#THE WAY HE BURIES HIS NOSE INTO GERARDS FACE | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

2therazor · 1 year ago

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clean sheets

w/c: 2916

revenge gerard x reader

content warnings: afab, dom reader, mommy kink, slightttt masochism, established relationship, unprotected sex, degradation

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!THIS IS A REPOST FROM BEFORE I DELETED THIS BLOG!

it had been an extremely long day. extremely long. all day your boss on your ass about this and that, every thought straying further away from stability. wasn’t being an adult supposed to be fun?

as soon as you pulled into the driveway you felt your heart sink, every emotion in the world had just hit you at once as you slowly got out of the drivers seat and closed the door. the only thing on your mind was walking into the front door and being able to see gerard. days like this he would for sure be sat on the couch watching anything ranging from a superhero movie to a horror movie. (and nowhere in between) you smiled at the thought as you slowly pushed open the front door.

“hey baby,” he called from the couch as you slowly shut the door.

you kicked off your shoes and set down your bag without saying a word. gerard knew something was off right away. you were never this quiet coming home.

“hey.” you sighed, trying to hide the frustration and irritation in your voice. which you knew, wouldn’t do much. gerard always had a way of knowing if something wasn’t right, even if you tried to be as nonchalant as possible, there was no getting past him.

“what’s wrong?” he paused the movie and turned his head to look at you in the doorway. your head was down the entire time, looking at your feet.

the question alone was enough to make you crack as you quickly burst into tears, not lifting your head from your feet to look at gerard. you knew the look of concern on his face would probably only make it worse and you hated to worry him.

“oh sweetheart, I’m sorry,” he shifted from his spot on the couch and made his way over to you, slowly wrapping his arms around your body. the scent of his cheap cologne mixed with cigarettes was all too familiar to you. never once did you not feel safe in his arms, especially when you were like this.

“it’s just- my stupid fucking boss again” you choked between sobs, burying yourself deeper into his sweater.

you felt an arm come up to rub small circles on your back as he pulled away from you, looking at you with those soft, hazel eyes. you could’ve swore you’d die right there. he spoke gently, “was she on your ass again about the drafts?”

you nodded, attempting to hide in his arm again, but he stopped you, bringing a hand up to your cheek to wipe your tears.

“I’m just so frustrated and irritated, she makes me feel like i’m always doing everything wrong. i cant stand being treated like im like five years old and incapable of doing my job.” you brought your own sleeve to wipe your nose and eyes, wondering how gerard could see you like this; a sobbing mess, and still think you were the most beautiful thing he’s laid his eyes upon.

“i know baby, i know. why don’t you come sit with me for a bit, I’ll make you some tea and you can just relax for a bit.”

you smiled up at him and nodded gently. he always knew how to comfort you even if it was something so small and ridiculous in your mind.

“okay, come on,” he put his hand in yours and gently guided you over to the couch to sit. when he tried to walk away to turn the tea kettle on, he was stopped by a hand grabbing his sweater.

“stay? just for a little? just wanna hold you, please”

you croaked, lowering your hand.

he smiled gently, black hair falling into his eyes. “okay, yeah. ok i can do that.”

you smiled as he sunk into the couch. immediately, you crawled into his lap as he wrapped his arms around you.

you both stayed like this for a while, just enjoying each other’s presence when you began to feel a bit antsy. moving around every few minutes, hoping gerard wouldn’t notice.

but the truth was, it was hard not to notice what you were doing. squirming more and more as time went on. when you realized gerard was playing dumb, you looked up at him and weakly spoke.

“gee?”

he turned his head to look at you, but he had that sick sly grin on his face. he definitely knew what you were trying to do. but still, he played along, acting all innocent, pretending he didn’t have a clue.

“what’s up?”

you bit your lip, embarrassed to even bring it up, but still you tried, “can we… try something?”

there it was, that smile that he tried (but failed miserably) to hide, gently looking down at you, bringing a hand to your face. “what did you have in mind?”

you were so flustered but were getting to a point where none of that mattered anymore, so gently you said, “like… maybe i could be dominant? push you around, make you beg… just need to let off some steam..”

gerard was failing so hard to keep his composure, all he could muster out was a mere “fuck baby”

you smiled, slowly snaking up to his face and pulling him in for a heated kiss. kissing gerard was usually gentle and slow, but now he seemed desperate, practically begging you without words to push your tongue deeper into his mouth.

he pulled away for a second, hair messy, lips slick with your saliva and his combined. “lets take this to our room?”

you smiled and gently put a hand on his chest, trailing your fingers closer to his obvious bulge.

“yeah, I’d like that”

on the way to the bedroom you two could hardly keep your hands off of each other, gerard grabbing you by the hand and dragging you down the hall only for your lips to collide again as soon as he shut the door.

“gee?” you broke the kiss to say

“yeah baby?”

there was a spark in your eyes as you lowered your head to smile and speak. “go sit on the bed.”

gerard could’ve sworn he felt his dick twitch at that comment, he simply complied. making his way over to the bed and sitting on the edge, waiting patiently.

“aw, already being so good baby… but I’m gonna need you to sit all the way on the bed, can you do that for me?”

gerard felt his face turn red, god it was so hot to see you like this, him listening to every command you spoke, not questioning a damn thing. he felt so vulnerable, but god did he love it. you were intoxicating, there was no doubt about that.

and so, he slowly crawled back further onto the bed, groaning at the tight feeling in his jeans.

“sweetheart, please… i need you.”

god he was so needy, you rolled your eyes and scoffed. “did you really think it was gonna be that easy? christ gerard, i haven’t even taken my clothes off and this is how you treat me?”

his eyes widened with anticipation, not knowing what to say next he blurted out,

“mommy, please. im sorry.” he stifled a moan.

fuck. you were done for.

you tried to keep the façade up as you slowly walked over to the bed and began to strip slowly, making sure gerard was watching your every move. and he was, practically fucking you with his eyes.

he moved a hand down to attempt to touch himself but was quickly stopped by your hand attempting to pin his wrist to the bed.

“did I say you could touch yourself?” you growled climbing into his lap, still in your panties.

he turned his face to the side, attempting to avoid eye contact. you were not gonna let him off that easy.

“look at me. did I say you could touch yourself gerard?”

he whined at the pressure of you on his lap and slowly breathed out, “no.. im just. fuck i need you baby. need to be inside of you.”

a slap rang through the room, gerard gently bringing his hand up to his cheek.

“you’re not behaving gerard. good boys wait. and what are you supposed to call me?”

his glossy eyes turned to you as he spoke, “im sorry mommy. i’ve been bad. didn’t mean to-“

you cut him off with a kiss, this time more gentle.

“color?” you asked, gently stroking his cheek.

“green. fuck green” he breathed out

you smiled as you went back to kissing down his neck, slowly grinding down on his lap with each kiss.

gerard really couldn’t be in his pants much longer, and as you pulled away from his neck, he asked quietly, “mommy? can i take my pants off? please…”

you smiled, gently moving to push your leg against the tent that had been growing in his jeans.

that was enough to make gerard whine and moan all over again, attempting to cover his mouth with one of his free hands. you quickly put a stop to this.

“no, wanna hear you baby boy, you’re so pretty. gotta hear you moan while I fuck you.”

his eyes shut tight and hips bucked against your leg as he let out another high pitched moan.

you smiled, slowly unbuckling his belt and pulling his pants down but leaving his boxers on. quickly he kicked away his jeans and they were lost to the floor for the third time this week.

pre come leaked in a small patch on his boxers, barely visible underneath the black fabric. you were practically dripping wet at the sight, not once breaking eye contact as you freed his cock from his boxers.

this earned you a small whine from gerard who had his head thrown back against the pillows with labored breathing. you could see sweat glistening on his forehead, wondering how he got worked up so quickly with you.

“gee baby?” you got his attention, tugging on the hem of one of his many band tees that had seemed to be falling apart at the seams.

“mm?” he replied, soft and quiet. god how did you get so lucky.

seconds later, you were pulling the shirt off his head throwing it to the floor along with his boxers. he was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen in the world. long black locks sticking to his forehead, leftover makeup from nights before.

“c-can you touch me?” he whined, squirming around beneath you.

“i don’t know… you’ve been so so impatient all night. dont know if you deserve it…” you started to trail off.

that really made gerard move beneath you. you could tell he was biting his tongue, holding back from talking back to you again because he knew the consequences.

noticing his movement you slowly dragged your panties off your body. “think you can do something for me baby?” you enquired as he watched you with eager eyes.

“yes, i can do anything for you mommy.” his voice barely audible as he looked up.

“can’t hear you baby…” you gripped your fingers around his throat, giving him a tight squeeze. “speak up, or i’ll just leave you here for another hour.”

his voice was strained as he tried to speak through your hand gripping down on his throat. “please. god please, i’ll do anything, i’m your good boy please.”

you chuckled at his babbling, slowly removing your hand from his throat “so needy…” you said moving your pussy closer to his face. “gonna sit on your face, and if you’re good, i’ll fuck you hard and rough like you like.” you knew the power you held over him right now and you were not going to break character. not when your boyfriend was a sweaty, whiny, mess underneath you. you swore you felt it go straight to your core at the thought,

before he could respond, you lowered yourself onto his face, thighs on both sides of his head, causing him to grip onto your thighs.

“gerard.” you said in a stern tone.

he quickly realized his mistake removing his hands from your body.

“why are you so needy today? you want mommy’s pussy so bad? you have to fucking earn it whore.” you spoke above him before lowering yourself on his face again. he started out slow, small licks from the bottom of your dripping cunt to your clit, sucking hard.

“fuck baby,” you moaned attempting to grind harder down on his face. still, he continued, licking every drop from you, making filthy noises and sucking on your clit in between licks. you were so close, every breath stifling as you sunk further down on him. his tongue plunging deeper and deeper.

gerard could tell you were close, he knew the tell-tale signs of your orgasms like the back of his hand. he sped up, eating you out with so much desperation that it was almost pathetic.

“ah- gerard fuck.”

he stopped for a moment, lightly using his hands to push you off of his face so he could speak. “please cum baby… please, wanna taste you on my tongue, just fucking use me.” before bringing you back to his mouth

you broke, a moaning, overstimulated mess above him as you reached your high, legs shaking as you slowly moved off of his face breathing heavily.

you noticed gerard hadn’t gotten any softer down there, in fact, he looked bothered. the tip of his cock so red and sensitive, pre-come still leaking from the tip. you smiled gently and caressed his cheek. “you did so fucking good for me baby… want me to fuck you? fuck you so hard you can barely think?”

he nodded quickly and sighed out of relief. he needed you so badly.

“fuck me, please. be rough, do whatever you want… just need you now.”

and that's all you needed to hear before sinking down on his cock. still, even if you had been together for almost two years, it was always difficult to adjust to his size. he moaned at the sight of you, throwing his head back and exposing his bare neck. quickly, you wasted no time marking his neck. you knew he loved it when you bit him, licked him and kissed him up and down his neck. always relishing the sweet sounds that came with it. he brought his hands up to cup your breasts, rubbing small circles around your nipples.

you quickly sat up and began to move your hips at an even pace. gerard’s moans filling the room as you bounced up and down on him, not stopping.

for a moment you looked down at him, he was so fucked out it was unbelieveable. you slowly reached your hands down to his neck to choke him again. you felt him go stiff underneath you, letting out a guttural moan from his throat. his eyes grew soft, and although you were in charge, a wave of adoration flooded you as he grabbed your hand and pushed it down harder against his throat.

you picked up the pace again, hands still squeezing his neck tight.

“fuck.. so good..feels so. good.” he babbled beneath you, you could hardly keep your composure at this, that tight knot in your stomach making itself extremely noticeable again.

you moved your hands away from his throat to bring them to his thighs, slapping him as you sped up. you knew he liked it rough, and after the day you had, he told you not to hold back. and that’s exactly what you did.

“gee, m’ so close” you whined, still not slowing down.

“me too- fuck. can we cum together? please? i’ve been good.”

you had to hold yourself from cracking up because he had been anything but good. still, with the state you were both in, you didn’t have the strength to boss him around anymore. you needed release and so did he.

“yes baby, cum for me. do it hard, come for mommy like a good boy…” and it seemed those were the magic words as gerard bucked his hips up in one thrust, and you felt the familiar twitch of him inside of you. you came shortly after, barely able to sit up anymore.

both of you breathing heavily looked at each other and smiled as you slowly climbed off of your boyfriend’s lap, careful not to make too much of a mess.

gerard quickly slid out of bed and grabbed a towel from your shared closet to wipe you down before you had to clean the sheets for the fourth time this week. once he was done he pulled you into his arms, smiling and humming as he looked down at you, almost asleep.

“doing okay?” he asked with a slight hint of concern in his voice.

“yes, more than okay actually” you giggled, bringing his arm around your shoulder. “how about you baby? are you okay?”

“oh god yes,” his cheeks turned upright as he tried to laugh it off, acting like he didn’t have some of the best sex in his life with you.

you smiled into his chest, and although he couldn’t see it, he could feel the curve of your lip pressed against him.

“nap time?” he asked, pulling the covers over the both of you.

“yes, definitely.” you curled back into him and gently dozed off, forgetting about the god-awful day you had.

#mcr x reader #gerard way x reader #gerard way smut #mcr x reader smut #mcr fanfiction #frank iero x reader #mikey way x reader #ray toro x reader #mcr smut

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reanbowful · 2 years ago

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This is a request from a person who THRIVE on Gerard. So I shall give you. Gerard in caps.

