back into the room. Allen was still sitting where he had been, moments before, and almost looked like he was about to drift off to sleep when Kanda muttered, “At least get under the covers. Weren’t you cold?”

Maybe he should have been louder, because Allen jumped, then floundered for a second, before grabbing onto the side of the bed, “Oh. Right.” He glanced down then back up at Kanda, “I can—”

“Take the floor?” Kanda snorted, “It’s just for one night. It won’t kill me to share.” Maybe he, again, needed to work on his word-choice, because the look on Allen’s face quickly morphed to concern. He could see the question bubbling up on his lips and knew—he had a few seconds to either deflect, or actually maybe answer the goddamn question because—

Would it really be so bad?

“How are you not dead?” Granted it was asked much quieter than Kanda expected. In fact the look on Allen’s face shifted between so many emotions (some, not so good) that he couldn’t even pinpoint it before he continued, “I mean. I know you heal, but that was—I thought you’d—”

“—Died?” Kanda snorted and walked over to the bed, sitting down on the edge Allen wasn’t on and sighed, “I couldn’t. I told you that. Not yet. I won’t until this is over.” For whatever given value of ‘over’ it was. Until Allen died? Probably. Until they killed the Noah? Maybe. Found out the meaning behind them? Behind what Neah was here for? Another maybe. There were so many fucking maybe’s Kanda wasn’t sure. He just knew this life? Was now not entirely his to give away. “I heal slower. But I always have been, since before.” He knew Allen had seen those past memories, of him losing a fucking arm and laughing about it. He knew what he used to be able to heal from, and he wasn’t stupid. “I’ll be careful.”

“No you won’t.” Allen blurted out, “I mean, I’m glad—you’re here. Helping.” He glanced away for a second like the words were still hard to get out. He was probably thinking of what he told him—the story he shared, the memories that were still pretty fucked up, and definitely not normal for any kid to experience probably, but still one of a supposedly normal young boy—“And I know you’re not just going to stop. You’re going to keep following me. If—Tiedoll finds us, you’d even still follow me after that. Even if it doesn’t work out.”

Kanda shrugged. The answer was obvious at this point, even if it was also probably stupid.

“Would you die if your Innocence turned against you?” Now that question was a bit more out there. Not exactly something Kanda had been expecting.

“Ask Komui, not me.” Not that they’d probably ever see the guy again, “He probably knows. Or Bak does.” After all he still had the files on hand, of exactly how he was ‘made’, and again the Innocence hadn’t exactly killed him back then, either. Now, with the Crystal Type? The only other user was Lenalee. She was still at the Order, technically still doing what the Innocence wanted, “If I become a Fallen is up to it, too, I guess.” Who the fuck knew what the Innocence was thinking, “Are you worried?”

“Yes!” Allen snapped, “Yes! Of course I am! Why wouldn’t I be? It’s in your blood!” He held his arm up here, almost like he was making a point, “I might, too. Maybe. I don’t know if it’s even possible for a Noah to wield Innocence,” A ghostly look passed over his face and for an instant Kanda remembered—

Those scars he had. The scream of pain.

Yes, Innocence fucking hurt Noah’s. He was an oxymoron if there ever was one. At least in theory, even though Kanda had his own body, his brain (and in theory, the vague memories he had because of them) was connected to the Innocence that was now in his Blood. That was the whole point of the 2nd Exorcist project. To see if the compatibility was connected to the brain. In the end it had been forced out, or possibly connected just out of sheer need.

Allen had two different people residing in him entirely. The Noah Neah, and those memories, and Allen Walker—the boy who possibly was only a fabrication of a person to begin with. He didn’t know, Kanda didn’t know, Cross may have known something—all of which leading up to now.

Fuck.

Kanda took a deep breath before holding his arms out, so Allen could see the scars the Innocence made, “I don’t know.” He answered, “My healing has slowed down, and I haven’t done anything yet to go against it.” He thought for a moment, “Suman, right? He exchanged information for a while before he was found out. I don’t know the exact requirements it chooses—but that’s still time. Time we can use.” They already needed to hurry for other reasons entirely. This was just another tick mark in that column.

Allen still looked distraught, though, and for once Kanda couldn’t be too irritated with him, because he understood why. Of course he did, he wasn’t an idiot. He knew how Allen was—he didn’t want anyone to suffer, even if that meant taking on twice as much suffering in their place. “I’m not a martyr like you.” He finally muttered, lying back on the bed, all while feeling Allen’s eyes on him, “I’ll tell you. If I notice anything. Now you need to sleep. If Tiedoll finds us in a few hours I’m not carrying you if you’re tired.”

#D. Gray Man #Kanda Yuu #Allen Walker #my writing #drabble #canon #canon compliant #(I hope)

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darlingpetao3 · 4 years

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Seducing the Gem (Nash Wells x Reader, Chapter 1/9)

Rating: M (Smut in Chapter 6 only)

Summary: When a mysterious package shows up at your front door, you (a famous Romance novelist) are hurtled from your virtually uneventful life and into one of danger and adventure. In a quest to save your captured friend Caitlin from impending harm, you run into a suave adventurer named Nash who helps you along the way. Or is the charming Nash simply after something in your possession...?

A/N: My Romancing the Stone AU is finally here!! Again, check out the film if you haven’t already (it’s one of my favourites). This has been such a fun series for me to write and I really hope you enjoy it! Major MAJOR thanks to @mintchipcupcake for being my beta-reader for this story! (You’re amazing!!) Let me know if any of you would like to be tagged for upcoming chapters. There will be nine installments total and I will do my best to post every Tuesday.

The altered-human stood before me, looming in the shadows of my apartment. His fists glowed with the light of a thousand suns.

“I know who you are,” his voice croaked. A shiver ran down my back. Yes, I was only in my lace nighty, but I was by no means cold.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I feigned innocence. He took calculated steps towards me, and I knew I’d have to act quickly. This guy was not about to try to kill me a second time.

Luckily, ‘acting quickly’ was something I was exceptional at doing.

The brusque altered-human grunted, then lunged at me with a fiery fist. Little did he know that wouldn’t do much.

I saw the punch coming as if it was in slow motion and dodged his attack, watching his hand glide by my head at a turtle’s pace. I let the momentum return to normal before grabbing his wrist and uttering, “You came to the wrong house, pal.”

It was easy to flip him; he made a thump on my hardwood floor and groaned at the impact. I took that opportunity to run circles around him so fast that I could feel the electricity coursing through my veins until it culminated into a bolt of lightning in my hand.

Power up, baby.

I let the bolt fly, dead straight, until it connected with the altered-human’s chest. He shouted, and the impact of the shot hurtled him out my window to the street below.

There was a commotion outside - voices of distressed concern. I knew I’d be in some serious shit, and not just because I threw a man out my window.

I’d be locked up for being an altered-human too.

There was no time to collect any personal items, just my coat, and I knew my powers wouldn’t work again right away. It always took a while for them to store back up. The sirens already blared, announcing the authorities’ arrival. I climbed out the window of my bedroom and shimmied down the fire escape. Only, in my haste, my bare foot slipped and I lost my hold on the wet metal ladder. I screamed for what I thought would be my final act as a living being.

But there was suddenly a big, muscular arm wrapped around my nearly naked self. The wind whipped at my face, blowing my hair every which way. It wasn’t until I was safely set on the ground that I finally saw the face of my swinging saviour. But I’d know that touch anywhere.

My beloved Chase. The one man I trusted. The only real man in this godforsaken city.

“Aw, did you dress down for me?” he said cheekily, looking my scantily clad body up and down.

“Shut it, the cops are here,” I replied, trying to hide my blush, “and they’ll be after you too.”

“Then we better high-tail it.” Chase summoned his grappling hook into the barrel of his gun. “How ‘bout a kiss for the road?”

I pressed up onto the balls of my feet to ghost his lips with mine.

“How about I save us first, then you kiss me later?” I snatch the device from his hand. “Hold on.”

You can’t help but swoon at your desk, fanning your face with your hand. You could write about these two forever! However, you think that this is the perfect cliffhanger ending to your latest fantasy-romance manuscript. It will set up Book Two in the series wonderfully.

“You’ve done it again,” you congratulate yourself on a job well done. It’s been quite the journey in writing this, and of course, you’ve fallen in love with yet another male character you’ve created.

But there’s just something about Chase that makes him your favourite. You think that your readers are really going to like him, fall in love with him as you have.

Deciding you need to celebrate finishing your draft, you make your way to the kitchen in your sweats, hoodie, and fluffy socks. In doing so, you pass the numerous hanging posters of your New York Times bestselling novels and fanart done by fans.

Humming a tune to yourself, you make a beeline for the fridge, and - there it is - the small personal-sized cake you had bought for this moment. You knew you’d finish the book today, and if the happy-cliffhanger-ever-after ending wasn’t something to look forward to, the cake definitely was.

Maybe you’ll bust out the hot chocolate too.

And perhaps some Bailey’s to go with it. And a bubble bath? Oh, tonight was going to be fabulous!

It’s just you living alone in your apartment, along with all the characters you’d created, residing in your head and begging to have their stories told on paper. You didn’t win the Romance Writer of the Year Award for being a slacker. You didn’t have time for anything else. You didn’t have time for anyone else, or so you continuously tell yourself. However, if a handsome and dashing man like Chase were ever to enter your life, who knows?

What would it be like to be swooped in on and saved like that? What would it be like to save him in return? Alas, you think, you will never find out. You live a virtually uneventful life. You don’t have fictitious altered-human powers (though you wished you did), there’s no one chasing you or wanting to kill you. Likewise, there was no significant-other on the horizon, and now you feared that no one would ever compare to the fictional man you’d created for your latest novel.

These novels are your only means of romance and fantastic adventures. You live in your own creations. It’s an escape - An opportunity to live something so impossible.

Curling up on the couch, you sip your spiked hot cocoa and shovel spoonfuls of the delicious cake in your mouth.

“Here’s to you, Chase,” you toast the imaginary hero in your life.

***

You wake up to an incessant vibration. And while that may sound like a fun way to wake up, it’s just your phone.

Ew, someone’s calling me.

You give a quick stretch from your position on the couch where you’d fallen asleep last night before answering the call.

Strange… it’s an Unknown Caller.

Normally, you’d leave it. After all, as you like to say, “If it’s important, they’ll leave a message.” But today, you think, why not? You’re still on cloud nine from finishing your book.

“Hello?” you answer. There’s no reply, but the call still hasn’t dropped. Someone is still there. “Hello?” you try again.

Whoever it is on the other line ends the call, and you’re left incredibly confused. It’s too early in the morning for this-

Oh, shit!

You just remember you have a meeting with your publisher this morning! Shit! You throw your blanket off of you and dash to your bedroom to make yourself at least semi-professional looking. You think you manage to pull it off, too, but you know you won’t look half as gorgeous as Mrs. West-Allen.

As you scoop up your manuscript and take one step out the door, you see a small package that must have been delivered recently. What shocks you most is the name of the sender.

Ronald Raymond.

But that’s impossible. Ronnie, Caitlin’s fiancé, he’s dead…

You shove it back inside your apartment with your foot. That weirdness can wait, you’ve got a book to sell. Ahh!

It’s a brisk nearly-winter day in Central City. The snow hasn’t begun to fall quite yet, but you’re anticipating it. I wonder what it would be like to write about Chase and his adventures in the snow. Imagine being cozied up next to him in an abandoned cabin with a fireplace and a bearskin rug-

Okay, you are so going to write these thoughts down when you get the next chance. It could be fodder for the sequel!

By the time you make it to Jitters, Iris West-Allen is heading to sit down in one of the large comfy leather chairs in the middle of the cafe with two coffees. You sigh in relief that she’d only just arrived too.

“Hey, you!” she greets you. “There’s my favourite author!”

“Iris, hi,” you take the coffee she offers and you both air kiss each other’s cheeks.

“Is that the manuscript?” Your publisher points to the massive tome of printed-out pages under your shoulder.

“It most certainly is!”

Iris claps her hands together once. “I’m so excited to read it. Now sit, sit. We have lots to discuss.”

Over the next forty-five minutes, you both discuss the book itself, new book tour information starting in the new year, and everything in between. At one point, the conversation takes a turn when your friend and boss starts pointing out various men around the café. She’s always been keen to set you up with someone, as you have been incredibly single for a very long time now.

You wish she wouldn’t, though.

“What about that guy?” she points out a man at the order counter, but adds, “No, never mind. Too bland.” She eyeballs the room looking for eligible bachelors.

“Too gross.”

“Too desperate.”

“Too hipster.”

“Too happy.”

You laugh. “Iris, your husband is actual sunshine, remember?”

“Well, what about him, hmm?” Iris motions with her eyes off to the side - a man with a too-perfect coiff and a shit-eating grin. He winks at you.

You internally cringe. “No, no, it’s just, he’s not…”

“What? He’s not Chase Hutton? Come on, (Y/N).”

“I know, but Iris, I believe there’s someone amazing out there for me. I don’t know where, and I don’t know how, but I’ll find him. And he’s not that guy. Why do you have to bring this up all the time?”

Iris places a hand on yours. “Because I can’t stand seeing you lonely and waiting for someone who’s not real.”

“One - being lonely and being alone are two different things. And two - I’m not waiting for someone who’s not real. Here-” you slide the manuscript across the coffee table to her. “Read it and swoon. I did. Hundreds of times.”

Iris gives you a look.

“Let me know what you think,” you add, standing up and getting ready to leave.

“You’re leaving already?” she asks. “Stay, I’ll get you another coffee. I’m ordering you to. I’m your boss.”

“I can’t.”

“Listen, I’m sorry for that, (Y/N). I didn’t mean anything by what I said or for making you come out here. I just want you to get out, you know? You’ve worked so hard and are doing amazing work, and I know you’re still worried about Caitlin. Because I sure as hell am.”

“Yeah, it’s weird,” you muse at the mention of your mutual friend, “I thought she’d still need me to talk to about everything, but maybe she needs some space? I’m pretty sure she’s still in Africa doing Doctors Without Borders because I haven’t heard otherwise.”

Iris seems like she’s debating on saying something.

“Did they ever find her husband’s body?” she whispers.

“Ronnie? No, but no one could have survived such an explosion... But you know what’s even weirder? I got a package from Ronnie. Today. Which is totally impossible, though depending on when it was sent… I don’t know. It was just really strange.”

“Wow, yeah. God, I hope Caitlin’s okay. Can you imagine having your husband blown up? You’ll keep me posted if you hear anything?”

“Yeah… but yes, I’ll let you know if anything comes up.”