*also I’m back yayy sorry for being absent ehehe

“accidents or fate?”

if you accidentally kiss / compromising position

*sliiiightly suggestive on Ben’s part

(gray, ben, GERARD, jake, wolf)

gray yeon / yeon sieun

The two of you sat side by side in an empty classroom reviewing for a quiz.

It’s been like at least an hour and you could feel your back aching already.

You rest your head on the table, looking at Gray who’s nose is buried in your notebook, correcting any mistakes that you make.

Which made you pout, because what the hell is that? How did you get so many wrongs, and you were confident about it too :(

Sighing, you turn your head towards the glass window.

The sun is setting now. A warm orange glow filled the classroom. It was .. beautiful.

You were about to tap Gray’s arm to show him the sight. But when you turn-

“Gray, look-“

Gray was also trying to get your attention, seemingly leaning in while you turn your head at the same time.

At the brush of his lips, you got startled and jumped back. Hands covering your lips.

When you see Gray frozen in his place, you chuckled speechlessly. Recovering quickly and promptly apologised.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to-“

“It’s fine. It was an accident.”

He could pretend to be stoic all he wants but the red across his cheeks says otherwise.

ben park / park humin

I feel like out of everyone, he would be the most like. Shocked. Flabbergasted.

Parties weren’t Ben’s thing, but this was a special occasion. Gerard had just begin to play music again. That’s something to celebrate about.

The owner of the venue held an after party. Well, not so much for Gerard, but for their 5 year anniversary.

But still. It’s quite a crowded place, so to say.

“I’m going to get some drinks!”

With the blasting music and people screaming at the top of their lungs at every corner, no one could really blame Ben for not noticing the disaster coming his way.

See, you were having a bit of a ‘disagreement’ with a group of girls from your old school. And well, it was quite a mess.

You just wanted to have a nice time away from all the stress and when you came in, your eyes were met with the embodiment of pettiness.

Damn. Which God did you piss off for them to do this?

Letting out an exasperated groan, you rolled your eyes and turn to leave.

“Ok, ok. You know what, enjoy the fucking party. I’ll leave you to it.”

Somehow, the girls seems to be even more annoyed when you left them just like that.

So, guess what they did?

Ben was just collecting his drinks that right when he turned around, he was met with a body shoved harshly onto him. Causing him to lose balance and toppled off right onto the floor.

“Ugh..”

He winced at the sudden weight dropping on top of him, cracking open his eyes only to find your face right in front of his.. yea.

Ben’s whole face burned. Mixed with the alcohol in his system, his brain literally stop working.

But yours clearly didn’t. Nor were you affected at all by the embarrassing situation.

Because that very second, Ben watch you push yourself back up. Angrily stomping towards the three girls.

The rest of it is a blur. He didn’t know how long he sat there on the floor, the blood rushing to his head making him feel a bit dizzy.

What the fuck just happened?

GERARD JIN / JIN GAYOOL

I imagine you guys to be the type of people who would go thrifting or go to these flea market type of events. (you’re not a couple yet)

So, basically Gerard was out on his monthly thrifting day at this particular event.

While searching for decent second hand guitars on the internet he stumbled upon this one shop.

Coincidentally, they were currently a tenant in a famous thrifting event. So, Gerard thought might as well go and see the product for itself.

Now, you play guitar in a band, not big or anything serious. But you guys would occasionally busk and accept gigs for extra cash.

Of course, being high school students, you don’t really have all the money in the world. So, things like clothes, and other trinkets, you try to curate them by thrifting.

Anyways, you were just looking around for the next hidden treasure when you saw it.

A black, vintage, X model guitar.

Oh you gotta have that.

Practically running to get it when you feel yourself pulled forward, stumbling on your feet towards a man with green hair.

“Oh! I’m so sorry!”

You stared at him, slightly in shock. Your faces are so close together. The man has a soft blush forming, while you gulped when you notice him releasing his hold on the guitar, moving them to your waist to steady you instead.

“I-I didn’t see you, but, it seems that you’re also going to purchase it.”

Also? Wait, but this dude is gorgeous now that you see it.

Gerard stood awkwardly, rubbing his neck.

“It’s a nice model, you have a good eye. Ah, well. I’ll just check out the other models, sorry.”

“NO! No, I mean, no, take this. I insist. Matter-of-fact, I’ll even pay for you.”

You handed over the guitar to Gerard (who looked confused out of his mind), handing in crumpled cash towards the tenant.

“Wha- Why?”

“Since I paid for your guitar, clear out your schedule on Saturday. Come watch me at X bar.”

Y/N investing, I see.

jake ji / ji hakho

This was the situation that got the two of you together in the first place.

When he first met you, Jake thought the two of you have quite similar personalities. You were cheerful, and bright, and live like you have not a single care in the world.

You guys matched with each other right away.

Jake likes you, Dean likes you, everybody likes you. You have an easygoing and friendly personality that people find it easy to find comfort in you.

For Jake, that comfort slowly blossomed into something more.

It started small, the urge to protect. The thought of anyone possibly harming you leaving a bad taste in his tongue.

But then, he started seeing you EVERYWHERE. It’s like you have a magnet on his eyes, even the slight figure or your voice could have him snapping his gaze.

“Excuse me, we are conducting a survey for our university. Would you mind to answer a few questions? It will just be for a bit.”

Jake stared at the bulletin board beside the man. ‘The Science of Love’

Pursing his lips, Jake sighed.

“Okay.”

“Okay! We’re also gonna be recording this, if you don’t mind?”

“Yeah, sure. Let’s just-“

“Hey, is that you, Jake?”

Jake turned his head, taken aback at how close your face already is across his shoulder. Causing your lips to briefly touch before the two of you pulled away in shock.

You let out a laugh, backing away from the recording camera. Jake felt something in his stomach turn when he saw how nonchalant you acted after accidentally kissing him.

“Oh God! AHAHA I’m so sorry! Please, carry on.”

As he collects himself, you were already strolling away from the scene. Mindlessly walking away like nothing had happened.

“I- sorry. I gotta go.”

“Eh? Wait!”

Catching up to you, Jake pulled you by the sleeve of your puffer jacket. To which, you responded with a neutral look on your face.

“I! Want to kiss you! Again. Properly.”

Face flushed, Jake clenched his fist. Heart pounding as he waited for your reaction.

“Huh? Why? You like me or something?”

“Wha- Y/N, I wouldn’t- Ok. You know what, yes. I do like you.”

Jake waited as your expression lay unchanging, bracing himself for a rejection. Only to feel a pair of lips meeting the corner of his mouth.

“Sure, then. I’ll kiss you until you get bored of it.”

Jake can feel his eyes watering as he lifted you up from the ground.

“I won’t ever get bored!”

wolf keum / keum seongje

I’m actually curious how Wolf would react in this scenario really.

There are 3 scenarios.

If you guys know each other closely / are romantically together, he would be completely smug about it.

But if you don’t, then he’ll simply brush over it.

An interesting thing will happen if YOU don’t know him, but HE has a crush on you.

Wolf was having quite an irritating day.

The leftover summer heat, the homeroom teacher’s lecturing him about his absence record, and all of the union bullshit just have to pile up one after the other on the exact same day.

So, this guy is in a pretty foul mood.

Wolf was smoking by the second floor corridor, watching from above as a baseball game commenced in the field.

For such an expensive school, Ganghak’s facilities are.. questionable.

Wolf watched as you walked out of the student council meeting room, your arms filled with a huge pile of books.

He contemplated on offering to carry them. But, no, that would be awkward. He was just about to turn back when he saw a flash of white through the corner of his eye.

Fucking fuck.

Rushing to your side, Wolf pulled you away from the glass window. The glass window which, not a second later, shattered with a hole and a flying baseball bouncing harshly off of the wall.

You panted in shock, not fully comprehending the situation. Due to the urgency, and the sheer force of Wolf’s pull, you lost your balance and ended up knocking the two of you down.

Thankfully, Wolf was able to break your fall by covering your head.

“Noona, are you ok-“

He frowned at the red cut on your left cheek. Brushing his thumb over the edge of the cut.

“Does it hurt?”

You reached your hand up to examine the cut, accidentally brushing your finger over Wolf’s.

“Uh.. no. It doesn’t.”

Wolf tries to calm his rapid heartbeat, reaching behind him for a bandaid and handing them to you.

When your friends started scurrying over, he moved away from you. Feigning ignorance, Wolf cleared his throat and took the baseball into his hand.

Those athletes are going to have a field day.

#weak hero manhwa #weak hero webtoon #weak hero x reader #ben park #jake ji #wolf keum #wolf keum x reader #gray yeon #gerard jin #gerard jin x reader #ben park x reader #jake ji x reader #weak hero headcanons

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selmasemlan · 18 days ago

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Trouble in Paradise

Summary: Our favourite family goes on a family vacation together.

Pairing: Marcel Gerard x Luna Salvatore (OFC)

Author note: Found family is the best

Warning: none

Word count: 4043

Series Masterlist

Trouble in Paradise

The Bahamas greeted the Salvatore brothers and the troublesome trio with warm sunlight, crystal-clear waters, and an endless expanse of blue sky. The salty breeze carried the sound of waves lapping gently against the shore, and the tropical paradise stretched before them like a dream.

Stiles was the first to break the silence, throwing his arms up dramatically. “This is amazing! Look at this! We’re in literal paradise!” His voice was practically vibrating with excitement.

Isaac, standing next to him with his duffel bag slung over his shoulder, nodded enthusiastically. “Right? The Bahamas! This is the stuff they put on postcards! And we’re actually here.”

Damon, ever the cool older brother, smirked and leaned in to nudge Stefan with his elbow. “So, little brother, how long until you start brooding about something? Five minutes? Ten?”

Stefan rolled his eyes, brushing Damon off with a light chuckle. “Not today, Damon. Even I can enjoy this.”

Luna stood a little apart from them, her phone out as she captured the breathtaking view. The sunlight danced on the water, and the way the sky melted into the horizon was too perfect not to photograph. She turned the camera toward her brothers and smiled as she snapped a candid shot of them all.

“You better not post that anywhere,” Damon warned, narrowing his eyes at her.

“Don’t worry, it’s for the scrapbook,” Luna teased, holding up her phone as if to take another picture.

“Scrapbook?” Stiles turned to her with mock horror. “Luna, we’re in the Bahamas, not a retirement home.”

Luna just laughed, shaking her head. “Trust me, you’ll thank me later.”

Without warning, Stiles and Isaac grabbed their bags and sprinted toward the beach, whooping in unison. “Let’s go, baby!” they shouted, their voices echoing across the sand.

Damon watched them go, shaking his head in disbelief. “Are we sure those two aren’t part golden retriever?”

“Pretty sure,” Stefan replied with a grin, slinging his own bag over his shoulder. “But they do have a point. Let’s go.”

As Luna followed her brothers toward the shoreline, she couldn’t help but smile. For the first time in a while, it felt like they could all breathe.

The beach was alive with laughter, the sound of waves rolling in, and the occasional thud of a volleyball hitting the sand. But at the center of the chaos, Damon sat up with an annoyed groan, sand cascading off him in chunks. “Okay, who buried me in the sand while I was napping?” His voice cut through the lively sounds of the beach, sharp and accusing.

Stiles, a few feet away, leaned back on his elbows with sunglasses perched crookedly on his nose. He raised his hands in mock innocence, though the twitching grin on his face gave him away instantly. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Damon’s glare intensified as he pointed to the sandcastle sitting atop his legs. Complete with a moat, tiny turrets, and a makeshift flag made from a cocktail umbrella, it was a work of art—an annoying one. “Oh really? Care to explain this masterpiece then?”

“It wasn’t me!” Stiles protested, though his voice cracked as he barely held back laughter.

Isaac, sprawled out on a nearby lounge chair with a book resting on his chest, didn’t even glance up. “You literally said, ‘Wouldn’t it be hilarious if we turned Damon into a sandcastle?’ about five minutes ago.”

“Traitor!” Stiles shot at Isaac, who smirked lazily before turning a page.

Luna giggled from her spot under a wide, colorful beach umbrella, her camera in hand as she snapped a picture of Damon’s half-sandy form. “To be fair, Damon, it is a pretty impressive castle. The detail work on the turrets is top-notch.”

Damon groaned, standing and brushing sand off his legs with exaggerated annoyance. “You’re all lucky I’m on vacation. If we were back home, this beach would be the site of a supernatural smackdown.”

“Relax, Damon,” Stefan called out as he tossed a frisbee toward Isaac, who caught it mid-air with a nonchalant flick of his wrist. “We’re here to enjoy ourselves. Maybe even have some fun?”

“Define ‘fun,’” Damon muttered, though a small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Despite his grumbling, Damon was soon roped into their impromptu volleyball game, where the rules seemed more about creative use of supernatural abilities than any actual sportsmanship. Stefan used his vampire speed to dive for impossible saves, Isaac’s wolf strength sent the ball flying so far they nearly lost it in the ocean, and Stiles...well, Stiles spent most of the game tripping over his own feet and dramatically accusing everyone else of foul play.

Luna stayed under the umbrella, snapping candid shots of the chaos. Stiles mid-faceplant into the sand, Isaac’s victory pose after spiking the ball, Damon mock-wrestling Stefan for control of the net—it was all gold for her collection. She loved these moments when they were just a family, the weight of the supernatural world lifted off their shoulders, even if only temporarily.

Eventually, the game devolved into a free-for-all water fight. By the time everyone flopped onto their towels, dripping wet and exhausted, the sun was beginning to set, painting the sky in shades of pink and orange.

Luna stood by the shoreline, holding her phone out for a selfie. The sunlight glinted off the waves behind her as she angled the shot to capture her beach-ready look—a turquoise bikini with a sheer wrap tied at her waist.

As she admired the photo, Damon appeared out of nowhere, towel slung over his shoulder and a devilish grin on his face. “You better not send that to Marcel,” he teased, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow.

Luna rolled her eyes, though her cheeks flushed a little. “It’s for me, Damon. Not everything is about Marcel.”

“Sure, sure,” he drawled, turning back toward the others. “Just remember, I’ve got vampire speed, so I’ll know if you’re lying.”

Luna laughed, shaking her head as she slipped her phone back into her bag. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it,” Damon called over his shoulder, earning a chorus of groans and laughter from the group. The sun dipped lower, and for that moment, everything felt blissfully simple.

The streets of Nassau bustled with energy as the group meandered through its colorful heart. Pastel-painted buildings lined the cobblestone paths, their shutters wide open to reveal an array of vibrant market stalls. The scent of roasted plantains and fresh conch wafted through the air, mingling with the sound of laughter and island music. It was a perfect afternoon.

Luna paused at a small stall adorned with strings of handmade jewelry, her attention caught by a delicate bracelet crafted from smooth sea glass in shades of turquoise and green. She traced a finger over the polished fragments, her expression soft with quiet admiration.

Stefan, ever perceptive, stepped closer. “You like it?” he asked, leaning down to examine the piece alongside her.

“It’s beautiful,” Luna admitted, her voice tinged with hesitation. “But I don’t need it. I don’t want you to keep buying me things.”

Stefan gave her a look of mock seriousness. “Luna, it’s a rule of vacations: you have to get souvenirs. How else will you remember the great time we’re having?”

Luna chuckled softly. “I have plenty of photos for that.”

“Photos are great,” Stefan agreed, already pulling out his wallet. “But a bracelet you can wear? That’s better.”

Before she could protest further, Stefan handed the vendor some cash, taking the bracelet and gently sliding it onto Luna’s wrist. “There,” he said, smiling down at her. “Now every time you look at it, you’ll remember this moment.”

Luna stared at the bracelet for a long second, the cool glass pieces resting lightly against her skin. Then she looked up at Stefan, her expression melting into one of pure affection. “You’re too good to me, you know that?”

“Not possible,” Stefan said simply, his voice steady. “You deserve good things, Luna. All of them.”

Her heart swelled at his words. Impulsively, she leaned in and wrapped her arms around him in a hug. Stefan returned the embrace without hesitation, resting his chin lightly on her head.

“Thank you,” she murmured. “For everything.”

“Always,” Stefan replied, his voice low and certain.

Meanwhile, a few feet away, Damon was engaged in an intense battle of wills at a food stall. He waved a bag of candied nuts in front of the vendor, gesturing wildly as if trying to prove a point.

“Fifteen dollars for this tiny bag?!” Damon exclaimed, his voice loud enough to turn heads. “You’re robbing me in broad daylight!”

The vendor, unimpressed, shrugged. “That’s the price. Take it or leave it.”

“Just pay the man, Damon!” Stiles called out, throwing his arms up in frustration. “It’s not like you don’t have the money.”

“It’s the principle,” Damon shot back, his tone indignant. “He’s overcharging me because I’m a tourist.”

“Or because you’re being annoying,” Isaac muttered as he wandered over to Luna and Stefan, earning a stifled laugh from her.

By the time the group regrouped, Damon was triumphantly munching on the candied nuts, a self-satisfied smirk plastered on his face. “See?” he said, holding up the bag like a trophy. “Victory. Got it for twelve.”

Stiles stared at him, dumbfounded. “You wasted ten minutes for a three-dollar discount?”

“It’s not about the money,” Damon replied, popping another nut into his mouth. “It’s about winning.”

Isaac shook his head in disbelief. “You’re insufferable.”

Luna, still admiring her new bracelet, couldn’t help but laugh softly. “At least he’s consistent.”

Stefan chuckled beside her, sliding his arm lightly around her shoulders as they began to walk again. The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a warm golden glow over the market, and for a moment, everything felt wonderfully, perfectly normal.

The seafood restaurant was a charming mix of rustic island vibes and modern flair, its open walls allowing the warm breeze to mingle with the scent of saltwater and freshly grilled seafood. A live steel drum band played in the corner, setting the tone for a lively evening as the group gathered around a table piled high with colorful dishes.

The centerpiece was an enormous lobster placed ceremoniously in front of Damon, its claws comically oversized.

“Okay, who ordered the giant lobster?” Stiles asked, gesturing incredulously at the crustacean.

“That would be me,” Damon said with a smug grin, raising his glass of rum punch in a mock toast. “Go big or go home.”

Isaac leaned back in his chair, eyeing the lobster warily. “You realize that thing’s staring at you, right?”

“It’s a battle of wills,” Damon declared, picking up a cracker and snapping one of the claws with dramatic flair. “And I’m winning.”

“Pretty sure it’s already lost,” Luna pointed out, her voice laced with amusement as she carefully speared a piece of her conch salad.

Stefan smirked, sipping his water. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Says the guy who broods for a living,” Damon shot back, pointing his fork at his brother before digging into the lobster meat.

Luna shook her head, laughter bubbling up. “I can’t take you guys anywhere.”

“Hey, we’re behaving,” Stiles interjected, flashing an overly innocent smile as he leaned forward to grab a piece of grilled pineapple from the platter in the center of the table.

“Behaving?” Isaac snorted. “You spilled a drink on the waiter five minutes ago.”

“That was an accident!” Stiles defended, though the grin tugging at his lips suggested otherwise.

Halfway through the meal, the chaos level ticked up a notch. Stiles, gesturing animatedly while telling a story about his latest misadventure, accidentally knocked his elbow into a plate of shrimp. The plate teetered precariously before flipping off the table, sending shrimp flying straight into Stefan’s lap.

“Seriously?” Stefan sighed, glaring down at the seafood now decorating his pants. He picked up a rogue shrimp with two fingers, holding it like evidence in a crime scene.

“It was an accident!” Stiles said quickly, though he couldn’t stop the laughter that overtook him.

“Better your lap than my face,” Damon quipped, smirking as he cracked open another lobster claw.

“Keep talking, and this shrimp is going in your face,” Stefan muttered, brushing off his pants and flicking the shrimp back onto the plate with a little too much force.

Luna covered her mouth, trying to stifle her laughter. “Poor Stefan,” she said, her voice shaking with amusement. “You’re the only one who ever tries to keep things civilized.”

“Doesn’t help when I’m surrounded by children,” Stefan replied, giving Stiles a pointed look.

“Hey, I resemble that remark,” Stiles said, grinning unapologetically.

Damon raised his glass again, his smirk widening. “Here’s to family dinners,” he said. “And to Stefan, who makes a great shrimp platter.”

Stefan groaned, Isaac snickered, and Luna couldn’t help but dissolve into laughter. As the band played on and the warm island air wrapped around them, the group fell into a familiar rhythm of banter and laughter, their bond stronger than any seafood disaster.

Back at their cozy rental villa, the family sprawled out in the living room, surrounded by plush cushions and the sound of gentle island music filtering through the open windows. Stefan sat cross-legged on the floor, sorting through seashells he and Luna had collected earlier, while Damon leaned back in an armchair with a glass of bourbon, smirking at something Isaac had said. Stiles, as usual, was the loudest, recounting the dinner disaster with over-the-top gestures, earning snickers from the others.

Amid the laughter, Luna’s phone buzzed on the coffee table. She picked it up, her face lighting up when she saw the name on the screen.

“Hey,” she greeted softly, walking toward the balcony.

“Who’s that?” Damon asked, raising a brow. “Marcel?”

The room erupted into playful teasing before Luna could even confirm.

“Ooooh, Marcel!” Stiles drawled, clasping his hands over his heart in mock romance.

Isaac grinned. “Quick, Damon, get the interrogation lamp. We need to make sure this guy’s good enough for her.”

“Oh, he’s definitely not,” Damon said with a smirk. “I’ve already decided.”

Luna rolled her eyes, her cheeks flushing as she headed for the sliding glass doors. “You’re all children,” she muttered, pulling the door closed behind her.

On the balcony, the world was calm. The ocean stretched out in the moonlight, and the breeze carried the scent of saltwater and tropical flowers. Leaning against the railing, Luna pressed the phone to her ear, her voice softening.

“Hey, how’s paradise?” Marcel’s warm tone immediately put her at ease.

“Chaotic,” Luna admitted with a laugh. “Damon and Stiles nearly caused an international incident at dinner.”

“That sounds about right,” Marcel chuckled. “You surviving okay?”

“Barely,” she teased, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Her voice softened further. “I miss you.”

“I miss you, too,” Marcel said, his voice carrying a sincerity that made her smile. “But I’m glad you’re getting time with your brothers. You deserve a break.”

“Don’t worry,” she teased back. “I’m not letting Damon drag you into any crazy sibling tests when we get back.”

Marcel laughed, the sound deep and comforting. “Good to know. Stay out of trouble, okay?”

“No promises,” Luna replied with a grin. “I’ll call you tomorrow. Love you.”

“Love you, too,” he said before the call ended.

Luna lingered on the balcony, the phone still in her hand, as the warm breeze ruffled her hair. A contented smile played on her lips, the chaotic evening fading into a peaceful calm.

Inside, the teasing hadn’t stopped.

“She’s smiling,” Stiles whispered loudly, peeking through the glass door. “That’s definitely a lovestruck smile.”

“You’re embarrassing yourself,” Stefan deadpanned, though his lips twitched in amusement.

Damon smirked, leaning closer to the door. “Think she’s planning their wedding yet?”

“Marcel better hope he’s ready to deal with us,” Isaac added, crossing his arms.

Luna finally slid the door open and poked her head inside. “You guys are so mature, you know that?”

“Oh, totally,” Stiles said, flopping dramatically onto the couch. “We’re just emotionally invested in your love life.”

“And your potential fiancé’s survival,” Damon added.

Luna groaned, stepping back inside. “You’re all impossible.”

“Hey,” Stefan said, tossing her the bracelet she’d admired earlier. “At least we’re funny.”

She caught the bracelet, shaking her head fondly. “Debatable.”

“Not debatable,” Isaac said, grabbing a pillow and chucking it at Stiles.

The teasing faded into more laughter, the kind that echoed through the villa and out into the night, mingling with the sound of the waves. Luna looked around at her brothers, her heart full as she tucked the bracelet into her pocket.

They were chaotic, yes. But they were hers.

The next morning, the group stood on the dock, squinting at the sleek rental boat bobbing gently in the water. It looked promising—a vessel of freedom and fun—but as soon as Damon took the wheel, that promise quickly descended into chaos.

“Damon, I think you’re supposed to go left!” Stefan yelled, bracing himself against the side of the boat as the engine roared.

“I am going left!” Damon shot back, his tone defensive as the boat veered dangerously close to a buoy.

“You’re going diagonally left into disaster!” Stiles screamed, clutching the railing with white knuckles.

Isaac, sitting calmly in the back, leaned over to Luna. “So… how worried should we be on a scale of one to we’re-about-to-die?”

Luna laughed, the wind whipping her hair around her face. “With Damon at the helm? Always keep it at an eight. But don’t worry, he’s like a cat—he always lands on his feet.”

“That doesn’t apply to driving boats!” Stiles howled.

“Relax,” Damon called over his shoulder, adjusting his sunglasses like he had everything under control. “This baby’s got plenty of power. I know exactly what I’m doing.”

As if to prove him wrong, the boat suddenly jerked to the side, tossing Stefan forward into Stiles, who let out a very unflattering yelp.

“Stop manhandling the throttle!” Stefan snapped, untangling himself from Stiles.

“Stop micromanaging my driving!” Damon retorted, yanking the wheel dramatically.

Eventually, by some miracle—and perhaps sheer stubbornness—they managed to anchor the boat near a secluded cove. The water here was crystal clear, with shades of turquoise so vibrant it looked surreal.

“See?” Damon said smugly, stepping back from the wheel. “I told you I’d get us here alive.”

“Barely,” Stiles muttered, flopping onto a seat with exaggerated relief.

The group soon got over the chaotic ride as they unpacked their snorkeling gear. They spent the afternoon diving into the cool water, marveling at the colorful fish darting around coral reefs. Stiles was the first to yell out when he spotted a sea turtle, practically vibrating with excitement as it glided gracefully past.

“I want to take it home!” he declared, splashing after it.

“That’s illegal,” Isaac said flatly, adjusting his snorkel.

Luna floated nearby, laughing as she took photos of the underwater world with a waterproof camera. Stefan, ever the responsible one, swam alongside her, keeping an eye out for anything unusual.

When it came time to take turns with the fancy diving mask—an unnecessarily high-tech contraption Damon had insisted on renting—chaos resumed.

“It’s my turn!” Stiles argued, clutching the mask like his life depended on it.

“You’ve had it for twenty minutes!” Isaac countered, trying to wrestle it away.

“I’m studying the fish!” Stiles shouted.

“You’re scaring the fish!” Isaac snapped, yanking the mask free.

Luna surfaced from the water, her face glowing with laughter. “You two are ridiculous. Just share it!”

“Sharing’s for people who don’t value science!” Stiles retorted, making a grab for the mask.

Damon, lounging on the boat with a drink in hand, smirked at the scene. “Let them fight it out. Builds character.”

“You’re supposed to be the adult here!” Stefan said, hauling himself onto the boat, his hair dripping.

“Wrong. I’m on vacation,” Damon replied, raising his glass.