***

Fishing out your keys from your coat, you can’t help but think about everything Iris said. How could she think you were lonely? You are a strong, independent woman who doesn’t need a man (but would like one very much, maybe)! But he can’t just be any man. He’s got to be brave, and he’s got to be strong, and yup, now you’re singing Bonnie Tyler in your head.

You turn the key in the door, but it’s already unlocked. I did lock it when I left, didn’t I?

It only takes you a few steps inside before you see it all.

Your entire apartment has been completely and utterly destroyed.

Furniture flipped, cushions ripped, bookshelves fallen and books scattered everywhere, glass broken. There’s so much going on in this picture that you almost can’t believe this has happened to you.

You bring a shaky hand up to your mouth. It’s nearly impossible to catch your breath because it’s been stolen from you out of fear. As you survey the wreckage, you give a jolt when your phone rings and vibrates in your pocket.

Damn phone calls, Jesus Christ!

“Hello?” you answer, eyes still fixed on the disaster.

“(Y/N), it’s Caitlin.”

Why is she calling me now, all of a sudden? It’s been forever.

“Caitlin?”

“(Y/N), I need you to listen to me.”

There’s a quiver in her voice, which is very unlike the Caitlin Snow Ph.D. you know and love.

“Cait, what’s going on?” you press.

“I’m in trouble,” she replies slowly. “Did you happen to receive a package from Ronnie? A small, brown package?”

“Yes,” you draw out the word, “Why, what is it?”

“Oh, thank God. Inside is a sort of GPS beacon for a kind of treasure? I don’t know anything about it, but that’s what these men are telling me. I need you to bring that device here to me in the Congo as soon as possible-”

“Caitlin, the Congo? My God, what kind of trouble are you in?”

“Please, just- I need you to go to the Pullman Kinshasa Grand Hotel. When you arrive there, call this number-” Your friend rattles off a series of numbers. “But listen, you cannot tell anyone. They said they’d kill me if you alert anyone.”

This is all too much, too fast. It’s almost impossible to comprehend. “I can’t go to the Congo! And what men-?” You hear the sound of a weapon firing up. “Okay, okay, okay! I’ll do it, I’ll be there!” You shout into your phone so these men can hear you.

But the line goes dead.

#reader insert #harrison wells x reader #harrison wells imagine #harrison wells fanfiction #nash wells x reader #nash wells imagine #nash wells fanfiction #harrison nash wells x reader #the flash imagine #the flash fanfiction

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ohblackdiamond · 4 years

Text

till it shines (peter/paul, nc-17)

"Look, I'm not gonna quit, I swear. If we have to end the tour, we have to end the tour. We get dropped from the label, we get dropped from the label. We lick our wounds and we try somewhere else. But until then, we got awhile in this hotel." "And no shows." "Yeah." During a five-day lull in concerts, stranded in an Atlanta hotel, Peter and Paul find a means to entertain themselves.

Notes: Inspired and based to a heavy extent on a very lovely, NSFW fanart concerning Paul's on-tour artistic endeavors. No, not the ones he showcases in galleries.

“till it shines”

by Ruriruri

It was the last day of the Gay Kitchen, with honorable maitre d's, cooks, servers, and busboys Peter Criss and Paul Stanley manning KISS' dwindling hotel fridge and supply closet. At least, it was supposed to be. Peter didn't know if after last night, it was still on the table.

At first, they'd really wanted to go all-out with the band dinners, but their budget hadn't permitted it. One last hurrah before they had to limp back to New York, with a single failed record to their names and all the notoriety of four strays in a junkyard. Back to Lydia for Peter-and Lydia wasn't so bad, Lydia wasn't so bad at all; she'd supported him through worse screw-ups and disappointments, but it was what she represented. A guy who still wasn't paying the bills four years into the marriage wasn't any better than a bum. She'd thought she'd found somebody who'd be going places. She'd been wrong.

For Paul, the prospect of going home was just as disastrous. At least, that was how he made it out to be. He'd get into these depressed rambles about his parents and his sister and his niece and how coming back just wasn't an option.

"Not an option? C'mon, you were in college, what, a couple of quarters-"

Paul had winced and licked his lips, a quick, nervous tic Peter had gotten far too accustomed to seeing as the band's money situation worsened.

"I only went a week. Don't tell Gene." And a swallow. "Look, it's stupid. I know. But I was born to play rock and roll, okay?"

"You're preaching to the fucking choir."

"I mean. if I can't do this, if I can't make this happen, I might as well not be here. This is the only outlet I've got."

Peter had rubbed the back of his neck and tried not to groan. Overblown as ever. Paul thought Peter was the dramatic one, the tetchy one, just because he had enough balls to address what was pissing him off instead of keeping it to occasional bitchy comments. Paul never seemed to hear his own whines.

"You think you're the only one with a dream around here?" Peter couldn't even bite back the rest. "How old were you when the Beatles got on Ed Sullivan? Ten?"

"Twelve," Paul had grumbled back. "Don't make this an age thing-"

"I was just out of high school. And I was already in bands-"

"Pete, I know, I know already. You keep telling me." Paul heaved a sigh. "You keep telling all of us."

"You've got to pay your dues, that's all it is."

"Got to pay your dues if you wanna sing the blues." The right edge of Paul's mouth was starting to perk up.

"Yeah." Peter tugged absently at his bangs, trying not to let himself get too good a look at what he'd been seeing since before he even auditioned for KISS. The semi-permanent dye they all used worked fine on brown hair, but past that first wash, it was useless on gray. The streaks were more obvious against the jet-black backdrop than they'd ever been when he left his hair alone. "Look, I'm not gonna quit, I swear. If we have to end the tour, we have to end the tour. We get dropped from the label, we get dropped from the label. We lick our wounds and we try somewhere else. But until then, we got awhile in this hotel."

"And no shows."

"Yeah." No shows for the next five days at least. Their last pitiful handful of concerts, they'd opened for some redneck band. Outlaws or something. That was another depressing thing. Peter had always expected to at least be friendly with the bands they were the lead-in for, but they'd only been met with indifference at best and hostility at worst. Never ended up opening for the same band more than a few times, either. It just made the whole tour all the lonelier.

He realized after a second that Paul was staring at him. The guy had a weird stare. Kind of like a broke bagboy waiting on his tip, or maybe just like a girl who was really hoping for a proposal. Big-eyed, eager, and not remotely calculating. It might have pissed Peter off, if Paul didn't always follow it up with an abashed grin once he was caught.

"You're thinking about something," Paul said, before Peter could make the accusation himself.

"Yeah. I'm thinking we all need cheering up."

"You need cheering up, Peter."

"You just finished telling me you'd die if you didn't make it, Paul." He paused, still staring at the fridge. "And fuck, I'm gonna die if I have to eat at McDonalds one more time."

"Well, they've got Steak 'n Shake here, if you'd rather."

Peter groaned.

"Not when you're in a fucking blouse and heels. The crowd thinking we're fruits is bad enough." Before Paul could even stammer out a protest, something about it being rock and roll, or about needing more practice in the heels-God, c'mon-Peter continued. "No. I thought we could make our own dinner while we're here. Really make it, not just sandwiches and shit. Real food. We got the kitchen for it. And it'd save Bill some money. You know how to cook, right?" He knew Gene didn't. Ace just wouldn't.

"I'd hope so. My mom started leaving us home alone when I was eight."

"Poor, poor little Paulie." Peter rolled his eyes. "We could-we could make it themed, even. Make out like it's a restaurant. Menus and shit. Invite the guys down for dinner."