Eventually, peace was restored when Luna diplomatically mediated, using her big-sister energy to convince Stiles and Isaac to split the remaining time with the mask. The rest of the afternoon was filled with more swimming, lounging, and good-natured ribbing as the group soaked up the sun.

By the time they returned to the dock, everyone was exhausted but exhilarated, their earlier mishaps turning into stories they’d laugh about for years.

As they disembarked, Stiles dramatically kissed the dock. “Solid ground, I’ve missed you!”

“You’re such a drama queen,” Damon said, rolling his eyes.

“And you’re a terrible captain,” Stiles shot back.

Luna chuckled, snapping one last photo of the group with the boat in the background. “Admit it,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “That was fun.”

Isaac slung an arm around her shoulder. “Yeah, but next time, I’m driving.”

“Over my dead body,” Damon said, leading the way up the dock as the sun dipped lower in the sky.

The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, leaving the sky awash in hues of deep indigo and scattered stars. The group had gathered on the beach around a roaring bonfire, its flickering flames casting golden light over their faces. The crackle of the fire mixed with the soothing sound of the waves, creating a peaceful rhythm.

Luna sat cross-legged on a blanket, a bag of marshmallows in her lap. “Who wants to try not to burn their marshmallow this time?” she asked, holding one up with a teasing smile.

“I’m a professional now,” Stiles announced, jabbing his marshmallow-laden stick into the fire with confidence.

“Yeah, professional at turning them into charcoal,” Isaac quipped, his smirk widening as Stiles’s marshmallow immediately caught fire.

“Controlled chaos,” Stiles said, blowing out the flames and inspecting the blackened marshmallow. “It’s an art form.”

“More like a disaster,” Damon snorted, expertly toasting his own marshmallow to a perfect golden brown. He smirked at Stiles, holding it up like a trophy. “This is how it’s done.”

Stefan chuckled, passing a chocolate bar to Luna, who was assembling s’mores with quiet focus. “You should open a s’mores stand, Luna. These are perfect.”

“I do have a gift,” she said with a mock-serious nod, handing him a completed s’more. “But don’t tell Damon—it’ll bruise his ego.”

Damon raised an eyebrow, his mouth full of his own s’more. “What ego? I’m the most humble person here.”

“Sure you are,” Stefan said, shaking his head.

Luna leaned back on her hands, her gaze drifting to the ocean. “This feels… perfect,” she said softly. “Just us. No drama, no chaos—well, less chaos.”

Isaac raised his stick triumphantly. “And no vampires trying to kill us!”

“Present company excluded,” Damon added dryly, pointing at himself and Stefan.

“Obviously,” Stiles said with a grin. “You guys are the good vampires.”

“For now,” Damon said, smirking.

The conversation turned to reminiscing about their adventures—Stiles exaggerating every detail, Isaac rolling his eyes, Stefan offering corrections, and Damon embellishing his own heroics. Luna mostly listened, her laughter ringing out as the stories got more ridiculous.

By the time the fire began to die down, they were all sitting in a loose circle, marshmallows forgotten. Stiles leaned back, staring at the sky. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen this many stars,” he said, his voice softer than usual.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Luna said, her gaze following his.

“Yeah,” Isaac agreed, pulling his knees to his chest. “Makes you realize how small everything else is.”

Damon, surprisingly quiet, took a long sip from his flask before setting it down. “It’s been a while since we’ve done something like this,” he admitted, his voice unusually sincere.

Stefan nodded, glancing at each of them. “We needed this.”

Luna leaned into Stefan’s side, her smile gentle. “I don’t say it enough, but I’m really lucky to have you guys.”

“Even me?” Damon asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Even you,” she teased.

“Aw, group hug!” Stiles declared, launching himself at Luna and Stefan. Isaac groaned but joined in, and before long, even Damon allowed himself to be dragged into the pile.

They dissolved into laughter, arms slung around one another as the fire flickered its last. For that moment, there were no threats, no supernatural madness—just siblings, bonded by love, laughter, and the memories of an unforgettable vacation.

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keepsdeathhiscourt · 10 months ago

Text

Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x Original Female Character

Rating: Mature (18+ Only)

Story Summary: It's been ten years since Lucie LeMarche last set foot in New Orleans. But when she's forced to return to bury the woman who raised her, she finds herself pulled into the midst of rising supernatural tensions in the city. Entangled in a web of intrigue and seeking answers, Lucie must learn to navigate a powder keg of warring factions, family secrets, and old wounds if she hopes to survive.

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Language, Death, Mourning, Mental Health Issues, Family Drama

Series Masterlist

Read on AO3

Chapter 3: Mirror Images

Lucie lies low for the next couple of days, only leaving the sanctuary of her downtown hotel for necessities.

She’s not hiding. It’s what she tells herself, repeating it like a mantra until she believes it. Still, it’s all too easy to find an excuse to order takeout, to settle into the floral wallpapered confines of her second-floor room.

It’s been three nights since the encounter with Marcel and his posse -three nights since she found Jane-Anne dead- and she’s passed the time alternating between watching mindless television on the ancient, staticky set and staring out the window.

This morning, she’s engaged in the latter, watching people and cars buzz by with rapt interest. A woman weaves through sidewalk foot traffic, her heels high and her hair pulled back into a tight bun. She has two coffees stacked on top of the other and her cell phone is pressed between her shoulder and her ear. It’s a bold choice, but her stride is smooth and confident as she chatters to someone on the other line. She does not know that the city is crawling with vampires.

On the other side of the street, a man crouches down with a plastic baggy while he zips his windbreaker to his chin. The leashed Labrador flits between him and the nearest passerby, seeking pets, as his owner scoops his leavings off the sidewalk with a wrinkled nose. He could never imagine a coven of witches ruling the neighborhood.

She finds she’s jealous of him, of the woman, of every person who passes by on the way to complete mundane tasks in average lives and loved ones waiting at home. Right now, she’d give anything to trade places with any of them, if only for a day. Twenty-four hours in which the supernatural exists only in stories.

A pickup rolls up to a stoplight, honking its horn at the sedan in front of it the second the light turns green, and Lucie imagines another life. One where she kicks off her shoes after another day in an office. In this universe, she’s greeted at the door by a dog and maybe even a partner. They smile at her and ask about her day over dinner and fall into bed together at night. And when she closes her eyes to rest before another average day, she feels safe. In this place, no one murders women to prove points and no one pushes children to embrace powers they don’t understand.

She presses her eyes closed, resting her forehead against the cool glass, and allows herself a few moments of indulgence. But before long, her thoughts stray back to the situation at hand. She runs it over in her mind, trying to make sense of it.

How could Marcel Gerard possibly know any time a witch practiced magic in the Quarter?

And, knowing the consequences, why would Jane-Anne risk her life?

No matter what angle she looks at it, she can’t seem to find any satisfying answers. All she can do is wonder what had happened here in her absence. She shakes her head, like her brain is an etch-a-sketch and the motion might wipe the slate clean. She moves to turn away from the window when she catches something out of the corner of her eye. Down on the closest street corner, a man stands with hands in the pockets of his suit jacket. His face is too shadowed to know for sure, but his head seems to tip up towards her, like he knows she sees him.

The phone rings, vibration loud as a gunshot against the lacquered end table. She jolts as the device continues to ring, cutting over the sounds of traffic and the low garbled conversion of a TV infomercial. Stepping over a takeout box, she grabs the phone and glances at the screen.

Incoming Call: Arabella

Her finger hovers over the green button as the ringtone starts from the beginning again. A few seconds tick by as she stares at it, then a few more until finally it stops.

It had been only a week ago that Lucie had received Arabella’s late-night phone call. Seven days since she’d listened to her cousin tell her in a tearful, halting voice that the only mother she’d ever known was dead.

Truthfully, she isn’t sure why she’d been dodging her cousin’s phone calls, only that she’d spent all the time since that night in a state of emotional free fall.

Phone still in hand, she glances over her shoulder and towards the window. Whoever she’d thought she’d seen, he’s gone now. It strikes her as odd. Despite being at the opposite end of the street when she’d first seen him, there’s no sign of him and she knows none of the nearby shops are open yet. It’s like he stepped off the curb and vanished. She concludes he was never there at all, just the light playing tricks on her exhausted mind. Then she drags a hand over her face and through her hair, which is far, far too greasy, even for her own company. Still, skin prickling with the sensation of unseen eyes on her, she jerks the curtains closed before she turns her back to the window.

She pads the length of the room towards the adjoining bathroom. There isn’t much in the way of square footage and it doesn’t take her long to navigate the minefield of discarded styrofoam boxes, coffee cups, and stray clothes strewn haphazardly across the place; the impressive accomplishment of only a few days. In actuality, it’s not all that different from her norm. Replace the floral wallpaper with tacky stucco and scatter a few more bottles across the room with some past-due notices, and it could almost be a dead ringer for her apartment back in Albuquerque.

Lucie winces as her feet hit the cold linoleum and flicks the light switch, bathing the room in a sterile, white light that flickers overhead every couple of minutes. She blinks against the intrusion, adjusting to the brightness. Her reflection blinks back at her behind streaks in the mirror, eyes red and punctuated with deep smudges.

Yeah, she looks like shit.

It’s no real surprise, given the sluggish lifestyle of the last couple of days. But knowing is different from seeing it -or feeling it. She pulls at a lank strand of hair and winces before turning to start the shower. The sound of rushing droplets bounces off the tiles in a way that promises decent water pressure. Only after waving a hand under the flow to check the temperature, she undresses and slips in. The water is warm, beating a steady rhythm against the knotted muscles in her neck and back. It’s enough to make Lucie groan.

She reaches for the tiny bottle of hotel shampoo, lathering a generous amount between her palms and massaging it into her scalp. It’s like magic for her mood. The feeling lingers even as she turns the tap and wraps the towel around herself, still glowing with remnants of warmth.

She steps out into the thick cloud of steam that permeates the confined space and drinks in the humidity with greedy breaths. She’s careful not to slip as she approaches the mirror, squeezing the excess water from her hair. A sheen of fog coats the glass, veiling everything but the sharper lines of her silhouette.

She reaches for her hairbrush, running the bristles through her hair, methodically untangling the more stubborn knots. The plastic handle clatters when she returns it to its home on the counter. When her eyes drift up to the still-steamy mirror, she goes still.

But the reflection does not.

Instead, its blurred form seems to move on its own accord. Its arms extend, beckoning to her, and it squares the broad lines of its shoulder: the posture that is too long and too perfect to ever belong to her.

The side of her hand catches the hairbrush, knocking it from the counter and onto the tiles with a clatter.

Against the speckled beige counter, her phone buzzes. She jumps, tearing her eyes away from the mirror and towards the source of the noise. Arabella’s name flashes across the screen again. This time, she only lets it ring twice before she answers, swiping up with clumsy fingers.

“Hello?” she says, breathless and uncertain, as if she didn’t already know who was on the other line.

“Lucie!” Her cousin’s warm voice sounds in her eye, contrasting with the impersonal neutrals of the bathroom. “You answered. I’ve been trying to catch you all week.” |

Arabella’s voice sounds shaky. It’s enough to make her feel guilty for dodging her calls.

Lucie leans against the sink, the porcelain cool against her skin, and tries to soothe her thumping heart. “I know, I’m sorry.”

“Is everything okay? You sound…off.” She doesn’t miss the edge of concern. “You’re not having nightmares again, are you?”

She barely catches the question, eyes trained on the foggy mirror. Absently, she raises a hand. The reflection follows suit.

“No, no.” She waves it off. ‘I’m just…it’s been a long week” “

The line goes quiet, but she knows her cousin is still there. She can feel her presence on the other end.

She nudges the damp towel she’d employed in lieu of a bath mat with her foot, encouraging it flat, and debates whether to tell her about the man in the suit or the mirror. She decides against it, chalking it all up to stress and lack of sleep. Instead, she asks what’s been on the back of her mind since she got the news of Violette’s death.

“What happened, Bella? You never told me.”

“You never asked,” she replies softly. It’s not a rebuke, just a statement of fact. “Pneumonia. That’s what the doctor said.”

“Pneumonia,” she repeats. She doesn’t know what she’d been expecting, but it wasn’t that. It’s underwhelming in a way, to imagine her formidable great-aunt put to rest by something so common. But she’d been an old woman for most of Lucie’s life and larger than life though she may have been, she was only mortal in the end.

“Listen, Lucie. I know your default is to carry this alone, but don’t. We can do this together.” Arabella offers gently. Then adds, before she can protest, “Let’s grab coffee tomorrow. I’d love to see your face before the funeral.”

She wants to argue, to turn her down on instinct. But she can feel the wide smile on the other line and, to be honest, she’s had more than enough being alone to last her a lifetime.

So she agrees and after settling on time and place, she hangs up the phone with trembling hands and glances at the mirror, now free of fog. Her reflection blinks back at her, pale and apprehensive.

____

Under a canopy of ageless trees, wedged between a tax office and a brewery, sits The Lazy Bean. Once a double-family shotgun, the pale orange coffee house now serves as a haunt for bleary-eyed commuters and hipsters looking to finish their screenplays.

The shop is half full, energy winding down after the lunchtime rush, but she only spends a minute in line before the barista takes her order.

She posts up against the far wall to wait. The interior is painted a sunny, chipped yellow, but it’s nearly impossible to tell; each wall is covered floor to ceiling in painted canvases and flyers advertising local events. And any spare corner or window sill has been repurposed into a home for a mishmosh of potted plants. In a strange way, it reminds her of the cluttered quiet of the Jardin Gris.

The barista calls out her order. Sidestepping a young man in a fringed coat, she retrieves the steaming ceramic mug. It’s purple and, by the imprints along the handle, likely homemade. She murmurs her thanks and slips through clusters of tables and mismatched chairs.

Arabella is there, waiting, when she steps out onto the back patio. But she doesn’t see her right away. Lucie takes the opportunity to drink her in, unobserved.

Seated at a corner table, she taps at her mug with pale, anxious fingers. She’d never been able to sit still. Even as a child, she’d always been twiddling her fingers or pulling a lock of copper hair. It’s darkened with age, she notes, eyeing the deep, rich auburn that spills over her shoulders. She worries at her lip with her teeth. There’s a pronunciation to her cheekbones and a wariness around her eyes that wasn’t there before, but otherwise little has changed. A smattering of freckles stretches across her nose and her round cheeks are flushed in the sun, the same as the girl she remembers.

A surge of insecurity washes over her. after all, ten years is a very long time, especially spanning over that critical junction between adolescence and maturity. Lucie knows that for all she might look like her cousin, Arabella and her sixteen-year-old self might have little in common. She wonders what the woman tapping her foot under an oak might think of her wayward cousin. Will she like who she sees?

It’s enough to make her reconsider. She hasn’t been seen yet. There’s still time to leave before she-

“Lucie!” Arabella’s cheerful voice rings out, waving to catch her attention. Her pink lips curl in a smile that reveals the charming gap between her white teeth and makes her eyes crinkle at the corners. Despite her uncertainties, Lucie’s smile widens at the sight of her.

The wooden planks groan beneath her boots as she makes her way to the table.

“Hey,” Lucie greets softly, sinking into the chair opposite her.

“Hey,” Arabella responds in kind, matching Lucie’s shy demeanor. “I was worried you wouldn’t show.”

Lucie hesitates before admitting, “I wasn’t going to.”

“But you did, and that’s what matters,” Arabella says, a hint of relief in her voice, as she sets down her tea and reaches across the table to squeeze Lucie’s hand. “It’s so good to see you, Luce. I can’t believe you’re here.”

If she had been worried about ill-will or uncomfortable reunions, there’s none to be had. Not from Arabella.

“It’s been good to see you too, Bella. You look great.”

“Thanks. And you look rough,” Arabella says, then quickly amends, “I mean, you look good, just tired.”

Taking a sip of her coffee, Lucie nods. “It's been tough, to say the least.”

Arabella offers a sympathetic hum, and the conversation lapses into a shared moment of grief. Lucie admires the way the dappled shade of an oak paints patterns across her freckled skin, and how the sun picks out strands of her hair in gilded orange.

Eventually, Arabella breaks the silence. “She asked for you, you know - right at the end.”

Lucie doesn’t need to ask who she’s referring to. Violette’s presence is as corporeal as if she were occupying a chair beside them. Unsure of what to say, she takes a long sip of her drink, feeling the warm bitterness spread through her.

“Honestly,” Arabella continues, “I don’t think you were ever far from her thoughts. Sometimes, she’d get this faraway look in her eyes, and I just knew she was thinking about you.”

Lucie snorts softly. “You mean thinking about what a catastrophic failure I turned out to be?”

Her tone may be flippant, but the sentiment chafes. The second she had left the city limits, she might as well have been dead to Violette. She was sure every trace of her had been struck from the record with a methodical precision. If she had been so desolate in Lucie's absence, why hadn’t she ever called?

“Oh, Lucie,” Arabella says, dismayed. “It’s not like that at all. You know that, right?”

“I don’t really know what to think anymore, Bella,” Lucie says, feeling the weight of her uncertainty.

“I know things are different,” Arabella reassures her, “but that doesn’t necessarily have to mean bad. It just means ‘different.’”

Lucie cants her head, acknowledging the truth in her cousin’s words. “I wouldn’t exactly call being shunned a positive.”

The constricting feeling in her chest belies her nonchalance. Even at a distance of ten years, the memory still stings. The absence of the connection throbs like a phantom limb.

“So you can’t tap into ancestral power, so what?” Arabella shrugs. “You still have your magic, and more importantly, you still have family.”

“Do I?” It’s a question she’d asked herself many times in those early days of exile. And as months stretched into years of near radio silence from all except the woman across from her, it was a foregone conclusion that the answer was a resounding: No.

Arabella insists, “Of course you do.”

Her optimism is unyielding, like looking into the sun. It clashes with the tender angst in Lucie's stomach. Feeling a flicker of irritation, she shifts in her seat. “I don’t think the coven is going to roll out the welcome mat.”

“They only just found out you’re here. Just give them time,” Arabella offers by way of explanation. “The Elders have been a little preoccupied lately. There’s a lot going on-”

“Like getting Jane-Anne’s body back from Marcel?” Lucie interjects.

Her cousin is taken aback. “I… How did you know?”

“I found her in the middle of Royal with her throat cut, Arabella,” Lucie says, something sharp seeping into her tone at the confirmation that she'd known too. “Something like that is hard to miss.”

“Shit,” Arabella curses softly. “I’m so sorry you had to find out like that. I was getting around to telling you, honest. But I wasn’t sure how to bring it up and I thought it would be kinder to drop the news gently.”

Lucie’s patience wears thin. “You know what would’ve been better? If you told me what was happening so I didn’t have to hear it from Marcel-fucking-Gerard.”

This time it’s her cousin’s turn to fidget in her seat. She passes the cup back and forth between her hands, chewing at her lip as she seems to be mustering up the right words. “It’s been hard around here for a while now. I need you to understand that before I tell you what I’m about to tell you.” |

She can’t help the involuntary flutter in her stomach. “Arabella, what are you-?”

“You have to promise me. Promise that you’ll keep an open mind,” she says in a shaky rush, “or I’m not going to say another word.”

“Okay, okay. I promise.”

She hesitates, taking a moment to gather her thoughts before she begins.

“Since you’ve been away, things in the city have taken a turn. It started with small incidents - a shop in the Cauldron vandalized, a few witches harassed. But then it escalated rapidly. Nightwalkers began patrolling the streets, monitoring our every move and word. The safe areas for practicing magic shrank until all nine covens could only operate within five city blocks.”

“One night, the Elders convened at Greataunt Violette’s. They had a heated discussion behind locked doors. Violette stormed out, pretty upset. When she came back, she told Viv and I that the Elders had reached a decision.”

Arabella pauses, her cup nearly empty, prompting Lucie to inquire further. “What decision?”

“To proceed with the Harvest Ritual.”

Lucie’s world spins at the revelation. “The Harvest Ritual,” she repeats, her voice flat.

“Our powers were diminishing, and it had been centuries since the last Harvest. We needed to renew our bond with the Ancestors,” Arabella explains.

“I know how it works,” Lucie snaps, immediately regretting her tone.

Arabella continues, undeterred. “Four girls were chosen: Abby, Cassie, Davina, and… Monique.”

Lucie feels sick. “Monique Deveraux?”

Arabella nods solemnly. “Yes.”

“What happened?” Lucie demands, gears turning. “Tell me everything you know.”

And she tells her. She tells her about how the Elders showered the chosen girls in honors and praises; she tells her about how they were marched like lambs to the slaughter, expecting a prick on the thumb up until the moment Bastiana slit Abigail’s throat. And finally, she tells her about Marcel Gerard’s intervention and his swift, furious retribution upon the witches of New Orleans for what they’d done.

Lucie doesn’t speak for the duration of her story, only listens as Arabella tells it in faltering pieces.

By the time she finishes, hands shaking and eyes weary, the sun is beginning its descent into the west. The diminishing rays cast the patio in streaks of gold and orange that fall across Arabella’s face as Lucie watches her.

“Lucie, say something. Please,” she says when the weight of the silence becomes unbearable.

Lucie’s arms instinctively wrap around her chest. “What do you want me to say, Bella?”

Arabella’s voice trembles, thick with emotion. “I don’t know. Something. Anything.”

Lucie’s hand cards through her hair in a futile attempt to find the right words. “I...,” she struggles, the words slipping through her grasp. Finally, she manages, “I need to go.”

The chair protests against the patio as she stands, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

“Where?” Arabella says with a note of desperation.

“I don’t know,” Lucie admits, her head shaking in numb disbelief. “I just... I need some time to think.”

Arabella’s expression wavers between concern and resignation as she nods in reluctant acceptance and Lucie disappears down the street.

#elijah mikaelson fic #elijah mikaelson x oc #elijah mikaelson x ofc #keepsdeathhiscourt fic #original female character #elijah x ofc #elijah x oc #the originals fic

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partypoisonzz · 2 years ago

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have you ever considered writing a microfic with gee and breeding (i completely understand if that’s something that you’re not comfy with, it’s, um, not for everyone 😅)

-📼🔪

(Not for everyone but IT SURE AS HELL IS FOR ME. Also not sure if this really counts as a microfic???? It's 791 words oops.)

The mattress springs squeak with nearly every movement, digging hard into your back. Right now, though, you can't bring yourself to care.

A quiet whimper breaks up from Gerard's throat as you look up at him, offering him a sly smile. He leans into your palm as you press your hand against the side of his face, — a sweet, tender gesture, despite the fact that he's currently buried deep inside of you, no barrier between bare skin.

"Say it," you manage to command him, even as each stroke brushes against the spot that makes you want to lose control. "Tell me what you're gonna do to me, baby."

He gives another soft whimper, his hips slamming harder into you. "I'm gonna knock you up," he says quietly.

You frown. "What was that?" In truth, you heard him perfectly fine. You just want to hear it again, in any way he could possibly say it.

He lets out a groan of frustration, flooding your veins with heat. "I said," he says from between gritted teeth, "that I'm gonna knock you up."

You laugh as though you doubt him. "Gonna knock me up, huh?" you ask. "Gonna do it for real this time, rather than pulling out last minute and coming on my stomach? Gonna come inside of me?"

"Mmm-hmm." His thumbs dig into your sides, holding you still as he slams into you even harder with a choked groan. "Fuck, sugar. Gonna get you pregnant."

Another vindictive laugh from you, though it's getting increasingly difficult to hide your arousal at his words. You want him to keep going. Want to hear more.

"You would like that, wouldn't you?" you ask him. "Filling me up with your come. Getting me pregnant with your kid." You pause, meeting his eyes as you wait for a response. He simply lets out a low 'mm-hmm' before you can spur him on.

A wicked grin spreads across your face before you let the hammer drop. "Bet you'd love it, seeing me with a baby bump," you say. "That would make it so obvious that I'm yours."

He freezes for a moment, his head falling against your shoulder as he lets out a deep groan. "Oh, fuck."

You chuckle, pressing a lazy kiss against his shoulder before rolling your hips up against his. "Come on," you encourage him. "Don't stop now. Fill me up, Gee."

That's all the encouragement that he needs to begin setting a punishing pace with his thrusts once again, fucking into you harder and harder as a series of unintelligible sounds spill out from his lips.

As those sounds increase in volume, his movements become sloppier. "Fuck, baby," he whimpers, his dominant facade beginning to slip away. "I'm getting close."

You lean in to press a gentle kiss to his nose before resting your forehead against his. His eyes lock with your own as he keeps thrusting, each movement threatening to send him over the edge. God, you want that to happen.

"Do it," you tell him. "Come inside me, baby. Make me yours." Your legs tighten around his waist as your lips trail down his jaw, only to come back to rest against his ear again. "Fuck a baby in me."

"Oh, shit." With that, his movements become increasingly erratic, until, finally, finally, he's spilling inside of you with a loud cry, pushing you over the edge along with him.

You milk him through it, tightening around him again and again. "That's it," you say, even when you're sure that he can't possibly have much else to give. "Fuck, I want all of it..."

Finally, his head falls against your shoulder again. He lets out a shuddering breath as your hand slowly crawls up his back and into his hair, stroking gently.

Your heart jumps as his own hand travels down between the two of you, landing on your belly. "Think it'll work?" he asks quietly.

"Yeah. Maybe." You can't help but laugh at the absurdity of this, — that you're at a point in your life where the thought of getting pregnant doesn't terrify you, but excites you.

Your lips brush against his forehead before you finish your thought. "If not, there's always next time."

"Yeah. Next time." Gerard practically beams as he looks up at you.

You can't help but laugh, lightly shoving at him. "What're you smiling at, weirdo?" you ask.

"You," he answers earnestly, before pressing a kiss against your bare shoulder. "I love you. Wouldn't do this with anybody else."

Once again, your heart skips a beat. Somehow, you manage to formulate a response, wrapping your arms tighter around his waist.

"I love you, too, Gee," you tell him honestly. "Can't wait to see where we go from here."

#pen gets asks #microfic #sort of #gerard way imagines #gerard way smut #gerard way x reader #📼🔪 anon #my writing

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the-rarest-sexiest-coinkydink · 2 years ago

Note

Punk gerard with a preppy gf?

She’s Cheer Captain and I’m Questioning My Gender (High school! Gerard Way x reader)

Summary: Gerard’s cheerleader girlfriend spent the weekend at his place, and she made sure to bring everything she’d need for school on Monday. Some of the stuff in her bag makes some interesting thoughts pop up...

Word count: 981

Warnings: none

A/N: ok I won’t lie, this was heavily inspired by all the cheerard photos that came out of the Nashville show. Fight me. (Also this was the first thing that came to mind when I read ‘preppy’, so I’m sorry if that isn’t quite the vibe you were going for... I think it’s more of a USA thing than a UK thing lmao)

“Babe. Babe. Hey, your alarm went off fifteen minutes ago, I don’t want you to be late. (Y/n). Babe. Are you dead? Come on.”

Groaning, (y/n) buried her head into the faded band shirt that Gerard had worn instead of pyjamas. “But I’m so cozy here.”