Paul brightened, which surprised him. Usually he'd be sore for hours over the slightest crack at his expense, like some spoiled, anxious kid. But for once, he actually seemed excited.

"Like Italian one night, maybe? We could make pizza."

"Yeah, sure, lemme get a shopping list going."

After three beers apiece, they'd named their restaurant the Gay Kitchen, decided they'd act the part of its bent proprietors, and written up a menu full of double-entendres. An hour later, still drunk, they'd pooled their money and ventured out to town in jeans and the lowest of their heels. They'd bought twenty bucks' worth of groceries, which should have been plenty. Then they'd started in on meal prep.

Strange how fun it was. Especially that first night, working on a poor man's casserole, with the radio on and Paul standing next to him chopping up onions, his hands encased in Ziploc sandwich bags because he didn't want the smell on his skin, while Peter cut half-frozen chicken breasts into ragged little cubes. They'd tossed the whole thing into the pan with some salt and pepper, dumped a can of cream of mushroom soup on top, stuck it in the oven and hoped for the best. He knew they should've gone with canned stuff entirely, especially for the meat, if they'd really wanted to save money, but the Gay Kitchen experience demanded the expenditure. At least, that was their excuse.

Besides, Ace and Gene had loved it. Not for the food so much. Peter figured their dinners were decent, maybe even good, sometimes, but he couldn't kid himself. There was nothing impressive about a dessert course that included Hostess cupcakes "with fresh Cool Whip." But the makeshift restaurant had done the job. Cheered them all up. No one said a word during any of the dinners about the tour ending or going back home. Not a single word. And he and Paul had screwed around, too, acting faggy, hitting on each other and the guys indiscriminately throughout the meals. Last night, Paul had even groped his ass while he was mincing around plating everyone's food.

"I had to take him off the menu." Peter could've sworn Paul was deliberately making that annoying lisp of his even worse during each dinner. Pitching his voice into a whine, too. Some commitment. Peter had glanced up, questioningly, but Paul had just ignored him and continued. "You see why, right? He's got such a nice ass-all the boys were looking, I couldn't help but get jealous-"

"Course you're jealous. You dieted yours off, Paulie," Ace had retorted with a laugh. Peter had been vaguely surprised Paul didn't break character at that, just clicked his tongue disapprovingly, his hand still on Peter's ass. Not squeezing anymore, thank God, but Peter had still felt the ghost of Paul's fingers there hours later when they'd both turned in for bed.

Looking back, maybe that was where it had really started. Glancing over at Paul on the double bed next to his, watching him, knees up, with the pad of hotel stationery in his lap and a pencil in his hand, Peter had cleared his throat. Paul lifted his head from where he'd been scribbling.

"Yeah?"

"What're you drawing?"

Paul held up the stationery without a hint of embarrassment. The usual weirdly accurate assortment of veiny, disembodied dicks covered the page.

"What do you always draw those for, anyway?"

Paul shrugged.

"I dunno. Why does Gene refuse to shower?"

"Because his mom told him even his B.O. was sacred." Peter rolled his eyes. "You got a fixation."

"<i>You've</i> got a fixation. You're the one always getting your dick out."

"Getting it out's not the same as drawing it. . That's not even your dick. Whose do you keep on-"

"I went to art school, asshole." There wasn't much of an edge to Paul's words, Peter noticed. "Life drawing comes with the territory."

"In high school? Jesus." Peter cocked his head, trying to decide if Paul was bullshitting him, but Paul was already back to doodling, his eyes averted. "You ever gonna attach them to anybody, or are they just gonna keep floating around?"

"Well, I thought I'd attach them to you, but then I realized that'd mean I'd have to draw your face."

"Oh, fuck you, Paul." He didn't know why, but he got up then, moved to sit on Paul's bed. Paul stopped scribbling just long enough to shift over for him. Peter leaned in, vying for a better look at the sketches. Six, no, seven dicks, from a couple different angles, all varying levels of erect. The balls were so accurate it was almost disturbing. "Ain't even mine. They're too small."

"These are scaled down."

"The shape's wrong, too. Was that one supposed to be bent like that?" Peter pointed at the offending cock, right in the center of the paper. He kind of thought it was intentional. There was something uncanny about Paul's artwork-well, the dick drawings, anyway. His other offerings, at least the ones Peter had seen-splattery acrylic abstracts from his high school portfolio, and the occasional insulting cartoon of his bandmates on the back of a paper napkin-lacked that attention to detail. And that enthusiasm. It was weird. Forget the rockstar shit; Peter almost wondered if Paul's true calling was illustrating gay porno mags.

Paul shifted the paper, blinking at him slowly.

"Are you really critiquing my doodles here?"

"Well, yeah. If you're gonna draw dicks, at least don't draw them bent."

"What's wrong with drawing them bent? Some guys have fucked-up dicks."

"Who do you know with a fucked-up dick? Gene?" Paul's was fine. Smaller than his, sure, but there wasn't anything the matter with it. Peter got a good look at it in the showers after concerts, and during occasional threesomes with college girls that didn't qualify as groupies. Paul didn't care about nudity any more than he or Ace did, which was a relief. Especially since Gene was so weird about it. Months on the road and he still wouldn't strip down in front of the band. Peter had asked Paul why. Paul had said something about Gene going to some Jewish school and that giving him hang-ups, which sounded ridiculous to Peter. If Jewish school was anything like Catholic school, then it was a flimsy excuse for changing in closets and behind closed doors like some chick. Gene probably just had something terribly, shamefully wrong with his dick. Smallness or herpes or both.

"What? No."

Pete scooted over some more. Paul's posture was slightly stiffer than it had been before, but he still moved to give Peter room. Not that the double bed had much space to begin with.

"Does that mean you've seen it?" Peter wasn't sure why he was pressing the issue. Probably because Paul didn't seem all that uncomfortable. In fact, ever since the start of the Gay Kitchen, he'd been more relaxed, more talkative. It'd been nice. Peter watched Paul's lips purse for a second before he replied.

"Come off it. I don't have the right equipment for the privilege."

"Just eat some more and you'll get the tits down."

"Oh, fuck you, Pete." Paul jabbed his elbow into Peter's ribs, just hard enough for Peter to jerk back, but after a second he was scooting in closer again, just to prove he couldn't be nudged off that easily.

Maybe it had been a lower blow than Peter had meant to take. God knew the poor guy worried more about his weight than a chick. Lydia once said Paul was shaped like a rectangle. Just thick, straight lines from his shoulders all the way to his ass, and no definition anywhere. And he had been, but that wasn't the case these days. Paul had ended up with a bad bout of stomach flu about a month and a half into the tour. He would pull himself together enough to do the night's show, but afterwards, Peter'd had to listen to him get up, agonized and grunting, at two in the morning, and hear him retching into the hotel toilet. Paul had probably dropped fifteen pounds since then. Maybe more.

He looked better now. His abdomen still wasn't flat and he still cinched in his waist with a corset onstage, but Peter figured Paul did look a little closer to-well, whatever the hell a frontman was supposed to look like-and a little farther from the shy kid from Queens who drove the band's milk truck to and from gigs. Shouldn't be something Peter was already nostalgic about, especially since they were probably right about to head back to the milk trucks and ballrooms, but he was.

He could hear the scratch of Paul's pencil against the stationery. Paul wasn't going to retort. He'd just sulk and doodle more dicks until he got tired enough to turn off the lamp and tell Peter to get off the bed so he could sleep. Peter licked his lips, mouth suddenly dry, and he spoke.