He giggled. “Yeah I know, but you kinda have to move. Don’t you have practice before school today?”

Finally, she sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “I bet it’s gonna be freezing outside, and I’m tired. I don’t wanna go.”

“It’s your own fault for signing up for it then.”

She dragged herself out of his bed and tossed a pillow at his face, smirking as it hit the top of his head before reaching the wall, making a soft crinkling sound as it ruffled the collage of posters he had curated there. “No, it’s your fault for making me watch you and Mikey screw about with guitars until one thirty in the morning.”

He pulled what could only be described as a puppy-dog face, last night’s eyeliner smudging into deep raccoon circles against his pale cheeks. “I thought you liked dating a rockstar.”

She shot a look over her shoulder as she tied her hair back. “I thought rockstars were meant to be cool.”

Gasping in mock offence, Gerard got to his feet, ignoring the cold that clung to his bare legs, and wrapped his arms around her from behind. “Hey, that’s rude!”

“But true.” She giggled, leaning back to kiss the tip of his nose. “Can you check my cheer bag while I get changed? I can’t remember if I picked my shoes up or not.”

He nodded, and she ducked out of his room and headed for the bathroom, careful to tread quietly so she didn’t disturb the rest of his family. The sun was just rising, it’s soft golden light making her reflection glow as she washed her face and put on a little makeup. It was nothing special - just some concealer under her eyes and a touch of lip gloss - but she knew that Gerard would rain her with compliments nonetheless. He always said that he loved everything about her, from each strand of her hair to the chipped varnish on her toenails. (Y/n) tucked her blouse into her skirt and threw one of Gerard’s plainer zip up hoodies on before heading back down to his bedroom.

But when she returned, she found him sitting on the edge of his bed, her cheer dress spread across his lap and a slight frown on his face.

“Hey, you okay in there? Earth to Gerard.”

He jumped slightly, like he hadn’t even noticed her come in. “Yeah, I-I’m fine. Just...” He trailed off, and she sat down next to him, smiling reassuringly. They’d had a few conversations before about his feelings around clothes and gender, and how stupid it was that pieces of fabric being shaped a certain way somehow meant that only a certain type of person could wear them. But while he’d felt pretty comfortable with wearing a little makeup every now and then - very much inspired by the fact that half the people in his favourite punk bands and everyone in the crowds took great care in dolling themselves up for gigs - crossing the line into exploring ‘women’s clothing’ had been a step too far, for now. So even though he hadn’t said anything, she knew where his mind had wandered to.

“I don’t know if it would fit you - it’d probably be short enough to get you written up for indecent exposure.”

That made him laugh, and he nuzzled against her shoulder. “It’s pretty short on you, so you’re probably right. Not that I’m complaining about that.”

She punched him playfully in the arm. “Perv. I think the green would look pretty cute on you though.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It would really make your eyes pop.”

Gerard shifted a little, toying with the edge of the skirt. “The material feels so... swishy. Like, it would make me wanna dance if I was wearing it.”

(Y/n) shrugged. “Maybe that’s why they use it. I just wish the top part wasn’t white, it’s a pain in the ass to clean. And Alice and Chloe keep screwing up our stunts and dropping me, so it’s always covered in dirt.”

“Nah, I like the white. It’s cute. I don’t think any other colour would look quite so good. Although,” and he paused to kiss her on the cheek. “Maybe it’s just so cute when you’re the one wearing it.”

She rolled her eyes and kissed him back before holding a hand out for the dress. “You’re so dumb. Were my shoes in the bag?”

“Oh, yeah. Right at the bottom.”

“Thanks. I’d better get going soon.” And she stuffed the silky dress back into her bag - but not before catching the look in her boyfriend’s eyes. The look of reluctance, tinged with wonder. She looked up at him as she zipped everything up. “Hey, you know what would definitely make you cool? Maybe you can wear something like this at a show one day.”

“Yeah... maybe.” His tone made it clear that he wasn’t remotely convinced, but at least his frown had disappeared. As they got into the car and he turned the radio up, singing along to the Bowie song that was playing, the last of his tension seemed to melt away, and (y/n) grinned.

“You know, Bowie didn’t give a fuck what anyone thought. He dressed however he wanted, and people still adored him for it.”

Gerard snorted. “Yeah, but I’m not David Bowie.”

She pulled a face, pretending to think carefully about something, before reaching over and patting his knee. “Maybe not, but I think you’re cooler.”

The smile she was met with in response was brighter than the sun could ever be.

#drabble #gerard way x reader #gerard way #cheerard #the cheerleader dress #mcr nashville #fic #fanfiction #oneshot #my chemical romance #mcr #gender is hard #clothes have no gender #wear whatever the fuck you want #imagines

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anystalker707 · 3 years ago

Text

For me, baby

Pairing: Gerard x Reader Word count: ~ 1 400 Genre: Fluff / Smut Summary: (Y/n) finds out Gerard's chest is a sensible spot and is up to exploring it. Kind of content: Humping / Oral / Praising

Requested by @angie-migel

It’s raining softly outside, creating a comfortable and cozy atmosphere that we decided to enjoy by sitting on the couch and watching some movie which a random channel is rerunning for the thousandth time this week. The sound of the movie is actually barely audible under the sound of the rain against the windows and it’s not really important, honestly.

I hug Gerard close, feeling the vibrations of his back against my chest with a comfortable hum coming from him; he leans back against me and I press a kiss to his cheek, nuzzling him. He melts more against me with the gentle motions of my hands against his tummy as I rub it, massaging his belly, and sometimes I wonder how he feels insecure about such a cute detail about him.

My hands slowly come up to Gerard’s chest and I just rest them there for a moment, observing how his chest rises and falls slowly, and feeling his warmth through the thin fabric of his shirt. I let my hands wander around for a moment, enough to suddenly feel something different and I look down to see his nipples perked up under the black fabric. Oh, alright, then. I can’t help but bring my fingers to trace them – Gerard immediately jumps lightly, startled.

“W-What are you doing?” He looks at me with bright red cheeks.

“Just caressing you, baby, don’t worry!” I do my best to hold back a grin and show him the most natural smile I’m able to.

“Okay…” Gerard mumbles, shifting to adjust his position, though he does glance at me a couple of times with not so convinced eyes.

Sometimes when we’re fucking, Gerard does whine more when I’m either touching his torso or pressing kisses all over it, though I’ve never paid proper attention to his nipples, specifically. I run my fingers across them a few times and also circle them – his breath hitches every single time I do it, even if the slightest bit. Interesting.

I rest my hands under Gerard’s pecs and let my thumbs graze over his nipples properly this time, watching how Gerard starts moving around each time more, growing really fidgety.

“(Y/n),” he breathes, voice tight in his chest, “please…”

“What’s it, hun?”

“Can you please touch me?” He presses himself closer to me, pressing his face to my neck.

“No.” I hum, shrugging my free shoulder; Gerard furrows his eyebrows, sounding like he’s about to question it when I pinch his nipple a few times, feeling the fabric running against the sensible skin underneath and whatever he wanted to say is lost with a sudden loud, pleased sound. “Because we are doing something else!” I grin and struggle a bit as I reach for a nearby pillow that was by Gerard’s legs. “Sit up, facing me.”

Gerard is hesitant, but eventually does so – he looks at me with a mix of frustration and excitement, sitting in a w position.

The pillow is neatly placed in front of him before I take his face in my hands, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. “Now,” I mumble against his lips, brushing our noses together, “hump the pillow for me, baby.”

Despite the silence, Gerard’s face becomes bright red again in a matter of seconds. “What?”

“You heard me.” I grin, pecking his lips a last time, and pull away.

A quiet and shy hum comes from Gerard, but he slowly nods and moves to settle himself down on the pillow, Addam’s apple bobbing up and down with an audible swallow. He exhales shakily, not looking at me at first and I let him, watching him start to clumsily move his hips against the pillow until his breath starts to hitch in his throat.

“Yeah, just like that,” I say softly, taking his face in hands again. “Such a good boy for me, aren’t you?” I lock our lips together in another kiss, which has more urgency this time.

My hands trail down Gerard’s chest again so I can touch his nipples again, pinching and pulling at them lightly and he’s soon gasping against my lips. He whines softly and damn, I just love finding another sensitive spot of his. Sometimes I think I could spend hours just touching him.

Gerard’s mouth falls open with the moans, hence he ends up pulling away from the kiss, so I continue to press soft kisses to his bottom lip and down to his jaw, trailing along it and pulling on the skin with my teeth a couple of times. I try to keep doing it as I let my hands fall and pull his shirt up to touch his nipples properly and not with anything between them and my fingers.

“Oh, (y/n),” Gerard breathes, letting his head fall to my shoulder, knuckles white around the pillow.

“Does it feel good, baby?” I ask against his neck, letting my thumbs work around his nipples.

“Yeah!” He pauses for a moment to move his hands and find more support just to start moving again and in a faster pace – I observe his hips moving frantically and can’t help but to groan light at the sight, having him doing the same with another pinch on his nipples and a light twist. A throaty sound comes from him. He brings his hips down for a long and heavy thrust into the pillow. “Please,” he mumbles.

Okay, watching him has been entertaining, but I do want to touch him more.

“C’mon, sit up properly.” I let go of him and pull the pillow away, compelling Gerard to look at me questioningly. “Here,” I tell him with a tap on my thigh.

Gerard shyly moves closer, hesitantly shifting around after placing his hands on my shoulders, but the shyness and hesitancy leaves him at the same time a squeal escapes his lips once I take a hold of his hips and lower him on my thigh. Much better for both of us, I believe.

He doesn’t move at first, but I don’t mind and start pressing kisses to his neck and pull his shirt up again as it rode down after I let go of it. I squeeze his chest with both of my hands, which has him whining and consequently starting to move his hips, humping against my thigh with slow movements that quickly gain speed.

Gerard is full on moaning again when I start to press kisses to his chest and eventually take one of his nipples between my lips and suck lightly on it – a moan comes from him almost immediately, the loudest so far, at the same time I can feel his grip tightening around my shoulders. I let my hand work on his other nipple, twisting it lightly between my fingers and playing with the skin around it, that seems to be just as sensitive.

I can feel Gerard’s hands on the back of my head as soon as I start nibbling down on his nipple, measuring the pressure perfectly to balance the pain and the pleasure. It seems to work well. His fingers tangle with my hair and he’s pushing me closer to his chest, hence I start to nibble and suck on the skin around his nipple whilst massaging the opposite peck and, another especially hard twist makes Gerard’s hips stutter.

“(Y/n),” he says in a desperate whiny voice, “I’m coming, fuck– I’m–”

“Do it, baby,” I mumble against his chest and pull myself up to look at him properly again, with my hands still on him. “Cum for me.”

The words seem to trigger it immediately and Gerard’s letting out a loud moan, arms now wrapped around me and face buried in my chest. He squirms around for a long moment, holding tightly onto me, then starts breathing heavily, hips coming to a stop.

“Wow, baby,” I say, hugging him back. “Look at you. I didn’t know you liked to be touched that way, but oh damn. You did so well, you were so pretty moving your hips frantically against the pillow, oh my.” I run my fingers through his hair and helplessly smile at the soft groan I receive in response. “I love watching you pleasing yourself like this, all just for me to watch.”

He sighs and moves softly just to stop immediately and whine. “(Y/–(Y/n), I’ve– Damn,” he tries to move again.

“Yeah,” I hum with a nod. “Let’s go clean up, then, shall we?” I press a kiss to his head, nudging him to move lightly, but he doesn’t. “You don’t want me to carry you to the bathroom, do you?” I joke, rubbing his side affectionately; he tries to say something, which only ends up coming out as a frustrated groan in response.

#gerard way #gerard way x reader #sm*t #fanfic #fan fiction #mcr #mcr oneshot #oneshot #imagine #x reader #writing #my chemical romance #fluff #requested #my post

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subcorax · 5 years ago

Text

various hugs as rated by jonathan sims, head archivist of the magnus institute, london

OG Archives Crew:

tim stoker pros: very large and buff, but also soft. will squeeze jon as tight and as long as he wants. is six foot whatever and jacked so he's way bigger than jon and can entirely envelop him, which is the closest thing jon's getting to a weighted blanket these days. cons: tim is an oldest and favourite cousin, which means that when he hugs people smaller than him, they're usually children. as a result, there is a roughly 30% chance that if jon goes in for a hug he'll get a hair ruffle and lifted slightly off the ground to go with it. overall rating: 9/10. tim gives truly excellent hugs.

martin blackwood pros: will literally give jon a hug whenever he asks for one without making it feel awkward, which is nice because jon almost always feels awkward talking to people. will also sometimes ask jon if he wants a hug if he's looking a bit pathetic lately. is made of 60% soft wooly jumpers and 30% stuffing, the most warm and comfortable hug. also usually strokes jon's back while he's at it, which is extremely nice. cons: sometimes if jon's leaning into the hug a bit too much martin will physically make him stop working and take a nap, which is not doing great things for jon's work ethic overall rating: 9.5/10. i may be in love with you, martin, but i do actually need to do work sometimes?

sasha james pros: casual hugger, doesn't make jon feel weird about it, just goes in for a quick hug and a peck on the cheek when she's heading out for the day, or if she feels like it. she smells very nice. he kind of wonders what shampoo she uses. cons: despite being sturdier than she looks, she is not quite large enough to apply the force that jon perhaps wants in a hug. overall rating: 8.5/10. delightful, but without the capacity for a proper bear hug a la martin or tim.

not!sasha pros: no. cons: you know when you're at a family gathering and a relative that you only distantly recognize the face and name of comes up and hugs you like, way too familiarly, and it's kinda cloyingly creepy? it's exactly like that overall rating: stranger/10. please never do that again.