"You know what? Maybe you should draw mine."

He hadn't thought the comment through. It just splattered from the corner of his brain to his mouth. Maybe he was just trying to get a response out of Paul, see if he could come up with an insulting way to put him off, or if he'd just stammer out a refusal. Instead, all Peter got in return was a raised eyebrow.

"Your dick?"

"Yeah, my dick."

"You're volunteering?"

Shit. Shit, now he had to commit to it. Peter shrugged, somehow managed a tilted sort of grin, and leaned back on his hands.

"Why not? Least that'd keep you from doing all those crooked, veiny ones."

"Yeah, 'cause yours is fucking Adonis,' right-"

Adonis must've been some underground rocker only college kids had ever heard of. Peter wasn't about to admit to his own ignorance.

"Nobody's complained yet. C'mon, Paulie, how about it?"

Paul hesitated visibly. Peter almost didn't think he was going to agree to it. Too nerved-out by the suggestion. But then Paul nodded, his black curls-somewhat limper without the Aquanet and teasing brush forcing them into bushy, puffy proportions-bouncing slightly as he did.

"Yeah, sure. Go ahead."

Peter yanked off the ratty pajama pants that were all he ever went to bed in, tossing them to the floor. Turned around so he was facing Paul head-on, legs stretched in front of him. He could feel Paul staring at his face, and then at his cock, as he tore out the doodle-covered paper and started on the fresh one beneath. He hadn't gotten more than a few scribbles in when Peter realized-

"Hey, wait a minute. You're not drawing it soft."

"I'm just gonna draw what I see."

"No, you aren't. Hang on."

"Hang on?"

Paul blinked, the beginnings of a mild smirk edging across his face. The expression didn't really sit right on him, somehow. Paul's mouth seemed to Peter to only really look okay when it was either pursed in a pout or spread in a hopeless kind of smile.

Luckily, that smirk of his dissolved as soon as Peter closed his hand around his dick, starting to pump. He didn't look at Paul while he was doing it, not at first, his gaze veering more towards the pad of paper and the burnt orange florals of the covers. His breath wasn't hitching yet, but the pleasure was starting to seep through on practiced automatic. A little harder. A little faster, and Peter's brow was furrowing, eyes glazed, focus on anything but his own dick starting to fade.

Except it couldn't fade completely. Not with Paul barely a foot away from him, his big brown eyes furtively darting between Peter's cock and the pencil, his mouth tight. Looking over at him, Peter could almost swear he saw the faint start of a blush cropping up on Paul's cheeks. "Jesus, relax, would you? I'm not gonna come here."

"Wow, isn't that a relief," Paul mumbled, rolling the pencil back and forth between his finger and thumb.

"'S not like you haven't seen this before." A solid five or six times by now, minus the fact that it was usually a girl's mouth or hand on Peter's cock instead of his own. They weren't great at sharing the not-quite-groupies yet. It had taken awhile before they figured out positioning that'd get all three of them off, and that always hinged on whether the girl was down for it. Once they'd ended up with a chick who'd gotten too intimidated by two guys at once, and after a round of debate over who'd go first, Paul had ended up slinking off to the shower while Peter made it with her. Unsurprisingly, she'd been so satiated she'd fallen asleep by the time Paul returned, and they'd both had to lug her out of the hotel room and into the hallway. Paul had been pissed off. Peter just found it funny.

Paul looked as if he were about to say something, but then he shut his mouth. Peter exhaled, letting his eyes shut for a second while he kept pumping, no fantasy in mind, just the simple mechanics of pleasure. Jacking off was mindless, with or without an audience. Nothing meaningful. Nothing to consider. And Paul, for whatever reason, was still just watching him do it. That pencil lead hadn't even touched the paper. Peter took a sharp breath before he spoke again.

"Good enough?"

He'd stopped himself once he was fully hard, but before any precome could dribble out from the reddened tip. He could feel his face getting flushed, a little sweat starting to trickle on his forehead, but he was all right. If things got too bad, he could always head over to the shower to finish rubbing it out, after Paul was done drawing. But he didn't think it would come to that, though his cock twitched in protest. Paul gave a distracted nod.

"Yeah. It's fine."

Then he finally started to draw again. Peter leaned over, trying to get a glance in, but Paul kept covering up the pad with his other hand, swatting at him when he got too close. Peter snorted.

"C'mon, you're not drawing the Mona Lisa here."

"You throw me off watching."

"What'm I supposed to do, just sit here?"

"That's exactly what you're supposed to do." Paul was erasing now, but carefully. One of those cheap pink erasers. He brushed the residue off the paper, and it landed on the covers, tiny black streaks of rubber against the orange comforter. Deprived of watching Paul at work, Peter tried to focus his attention on the eraser remnants, flicking them.

It didn't really help. Despite himself, Peter was starting to squirm. He didn't think Paul was drawing anything past his dick, but he'd been trying to stay still anyway. His thighs kept twitching involuntarily. The ache in his balls was getting irritating enough that he gave in to a few more strokes, shoving his hand in the covers as soon as he heard Paul laugh.

"You having trouble keeping it up?"

"Fuck you, you know that's not it-"

"Gimme a couple more minutes, all right, Pete?" A pause. "And get a little closer, there." He reached his hand out, fingers curving lightly around Peter's bare knee, just for a second. Immaculately manicured nails, bizarre for a guitarist, even one who hadn't played a gig in almost a week. The black nail polish hadn't even chipped. But Peter only really noticed how the warmth against his skin seemed to linger on after Paul had withdrawn his hand. "There."

Peter got closer. His legs were flat on the bed and spread slightly, toes touching the wall by the time he got closer; he'd ended up more to Paul's side. His painfully hard, flushed dick stood out sharp against the rest of his body, craving attention he couldn't-wouldn't-give yet. He'd get that touch in later. He'd get off on his own. A couple more minutes, like Paul said. Yeah.

The amused expression on Paul's face had shifted, gotten focused and intent. The way it did when he was trying to pull a riff together, or a set of lyrics. Peter didn't much care for that look-usually it meant Paul would try to banish whoever was in the same room, whether it was him or Ace or even Gene, so he could be alone with whatever brilliant thoughts he had. But now that look was locked on him instead. Partially. Flattering, maybe, to be mulled over like a rhyme that didn't flow, or a chord that wasn't right yet, but Peter knew that if he thought too hard about it, he'd get disgusted. So he just let his mind wander to the sound of Paul's pencil scraping across the page.

Peter didn't really notice at first when that sound stopped. Or when Paul put the pencil down. The pad of paper was still resting on his lap. Peter inhaled, waiting, figuring Paul would hand it over-with a joking autograph, probably-any second-but then a mass of dark curls ended up right in Peter's face. Paul was leaning in, heavily, breaths hot and heavy against Peter's neck. He pushed away the pad of paper, his bare chest pressed up flush against Peter's. Peter opened his mouth, started to say something, and then swallowed it down when Paul's hand wrapped around his dick.

Peter couldn't believe it. Didn't protest or argue-didn't want to. He was surprised, that was all. Surprised Paul would go for it. Have that kind of nerve. Paul didn't pull back enough to look him in the eye. Didn't say a word.

His palm was sweaty against Peter's cock, fingers only a little callused. The first few strokes were too slow, unintentional teasing, but then Paul got steadier, built up a rhythm. Like doing it to yourself, Ace had told him once, lazily, in the worst and best advice Peter had ever gotten on handjobs, but different. Different. Peter could feel Paul's heartbeat against him, like a pinball smashing against the bumpers. Each breath was getting more tattered, soft curses forcing their way from Peter's throat; each inhale pushed more of Paul's Aramis cologne into his lungs. Peter's hands, curled up into the covers, flew up desperately as he got closer, warmth and need pulsating inside him, threatening to burst-clenching Paul's shoulder, his back-holding him there, right there, as he spilled into Paul's hand.

Paul let go as abruptly as he'd started. His whole body froze up, and he shifted backwards, brushing away Peter's hands, dark eyes wide, almost scared. He scrambled off the bed and onto Peter's, yanking the covers around him like a little kid caught up too late.

"Paul?"

"I'm sorry," he said, and shut off the lamp.

Peter got up early the next morning, before the alarm clock, but it didn't matter. Paul was already gone-got a cab, evidently, leaving everyone else with the crappy tour bus. Peter could hear Ace and Gene grumbling about it through the wall before he got out of bed, stopping short of the pad of paper and pencil on the floor. He picked both up and took a look.

The drawing was immaculate. Paul had gotten the balls just right. Everything. Taken the time to shade it, even, like it was a serious study. He'd signed it, too-initialed it, rather, P.S. nestled in a forlorn corner. No date. Peter tore the sheet carefully from the pad of paper, looking at it, unsure of what to do with it. Whether to keep it or not. He ended up setting it on the nightstand, face down, before crossing over to what had been his bed up until last night. He didn't have to pull back the sheets to see the semen stain from where Paul had wiped off his hand.

He could've used some washing off himself after last night. No Paul hogging the shower was an empty comfort right now, as Peter turned on the water, letting it get blisteringly hot before stepping inside. It didn't really help.

Paul was back before lunch, anyway, quiet and withdrawn. Bill was talking about booking them a couple more shows further down South-a terrifying prospect, but better than heading home-and Gene was chatting about it with all his usual enthusiasm, while Ace added vodka and ice to his coffee. Paul just looked sunk. Gene kept throwing questioning looks Paul's way, and glancing at Peter, but if he ever asked outright, Peter never heard it.

The band meeting drifted off into nothing after awhile. Paul got up abruptly, saying something about a headache, and excused himself with about as much subtlety as a dying animal. It was a few minutes before Peter got up the nerve to follow him back to their room-and, as expected, Paul had locked the door.

"Paul, c'mon-"

The sound of the knob turning was almost gratifying. Paul was standing there, looking awkward, mouth pursed. Peter noticed, belatedly, that for all Paul had gotten up early that morning, he hadn't shaved, stubble poking hopelessly all around his jaw. His t-shirt and jeans-one of maybe ten street outfits he'd rotated over the tour, same as Peter, same as everyone else-were rumpled past what Paul usually would allow for.

"You didn't have to come check on me."

"I did, we share a room."

Paul swallowed.

"Look, if you wanna change rooms, go ahead, just don't tell Gene about-"

"I ain't telling Gene nothing. And I don't wanna change rooms." Pete exhaled. The look on Paul's face twitched just a bit, but Peter didn't give him a chance to respond before plowing back in. "Are we gonna do Gay Kitchen tonight?"

Paul flinched. Almost like he thought Peter meant it badly, or was making fun of him, or something. Like one of those Japanese trees, the ones with flat leaves that folded up after the briefest brush of a hand. One word and he'd curl back up. One touch, leaving Peter all out of sorts, trying to undo the trick, get those leaves to unfurl again.

"Do you want to?"

"Ace was asking earlier."

"Oh." Paul turned away, walking over to the kitchenette on the other side of the room. He pulled open the fridge, getting out the last can of Coke, popping the top before he really answered. "I guess."

"C'mon, it's our last night here. It'll be fun."

"We're almost out of food."

"We've got enough. Still have those hot dogs." Peter felt awkward, still standing there, barely past the doorframe, as if he was a visitor to his own hotel room. He stepped over to sit on one of the beds. The drawing wasn't on the nightstand anymore. "Hey-"

"What?"

Peter's throat was suddenly a little dry. The words were out before he could hold them back.

"You didn't have to get rid of it."

"It was stupid."

"No, it wasn't. It-it was good, Paulie."

Paul was still all tensed up. Like a battery coil on the verge of springing. Peter almost thought he was going to walk out, more prepared to face Gene and Ace or another lousy cab ride than spend the rest of the day with him, but instead, Paul sat down on the other bed.

"You really don't wanna change rooms." He said it flatly, borderline disbelieving, clasping the Coke can in both hands. He looked strangely young, sitting like that. The six years between them never felt like much except when Peter really let himself give it some thought. At twenty-two, he sure as hell hadn't been on the road with a record, however indifferently-received. Hadn't made it-with threesomes, even-with a whole bunch of girls. He resented it when he considered it, but right now, all Peter was considering was the tightness of Paul's lips and the way he was staring at the floor.

He was just a kid, really. Scared of getting rejected as any other kid, hell, as any other adult. Putting on onstage, putting on during their dinners, only ever peeling back how he really was during all the time in between. The worries and frets, the painful, painful shyness behind every sharp retort. The panicked heartbeat against Peter's chest last night as he'd pushed past his nerves for something he wanted.

Something Peter wanted, too.

"Fuck, no. You and me are the only ones around here that know how to pick up our own shit."

"Pete, that's not it-"

"No. No, it's not it. C'mere. C'mere," he said, quietly, scooting forward on the bed, hands resting awkwardly on either side of him, those orange covers clashing badly with his chipped black nail polish and cheap silver rings. He watched as Paul set down the Coke can and stood up, crossing the tiny threshold between their beds. He still looked like he was about to flee. One wrong word, one sudden movement and it'd be over.

So Peter was slow, agonizingly slow to take his arm and tug him forward. Paul let him do it, didn't go rigid at all, though the fear in those wide eyes was still there. Peter wanted it to fade; suddenly, he wanted it to fade more than anything, as he got to his feet, palm hot against Paul's arm. As he leaned in, pushing Paul's dark curls behind his shoulder, and pressed his lips to Paul's neck.

Paul didn't respond at first. Then, just as Peter was about to pull away, he felt Paul's other hand close around his. Too shy to even lock their fingers together. But that was all right. That was all right. Peter did it for him, shifting his hand in Paul's until their fingers were laced. He raised his head, and Paul's mouth met his, cautious and careful. None of that too-eager fooling around like with the girls. None of that silent desperation from last night. Peter liked this better, every second feeling warmer and fuller than the last. As if he was just on the brink of discovering something grand as his tongue slid across Paul's lips and he let go of Paul's arm to trace the stubble on his jaw, cup his chin in his hand. Paul parted his lips for him, Peter tasting cereal and toothpaste when his tongue slipped inside, but he didn't care. Paul was opening up for him. Finally opening up.

It wasn't too long before Paul started pressing up against him, hips rocking meaningfully against his. Somewhere along the line, he'd ended up with Paul's hair in his fist, and he tugged, lightly, urging him forward as he sat back down on the bed. Tugged his hand, too, as if he needed to. Paul got the picture, following him down, timidity shifting to urgency, until Peter's back was pressed against the mattress. Peter thought about yanking his hair hard for that one, and he might have, except Paul kept kissing him all the way down, except Paul's knee was rubbing against his crotch, his thin blue jeans barely a barrier at all.