Latter Days Crew

melanie king pros: has never in her life half-assed a hug. seems to be trying to break jon's ribcage, which he appreciates. cons: she is often very angry at him, and so does not hug him very often. overall rating: 6/10. good when he got it but he does not often get it.

basira hussain pros: she doesn't really do Full Hugs with jon, she's more likely to toss an arm around his shoulder and pull him against her side, kind of a Bro Side Hug situation, which actually goes a long ways towards making him feel Human and Included and Not Hated. good friend bro hug. cons: kinda lacking in creature comforts. basira is not very soft or demonstrative. not exactly a shoulder he would be comfortable crying on. overall rating: 7/10. he appreciates the sentiment.

daisy tonner pros: daisy WILL go in for a Full Hug with jon, especially after the buried. she is also Strong and will squeeze him, and often seems to need a hug as much as he does. sometimes smells like basira's perfume and sometimes like her own deoderant, both of which are nice. cons: she will make fun of him for leaving tear stains on her shirt. jon has never had a big sister but he thinks that this is what cain and abel were on about. overall rating: 9/10. fantastic except for the schoolyard bullying

Miscellaneous Archives Staff

elias bouchard pros: gives a surprisingly firm, steady hug. like, there's something almost paternal about it, jon just feels proud that elias is proud of him. also he's in a fancy suit and wears very expensive cologne, it just feels like hugging something kind of luxurious and expensive. cons: literally everything else about elias overall rating: latent parental issues/10. it was weird. he tries not to think about it.

gertrude robinson pros: jon never actually met gertrude, but all of the photos he's seen and her voice on the tapes reminds him of his grandmother, so he kind of imagines it'd be like hugging her. a balance between firm and frail, smelling vaguely like all old ladies start to smell like. cons: outside of the nostalgia factor for him, grandma hugs aren't actually that great overall rating: hypothetically, 3/10. he feels like he's got perfume stuck up his nose.

gerard kaey pros: seemed like a cool dude. taller than jon, and exceedingly kind. seemed like he would be really open to a hug. cons: he was a ghost when they met, so they could not hug. overall rating: hypothetically 9/10. jon's adding extra points out of guilt.

michael shelley pros: seemed pretty nice from what he's heard? cons: seemed pretty boring from what he's heard? overall rating: hypothetically 5/10. he seemed fine.

Various Other Avatars

peter lukas pros: very broad. soft belly. big coat. beard. definitely is capable of giving a Good Bear Hug. cons: literally everything else about peter lukas. also he'd probably be cold overall rating: MORE latent parental issues/10. this will never happen. jon's just kind of touch-starved at this point.

michael pros: very friendly about it. exceedingly friendly about it. seems truly delighted by the concept of hugging jon. cons: is equally truly delighted by the concept of stabbing jon. overall rating: ooo ow ouch pointy/10. mistakes were made.

helen pros: actually seems to like jon every now and again. smells like real estate agent perfume. no, he doesn't know how to explain it. it's like a professional scent. cons: stabbed jon again, but accidentally this time overall rating: ooooo ouch pointy but in a pantsuit/10. god he's getting desperate

jared hopworth pros: many arms to hug with cons: none of those arms are his. several of them are bulging with meat and bones the way arms are not supposed to. smells like raw steak. overall rating: 2/10. jon does not have standards anymore.

jude perry pros: very butch, which jon has learned to trust, in a hug partner cons: Literally Made Of Boiling Wax overall rating: hot/10. considerably more mistakes have been made.

georgina barker pros: it's georgie. jon knows georgie. jon fucking adores georgie. she is very smart and comfortable and soft and knows how much he likes having his hair scratched like that. cons: she has absolutely no compunctions about telling jon that he's a fucking idiot, and like sure, he deserves it, but can it wait until after the hug? overall rating: 8.5/10. can i have a cup of tea please georgie. no i will not be releasing you from the hug to let you go and make the tea.

the admiral pros: admiral cons: none overall rating: 10/10. the perfect hug.

#the magnus archives #tma #magnuspod #magnus pod #the magnus institute #no i will not be taking questions at this time.#long post

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ilooklikeaburntchickenugget · 3 years ago

Text

Phases

A/N: A nice little fluffy story for y’all. Pairing: Gerard x F!Reader Word count: 2,256 Warnings: Swearing, angst, fluff

You were literally shattered glass on the floor, and it was the only way to describe your emotional state.

It still made no sense to you, none. Even after your yelling, screaming, crying, pleading over the phone, he still left. And he knew all he took with him, your happiness, your trust, your virginity.

The timing couldn’t have been worse either. Hell you were recording an already depressing record, and here you were in your small room on the bed sobbing for the sixth day in a row. Tissues loosely thrown across the room, the black duvet now crinkled, pillows soaking wet. You let the blinds open only a fraction of the way, solely because it was raining for once in California and seemed to fit the mood a little too well not to acknowledge.

You laid on your side, facing away from the doors and towards the slight crack of the window where a cool breeze seeped in to the already cold room. You hadn’t bothered to try and start the heat in here, there was no point anymore. It was hard to see, your eyes still swollen and puffy, small sniffles and sobs still escaping your nose and mouth as you buried your face into your poor pillow again.

You didn’t even want to think about the band. Not participating and leaving them to do a lot of the work on their own would only add guilt and continue to elevate your ridiculously awful mood. They were there giving you food and space, making sure you were alive every couple hours, and most importantly, giving you space.

But it was day six of complete and utter self-destruction, and questioning both the legitimacy of you as a good lover, and a good person. His excuse for leaving was somewhat valid, you were spending all of your time on the band. Of course you had, it was your passion and family. But when he went on and on, explaining things that didn’t make much sense, like your “constant” complaining or inability to get along with his friends who happened to be too obsessed in their mid-30s crisis, and attempting to heal so by reading stupid self-help books, you had heard enough to understand this wasn’t just a break-up call, it was full bashing.

A soft knock took you out of your trance. You sat up, only slightly and placing most of the weight on your hands which held you, facing the door. Gerard slowly came in, the door opening displaying his tight smile. He was the one you didn’t wanna see, of course you had a slight crush on him like most girls did that was only growing with the despair of your heart.

“Hey,” He softly said, closing the door behind him.

“Hey,” You responded in a hoarse voice. To that he gave you a frown, as plopped himself next to you on the bed.

“C’mhere.” He said, taking your body and moving it so your head was in his lap. Maybe it was his familiar smell, or the soft touch of his fingers on your scalp as he brushed your hair with them, or the warmth his body gave, but you broke down like never before. It didn’t take but three seconds to be sobbing in his thigh as he rubbed your back, shushing you. “I know,” he softly cooed, “Let it all out for me.”

“He was such a dick.” You murmured, before breaking another sob, “And I loved him!”

“I know,” Gerard responded.

“And I gave him everything,” You finally got up, wiping your nose and looking right at the man who leaned against the headboard of your bed. “Literally everything, Gee, and he leaves me like it’s no big deal. I was literally screaming at him, and he just had no emotion in his voice.” Gerard nodded along. “And maybe I was part of the problem, maybe there were things I did, but it’s hard when the other person doesn’t admit their wrongdoings either.” “I don’t think you were the problem.” Gerard commented, as you grabbed one of the pillows nearby to hug, sitting crossed legged horizontal to him.

“You also have bias.” You argued.

“If you wanna consider my ‘being-a-dick’ detector bias then so be it,” He sighed, “But I have a dick. Literally, and I can tell when someone is being one too.” You lightly giggled and she smiled, “There she is.” You rolled your eyes.

“Let me have my sad breakup story,” You whined, “Let me drown in my emotions for a few more days.”

You happily laughed as Gerard laid on you, another mindless joke passed, his head peeking up to where you laid down, hand brushing through his hair. He was grabbing onto your waist, using your chest as a temporary pillow.

“Why do you always put your face in my boobs?” You lightly laughed, still stocking through his hair as his face was doing just that.

“They’re warm.” He looked up, giving you puppy dog eyes, “And squishy.” You laughed again, lightly hitting his arm.

“Gerard!” You scolded as he began laughing too. His long and thick black hair had actually begun it’s reunion with a nightly scrub of shampoo and conditioner again, now being in the comfort of home.

His face was so striking against the dim light of the living room mixed with the dull back light of the Christmas tree. His eyes had never been prominent, the light managing to highlight all of his strong features from his jawline to his cheek bones. And those oh-so-perfect eyebrows you were jealous of.

“What’re you thinking about, sweetheart?” He asked, his eyes gazing over your face and searching for the answer.

“You’re very pretty.” You responded, “And handsome.” He was never too good at taking compliments, which is why his face became a visibly darker shade of red and he could only respond with a mere, ‘thanks’ muttered.

“You’re very gorgeous too.” He responded, taking your hand in his and playing with your fingers.

This is what real love is.

Or maybe, real love was him picking up your hand to kiss it every-time you got anxious picking at your painted nails. Maybe it was the smell of candles burning out always getting up to replace it with a new one. Maybe it was him taking a dish from you with no hesitation to put in a cabinet while emptying the dish washer, even if he had done more. It could’ve even been the petty fights you had about take out places that always ended in civil conversation and mutual agreement to do the other’s choice next time.

You remembered the first time you met Gerard’s friends as a couple. He was 30, you were 24. Even though the band was together for a bit, you hadn’t really met each other’s closest friends outside of the band. It was scary, for sure, being fresh into your mid-20s amongst a group of young 30-somethings.

You had remained silent for most of it, only commenting when asked specific questions. Sure, you understood lots of what they were talking about, you were quite mature for your age, always had been. But it almost didn’t feel like your place, you didn’t want to one-up anyone and seem like a bitch right off the bat.

As the night grew darker, the more you began to feel alone. Everyone was laughing, smiling, enjoying the company of others around the dining room table in Gerard’s apartment. You were keeping a subtle smiled, and the muscles began to hurt more by the second, and you mustered out tiny laughs that seemed to be enough to cover your case for now. Of course, his friends were far too lost in their glasses of wine turning clearer and whatever new self-help book they had discovered to notice your growing nerves that seemed to suddenly correspond into your body language.

When you felt the anxiety begin to kick in, you immediately grabbed Gerard’s hand from under the table, and he grabbed it back, looking over to you with a smile and eyes that turned to worry. You gave him a reassuring, genuine smile that you were good for now.

You took another good swig of your wine, his comforting thumb circling support on the back of your hand seemed to have given you some element of confidence, at least enough to engage in more conversation and even feel more comfortable.

So here you stood, in the singular kitchen light surrounded by the darkness of the city, placing the dishes in the dishwasher as Gerard retrieved them from around the apartment. “Was everything okay?” He finally asked, genuine sympathy in his voice as he stood next to you, his pupils rushing over your face for any suggestion towards a response. You nodded with a small smile.

“I was just nervous at first, ya know.” You responded, swallowing a bit, “Kinda scary meeting people quite a bit older than you with a whole new perspective on life.” He nodded in an understanding way, hugging you from behind and rocking you back and forth as you lightly laughed.

“I get it,” He responded, giving a peck on your cheek. “You did amazing. As always.”

“Can you imagine it?” You asked him, looking at this old victorian house in absolute shambles. Siding coming off, an ugly gray color taking over, empty windows with a depressing black seeping through them. It truly was the black sheep on this neighborhood filled with young families of growing professionals, and old ones with grand kids.

“Nope.” Gerard responded with a smile, “Not at all.” “Neither can I.” You sighed happily, “Better trust the process.”

Gerard had agreed to move back to one of the suburbs of the city you grew up in, a nice little neighborhood only 10 minutes outside of the downtown area. And here you stood outside of this complete fixer upper you had bought together, having an architect and contractor already draw up and begin the process of revamping this home. In the meantime, you would happily be in an Airbnb you had rented for a few months, spending lots of time with your dad and step-mom who lived less than 15 minutes away.

“I don’t even want to imagine kids here now.” He cringed.

“Ah, yes.” You responded with a smile, “Our children running through an old, abandoned house that hasn’t been up to code in at least a few decades.” He nodded.

“Seems safe enough,” He replied, “Might as well let ‘em play in traffic too.” And to that you laughed. He draped his arm around your shoulder, giving you the opportunity to take his hand in both of yours and hold his arm in place.

As you looked up at him and he down at you, your eyes met in an instant. You had never been more thankful for them, the gorgeous color drowning all the heartbreak you ever faced disappear from view. You knew it sounded generic and cliche but he was your happiness.

“We’re so generic,” You lightly laughed, the two of you walking through your new neighborhood hand in hand, “Two super young people, moving to a new hip neighborhood. Probably gonna rescue a pit bull next, put it in a sweater, and spend an absurd amount of money on coffee.” “We only haven’t done one of those things,” He commented, confirming, “The pit bull in the sweater, although I think it’s an easy fix.”

“We should totally name it like, Marshmallow or something totally stupid.” “Either a stupid food, or the name of someone’s retiring boss.” He continued, “Eugene, or something.”

“I like Eugene.” You responded, “Jared, too.” He lightly chuckled.

“Naming a pit bull in a sweater Jared would be the most stupid thing we’ve ever done.”

“Or Hank, I like Hank too.”

“Hank’s solid.”

The two of you walked in peace, it was a gorgeous fall day that managed to not be too cool yet. This area would have all four seasons distinctively. From your childhood you remembered relevant snow days in the winter and scorching hot summer of pool days. And while Gerard was used to all four seasons where you grew up, Jersey was relatively mild compared to what was here.