Peter's breath hitched as Paul shifted lower, moving off of him enough that Peter could shuck off his own shirt and toss it to the floor. Paul was unzipping him, those long, thin fingers hooking around his belt loops and pulling down his jeans. Freeing his cock, already far too hard, worse than last night, easily. Peter took a sharp inhale when Paul sank down, pushing his thighs apart with his knee, and started to lick at his cock. All the way down, pouring on the attention, fingers pressing hard against his hips, keeping them steady. Peter watched, dazed, breaths hitching, until Paul's warm mouth was around just the tip of his cock.

"Paul, hold on."

Paul pulled back, lifting his head like he'd done something wrong.

"What?"

"You don't know how to do it, don't worry about it." It was just a guess, but Peter figured it was a good enough one. And that wasn't all of it. He didn't think Paul would give himself enough leeway for a screw-up. Perfection or nothing.

Paul hesitated.

"But-"

"It's okay, man." It was hard to think past the blood pumping straight to his dick, going untouched for now, but Peter was managing, barely. The brief image of Paul with his lips around his dick was promising enough, the lead-in for a dozen jerk-off fantasies already. Maybe more than that. "Just-c'mon, let me-"

He tugged Paul back up, helping him peel off his t-shirt, then his jeans and underwear. Taking him in like this, with no girl between them, didn't feel strange or wrong or any of that bullshit; it felt good, every shed layer lending Peter more skin to touch, making him more certain of everything. Despite the concert performances, despite the threesomes and the locker room showers, he'd never really gotten a sense of Paul's physicality before. Now that Paul was straddling him, hair hanging in his face, mouth pressed to his neck, his ear, Peter could really see it all, the wide, powerful build of his chest before it bore down against Peter's, his arms, taut and muscular, tensing as Peter's hands tightened around them. Paul's cock brushed against his, sending a jolt of electricity through Peter, and then he was grinding up against him, their hips flush, flesh against flesh. Peter was cursing before long, the stimulation maddening, almost agonizing because it wasn't quite enough. Paul seemed like he sensed it, reaching over, taking both their cocks together in one hand-but Peter shook his head.

"I've got a better idea."

"Yeah?" Paul's fingers rolled up against his cock just so, the pressure of his hand and his dick incredible enough that Peter almost changed his mind. Looking up at him, that slightly-sweaty brow, those dark eyes, dilated and needy, Peter nodded, fingers closing on Paul's wrist.

"Yeah. I already know you can jack me off." An exhale. "Get on your back and I'll show you what I can do."

Paul let go of him. There was a little consternation somewhere in his expression, a hesitancy Peter tried to erase, hand running down Paul's hairy chest, fingers tweaking a nipple, but Paul did as he'd asked, grasping Peter by the shoulders and rolling them both over. Peter shifted, repositioning himself on top of Paul, putting his hands beneath his thighs. Almost immediately, Paul stiffened up, started to try and lift up his legs. Peter pushed them back down before he could.

"Nah, we're not doing that. Don't worry." Peter watched some of the tension fade from Paul's face, curiosity replacing it. "Spread your legs out a little. there, now." He slid his dick between Paul's thighs, tip right up against Paul's taint. He didn't need to instruct further. Paul's mouth tilted in a distracted grin, his thighs closing tight around Peter's dick-and from there, Peter started to thrust, the soft warmth surrounding his cock nearly overpowering.

Paul was finally making a few sharp sounds as Peter's thrusts sped up, thighs squeezing hard against his cock. The sounds got louder, turned into curses, turned into strangled attempts at Peter's name. Between Paul's moans and his own urgency, Peter couldn't think, his pace speeding up, every brush against Paul's cock, every tensing of Paul's thighs pushing him closer to the brink. He came with a cry, spurting hot between Paul's legs, Paul still urging him to keep going, just a few more, a few more. He managed, grunting, shuddering with exertion as he kept thrusting. Beneath him, Paul looked out of it and focused all at once, dick throbbing against his. So close. Too close. It was seconds before Paul came, quieter, spilling all over them both, head lolling back in the aftermath. Peter was still panting as he slid his cock out from between Paul's slick thighs, as Paul put an arm around him, pressing a kiss to his jaw, his cheek, before finally meeting his lips again.

The Gay Kitchen's final evening went well. Ace and Gene had brought dessert-a box of oatmeal creme pies and a gallon of cheap Neapolitan ice cream-and they'd served it along with the hot dogs and stale chips. A beer apiece, except for Gene, who got a Sprite from the machine downstairs in a rare spendthrift moment. Paul's come-ons and gropes weren't any heavier than the night before, but there was a warmth and a relaxation in him that was new to Peter. A softer look to his expression he'd only been privy to late, late at night in the hotels, just before he drifted off.

Peter liked that. He liked that a lot. Feeling that, maybe, something of Paul's might be reserved for him. That maybe he'd be let in for more than an afternoon. He thought he might be. He figured he would be.

They didn't fool around that night. They didn't really have the time to. Once dinner was over and Ace and Gene had gone back to their room, Peter took a shower, and then he started packing, too-aware of how quick check-out came. Particularly when they were headed straight down to the bottom edge of Florida tomorrow, a solid ten or eleven hours on the road, to play at some college or auditorium or-something. Peter was just glad Bill had secured them another handful of tour dates, no matter the location.

He tossed his makeup kit and street clothes and shoes back into his suitcase, fiddling with the wobbly latches, tracing the crack down one side. Ten to one the damn thing would break before they got out of Atlanta, but maybe he could tie a scarf around it or something to hold the luggage together. He turned to Paul, who was sitting on the floor next to him with his own ratty suitcase half on his lap, about to ask him, but Paul spoke first.

"You forgot your heels."

"I didn't. They're in the laundry bag with everyone else's."

"Not the ones that go with your costume. The other pair." Paul pointed under the bed. There they were, three-inch platforms he'd barely worn all tour, neatly placed. He didn't remember putting them there.

He pulled them out, a piece of paper under one heel catching his eye. Setting the heels aside, he picked up the paper.

"Paul?"

It was the drawing of his dick. Paul hadn't thrown it away after all. He glanced over at him, and Paul smiled, a little bashful. That hopeless smile he hadn't been able to plaster on a single promo picture, more endearing and elusive than any sketch.

"It's for you. I don't know if I'd frame it, but."

Peter felt himself grin back.

"Are you kidding? It's the best drawing of my dick anyone's ever gonna give me. I'll keep it forever." Peter held it up, examining it anew. "There's only one problem."

"I thought you were done critiquing my art."

"Hell, no." And Peter handed it back. "You gotta sign it for me."

"I initialed it-"

"Sign it. Make it worth a million bucks someday." Peter didn't think he'd stop smiling as he leaned over, tousling Paul's hair. "You can even add the star."

#kiss the band #kiss fanfiction #paul stanley x peter criss #peter criss #paul stanley

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deansmyapplepie · 5 years

Text

Stolen Goods: Part 1

Pairing: None

Tags: irritated!Dean, irritated!reader, amused!Sam, stealing clothes, fanfiction within fanfiction

Word Count: 1,554

(Gif not mine)

"Dude." Dean sauntered into the library, where Sam was scrolling through his phone, not paying much attention. Dean said "dude" at least twelve times daily, so Sam was really only half-listening. "You'll never guess what I found in Y/N's room." This piqued Sam's interest. He looked up, realizing what Dean had with him.

"Is that her old laptop?"

"Yeah, man. How much you wanna bet college Y/N was super into porn?" Sam's eyebrows knitted into a quick frown as his brother sat down across from him and turned on the device.

"What were you doing digging through her room?" Sam questioned. Dean waved his hand through the air dismissively.

"I've been looking for my gray flannel for weeks," he replied. "I keep having to go in there to look for it. I'm pretty sure she stole it from the dryer when I was doing laundry, and she hid it in there somewhere." Sam rolled his eyes. Over the years, Dean had developed a bad habit of misplacing his own possessions, and then blaming it on other people. Unfortunately for Y/N and Sam, it was not a problem that was not getting better with time.

"Did you ever think maybe it's not in there because she doesn't have it?"

"The point is," Dean continued, ignoring his brother's logical argument. "I've been waiting for her to get out of the bunker for a while so I could get my damn shirt back." Sam sighed, crossing his arms as he leaned back in his chair.

"Well, did you find it?"

"...No." The younger Winchester shook his head and turned his attention back to his phone. After a few minutes, Dean let out a gasp. "Whoa. Sam, you're not gonna believe this." Sam rolled his eyes, not even bothering to look up this time.

"Dude, I don't want to see porn!" Dean shook his head vigorously, a shit-eating grin on his face,

"No, no, no, it's not porn. It's better." Sam knew his brother very well. With that said, if Dean was saying something was better than porn, booze, or strippers, it was definitely worth at least checking out. Straightening up in his seat, Sam put his phone away as Dean turned the screen to face him. He stared at her background in shocked silence for a second before speaking.

"Is that-"

"Fanart for Supernatural? Yeah. And check it out, she's got a whole folder full of this stuff." Dean came around to the other side of the table so they could both look at the screen. The two boys sifted through Y/N's surprising amount of Supernatural-related content on her laptop. He shook his head, eyes widened with disbelief.

"I knew she read the books before she met us, but I didn't think she was so..."

"Diehard fangirl?" Dean filled in. He leaned in closer to the screen, scrutinizing a document titled You’re Always Worth My Favorite Shirt. "Wait, what's this?"

As you pulled into the bunker's garage, you rolled the sleeves of Dean's gray flannel up to your elbows. You had had it for several weeks now, and Dean hadn't even known it noticed it was gone. Stealing clothes from him was something you did on a semi-regular basis, but you continued to get better at it each time you did. You had very briefly dated Dean a couple years back but eventually decided that it was better if the two of you just remained friends. The clothes-stealing habit had just sort of stuck, and he never said anything about it, so you just kept doing it.

"Hey, guys!" you yelled as you got out of the car. "Come help with groceries!" Waiting for the boys to come into the garage, you grabbed some of the groceries. When you were still alone a few moments later, you sighed in irritation and loaded every last bag onto your arms. "Every time." You knew there was a pretty good chance they couldn't hear you, but it still pissed you off. Whenever it was Sam or Dean's turn to go on a grocery run, you always had to help. "You know," you started as you stomped past the boys. "It would be pretty nice if you two would help with bags every once in a while." Not bothering to wait for their response, you made your way into the kitchen and began to unload the large haul of food. You had barely set down the bags when Dean called out to you.

"Hey Y/N, can you come in here?" Frowning, you put the remainder of the groceries on the stainless steel countertop and went back into the library. Sam and Dean were sitting at the end of the long wooden table in front of a laptop, Dean obviously trying hard not to laugh. Something felt off.

"Uh, yeah?"

"Can I read this to you? I'm trying to write a book, and I know you used to write a lot." You raised your eyebrows in surprise. Dean? Write a book? Oh yeah, something was definitely fishy. You turned to the younger Winchester.

"Is he sick?" Sam shrugged, not really meeting your eyes. "Do you smell toast?" you questioned Dean.

"Hey, come on, I'm being serious here! I'm writing a book, and I want you to hear it!" Crossing your arms, you looked him up and down skeptically.

"Okay, you're both acting really weird, and I think you're fucking with me," you decided. "So, I'm just gonna go finish groceries." If things were still this weird later, you might have to perform an exorcism.

"You stabbed the demon, and it cried out in pain, glowing a bright orange. Yanking the angel blade from its chest, you watched the body crumple with satisfaction." Dean began to read. You paused. That sounded familiar. Had he read this to you before? You shook your head. No, there's no way he had. If Dean had told you he was writing a freaking book, you wouldn't have forgotten. You were just about to ask him if he actually wrote that as you turned around when he kept reading. "Sam's feet found purchase on the ground, no longer held against the wall by the demon's power. You ran to Dean, who laid in a heap on the floor, unconscious." Finally, the words really registered in your head, and you remembered. You felt the blood drain from your face as your eyes went wide. That wasn't possible. The only way they could've found that was if... Your gaze landed on the laptop on the table. When you first walked in, you hadn't even noticed it there. But sure enough, those assholes had dragged that computer up from the depths of hell and started looking through it.

College was a time when the only thing you associated with the names Sam and Dean Winchester was how much you loved Carver Edlund's books. In fact, you loved them so much that you started writing fanfiction about them. ...Lots of fanfiction. You opened your mouth and made a noise that was a mixture of a stutter and a squeak as you tried to regain your ability to talk.

"'Dean?' you asked as you rolled him onto his back," Dean continued. "'Dean, wake up, baby,' you worried, cupping his face in your hands. His eyes opened, and he blinked hard." Finally, you sprung into action with a banshee screech, practically launching yourself at him from across the room. Dean quickly picked the laptop up and held it above his head where you couldn't reach.

"WHY DO YOU HAVE THAT?” You screamed loudly, trying to tackle the older Winchester.

"Fanfiction, Y/N?" Dean asked. "Really?" An intense blush heated your cheeks.

"I didn't know you or your brother were real, okay? Sue me! And don't you dare judge me based on that! That was some of my worst work! I think that was actually the first one I ever wrote!"

"I thought it was good," Sam said sheepishly. You pointed at him, not quite sure how to react.

"Sam, I love you, but now is really not the time." You turned on Dean again. "Now let's get back to why the hell you have that laptop."

"He found it in your room," Sam called out helpfully.

"Okay," you started, "new question: why the hell were you digging through my room?" Dean glared down at you, readjusting his grip on the device.

"Because I was looking for-" The emotion in his eyes changed from anger to confusion as he gave you a once-over. "Wait, are you wearing my shirt?" The room went dead quiet aside from the sound of Sam letting out an amused snort. You ground your teeth together. They were gonna give you shit for the rest of your life. Unless... Wordlessly you took off the shirt, bunching it into a wad as you held out your free hand.

"Laptop," you ordered. Dean handed you the laptop, and in return, you gave him his shirt back. "We never speak of this again." Before the boys could say anything else, you high-tailed it out of the library.

With Y/N out of earshot, Sam took note of the mischievous grin on his brother's face.

"You're not gonna let her live this down, are you?" Dean rubbed his hands together excitedly.

"Oh, there's no way in hell."

Stolen Goods - Part 2

Thanks so much for reading! This one was pretty fun for me to look back on my older stuff and realize how much stronger of a writer I’ve become since then! <3

As always, links to my inbox (leave requests if you want!), masterlist, and taglist are in my bio <3

#supernatural #fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #fanfiction within fanfiction?#idfk #sam winchester #dean winchester #reader #female reader #original female character #stealing clothes #one shot #one shot fanfiction #supernatural one shot #reader writes fanfiction

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