“It’s so pretty.” He commented and you nodded, agreeing.

“It is,” You responded, “Until you have to rake leaves.” You lightly laughed, “Pretty sure that’s why my dad invited us over this weekend. Not to actually see us, but so we’ll rake his leaves.” Gerard rolled his eyes. “It’ll be fun, we can jump in them and act like kids and all that stuff. Unless it rains and they get sticky, those are nasty.”

“Is it supposed to rain?” He asked.

“No,” You responded, “But never trust the forecast here, it’s always wrong. You just kinda wake up and assume.”

You continued walking, finding a few parks around with playground and designated dog areas, a small tiny business area with one of those independent coffee shops, a little hip restaurant, and a bakery too. Then back to the car you went. “I get why you wanted to move back here.” He spoke as he started the ignition. “It’s really great.” You nodded.

“Yeah it is,” You replied, “Thank you.” “Hm?” He questioned.

“Ya know, for packing up all of your thing and moving halfway across the country with me.” You sighed, “Leaving a lot behind.” “I wouldn’t want to do that with anyone else,” He responded, “Only you.”

#gerard way #mcr gerard #gerard way fanfiction #gerard way x reader #gerard way x you #gerard way x y/n #my chemical gerard #my chemical romance #My Chem #my chemical gee #my chemical romance x reader

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robinrunsfiction · 3 years ago

Text

It’s A Love Story - Part 2

Part 1

When Saturday arrived, (YN) had been so excited for her and Mikey’s birthday party, but the noise had been going on for what felt like ages and she needed a break. It wasn't like many people were talking to her, apparently Gerard's threats were even more intimidating with him in the corner keeping an eye on everything as their mom left him to chaperone while she stayed up in her bedroom, away from the teenagers.

(YN) slipped away to her room, flopping back onto her bed, staring up at the ceiling when she heard a knock on the door frame. She sat up with a start and found Frank looking amused in the doorway.

"Avoiding your own party?" He asked.

"And I'll cry if I want to, or however the song goes. I dunno how Mikey got all of the outgoing genes in like the entire family. It's not really fair."

Frank laughed and nodded. "You and Gee do have that in common."

(YN) nodded. "You can come in ya know."

"I dunno what rules your mom has about boys in your bedroom," he said, padding across the floor to sit next to her.

"Oh you know you only got Gee and Mikey to be scared of," she replied, shaking her head. "What brings you up here anyway?"

"I got you a present," he said.

"Really?" (YN)'s eyes lit up and a grin formed on her face.

"Yea, umm, here," he said, pulling a small box out of his jacket pocket.

(YN) stared at it for a moment before carefully unwrapping it. Inside was a necklace with a blue sapphire charm. "Oh wow," she whispered.

"The lady at the store said it was your birthstone, but I didn't know if you'd like it," he trailed off with a shrug.

"I love it, it's so pretty!" She said, throwing her arms around him in a hug. "Thanks Frank."

"Of course, happy birthday (YN)," he replied, returning the hug.

"I'm gonna guess you didn't get Mikey the same thing?" (YN) laughed as she put the necklace on.

Frank laughed. "Nah, I got him a CD," Frank replied before pausing, seemingly lost in thought. "It's kinda shitty how him and Gee scared off all the guys from you."

(YN) sighed. "I just wish they would have asked me how I felt about it first. But," she paused, drawing up every ounce of courage she could find, "as long as the guy I like keeps talking to me, it's fine."

Frank nodded before his eyes went wide and (YN) couldn’t help but laugh a little at the realization that had clearly just hit him.

"And I seem to be the only guy that's ever talking to you."

"So that would mean," she trailed off, her cheeks burning.

"For real?"

"Yea, sorry," she replied, wrinkling her nose.

"No, no that's not what I meant. I mean, I like you too, (YN)."

She was surprised, but couldn’t help but grin. "It's dangerous to have a crush on me, ya know."

"I like to live dangerously," he smirked, and (YN) had to keep from melting on the spot as the air hung thick between them.

"So what do we do now?" She asked softly.

“Well, I really wanna kiss you," he said, sliding closer to her, his hand on top of hers.

“Gee and Mikey will kill you,” she whispered as they started to lean in together.

“Then I’ll die happy," he whispered back.

“See you at your funeral,” she replied as Frank reached up and touched her cheek gently before closing the distance between them. Their lips met and (YN) had to try not to sigh, it was everything she had hoped it would be.

When they pulled back, Frank was smiling like she'd never seen before. "Was that good?" She asked.

Frank furrowed his brow in confusion. "Yea, it was really good. Wait, was that your first kiss?"

(YN) nodded and bit her lip, her cheeks going pink again. "Yea."

A smile spread across Frank's face. "You wanted me to be your first kiss?"

"Duh," she laughed lightly. "Is that weird?"

"No, it's," Frank looked like he was trying to find the words to describe what he was feeling. "Fucking awesome," he finally replied.

(YN) smiled and shook her head, before looking down at the necklace she was now wearing. "Thanks for making this a really memorable birthday."

"You deserve it," he nodded.

"We should probably go back downstairs before someone comes looking for us, or starts to suspect something."

"Yea," Frank agreed. "We'll talk soon about… us?"

"Sounds like a plan," (YN) nodded.

Frank leaned in, giving her another quick kiss before getting up and leaving her room.

(YN) sighed and flopped back on her bed again before letting out a squeal of utter glee.

The following week of school felt like the longest of (YN)'s life, all she wanted was for it to be Friday night. She and Frank had decided they were going to skip the weekly movie night with her brothers and Ray, and instead have their first date. When Friday evening finally arrived, (YN) couldn't get out of the house quick enough.��

"(YN) are you still in for movie night?" She heard Mikey ask behind her. She froze, wincing, hand inches from the doorknob.

"Oh, no sorry," she replied, turning to face her brother. "I'm going to Marie's, she's having some boy problems and wanted someone to talk to."

"Oh," Mikey shrugged.

"What's going on?" Gerard asked, walking into the living room.

"Guess it's just us and Ray tonight," Mikey explained.

"Where are you going?" Gerard asked, eyeing her suspiciously.

"Marie's. No Frank?" She asked, trying to remain inconspicuous.

"He said he's not feeling good, stomach thing," Gerard explained.

(YN) nodded. "That sucks... Well, I'll see ya later," she said before hurrying out the door, afraid they'd somehow see through her lies.

The walk to Frank's house was quick, she'd made it countless times before, but never before in this context, which added an extra spring to her step. By the time she arrived at the door, her heart was pounding.

"Hey," he said, immediately pulling her into a hug when she walked in. "I ordered a pizza a little bit ago, is that cool?"

"Yea, of course," she nodded before kicking off her shoes and dropping her purse by the door. "Umm, so did you tell your mom that we're," she trailed off.

"She's not home yet, but yea, just so she knows not to bring it up around the guys for some reason,” he said, leading the way into the kitchen.

“That’s good,” she nodded, taking the soda that he offered to her.

An awkward silence hung between them as they stood in the kitchen. They normally would have been bantering easily, but there was now so much to talk about that neither seemed to know where to begin.

“So, umm-” Frank started, but before he could get any more words out, the doorbell rang. “Oh, hang on.”

(YN) nodded and made her way to the living room, plopping down on the couch.

"Thanks man, see ya Monday," she heard Frank say before walking into the living room with the pizza.

"Who was that?"

"Tucker. I didn't know he got a job delivering pizzas."

"Me neither, but no one tells me anything anymore," she laughed.

Frank laughed as he sat the pizza down on the coffee table in front of them. “What do you wanna watch?”

“Whatever you want,” (YN) shrugged as she picked up a slice of pizza.

Frank hummed as he perused his movie collection. “Got it,” he nodded, pulling one off the shelf, and putting it on. He settled onto the couch next to (YN) as he started the movie. After they both had their fill of pizza, Frank put his arm over her shoulder. "Is this ok?"

"Yea," she smiled, sliding over so she was resting against his side.

They sat in silence as the movie continued to play, but (YN) was only halfway paying attention. She was too busy thinking about Frank's hand on her shoulder, thumb rubbing small circles into the material of her shirt. She had just turned her attention back to the movie when a jump scare made her yelp and bury her face against Frank’s shoulder.

She heard the sound of the movie stop and Frank wrapped both his arms around her. "Shit, sorry," he murmured, rubbing her back soothingly.

"It's ok," she replied, pulling back from him enough to look up at his face. He was definitely concerned, and it warmed her heart.

"Do you wanna watch something else?"

"No, no, it's ok, we can keep watching this," she insisted. “I was just startled.”

"Ok, he replied, pressing play again, but she stayed curled up against him and he kept both his arms wrapped around her, holding her tighter than before.

"There's another jump scare coming up," Frank said a few minutes later.

(YN) whined a little and turned to hide her face against Frank's shoulder again when he caught her chin and she looked up at him. He leaned in and kissed her while the suspenseful music blared from the TV. (YN) smiled into the kiss as she wrapped her arms over his shoulders and he pulled her closer. Tentatively he deepened the kiss, and she tried not to get too excited that she was finally, truly, getting to make out with Frank.

It wasn't until the end credits were playing that they came up for air.

"I really liked the movie," (YN) laughed.

"Me too," Frank grinned. "And I really like you."

"You'd mentioned something about that before," (YN) smiled coyly, but couldn't help but blush a little. “Umm, so can I ask something?” Frank nodded so she continued. “When did you realize that you liked me?”

Frank scrunched up his face for a moment as he thought. “I think it was kinda gradual. When we started the band and you started doing your own thing with your clothing designs, I thought that was so cool.”

“Really?”

Frank nodded. "I don't always know who or what you're talking about, but it's cool seeing you be so excited about it. But," and then winced a bit. “If I’m gonna be totally honest, umm,” he trailed off.

“What?”

“Please don’t think I’m a scumbag like Adam, but umm, at the pool party, I mean,” he rubbed his hands over his face. “You’re hot!” He finally blurted out and (YN) began to laugh.

“I don’t think you’re a scumbag, because I know you’re not gonna try to take advantage of me or anything,” she replied.

“I never would, you mean too much to me to do anything that would make you feel bad," he replied sincerely.

(YN) smiled. “That’s why I like you, ya know.”

“Hmm?”

“You always make me feel better about myself, even when I'm struggling through math class or whatever. And because when Gee or Mikey are being obnoxious and picking on me, you would always take my side," she smiled. “Plus you’re really cute and I really like watching you play guitar because it’s so cool.”

It was Frank’s turn to grin. "So are you gonna start coming to watch our practices?"

"I dunno, I don't wanna just seem like a groupie,” she laughed. “Or worse, raise my brothers' suspicions. I don't want them to freak out and kick you out of the band or something," she said, starting to pick at her nails.

"Hey," he started, taking her hands as she looked up at him. "I know you do that when you’re nervous, but whenever you're ready to talk to them, I'll be there. Until then, we'll keep things between just you and me."

"The secrecy is kinda fun, forbidden romance and all that," she smiled.

"And when it's not secret, it will be even better, because then I'll be able to do this whenever I want," he said leaning in and kissing her.

(YN) got completely lost in the amazing sensation of kissing Frank until the front door opened. They jumped apart as Frank’s mom walked into the house. She peeked in the doorway to the living room with a smile. “Hi Frank, hi (YN), don’t mind me!”

They both greeted her, and (YN) checked the time. “Ugh, it’s getting late, I should probably get home,” she said, getting up.

“Do you want me to walk you back?" Frank asked, following her to the door.

"Probably shouldn't risk it. You're supposed to be sick, remember?"

"Oh yea," he replied, sounding a bit forlorn.

"I promise I’ll try to figure out how to tell them soon."

Frank nodded. "Like I said before, whenever you're ready, I'll be right there with you. You're my girl."

(YN) felt her heart flip and her knees go a little weak as she threw her arms around Frank and buried her face against his neck. He held her close until she pulled back, and gave him a quick kiss.

"Let me know when you get home safe," he said as she headed out the door.

She waved over her shoulder, feeling like she was practically floating

Part 3

#frank iero x reader #frank iero fan fic #frank iero fan fiction #frank iero imagine #my chemical romance fan fic #my chemical romance fan fiction

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celosiaa · 4 years ago

Text

you cut through all the noise

Alright, here’s a ficlet I’ve got for day three of TMA hurt/comfort week from @themagnuswriters!

Prompts used: Sickfic + Overwhelmed

Other tags: Jonmartin, season 3, statement withdrawal, asthma, fever

“I’m confused, I’m-I’m dizzy, I—”

Jon breaks off with a sigh, feeling so endlessly out of breath that the next words come out in a rush.

“I think I saw the police officer from Chicago again—in the station where I was talking to Rebecks. I—”

God, I can’t breathe.

“I’m not—feeling well.”

The tape clicks off on its own right as Jon starts up coughing again, harsh and painful, into his elbow. He’s been at it all day—the gasping, heaving breaths, the constantly dripping nose, throat on fire—all serving to make him properly miserable. Even the paracetamol he’d managed to find after a long struggle at the chemist hasn’t worked, and Jon is fairly certain his fever has only been climbing.

And, as is often the case, it makes him…upset.

It’s just that it’s so miserable here, roaming about a hospital looking for news of Gerard’s horrendous death, trying to find a decent cup of tea only to come up empty, endlessly searching through the aisles of the American “pharmacy” to find some damn fever reducers, only to learn it’s called by a different name—

And there’s no one here with him. He is well and truly alone.

His chest aches. His very soul aches.

Damn it, I can’t breathe.

Stars begin to spatter across his vision as he reaches down to his bag, hands shaking so badly he can barely grab hold of his inhaler, dropping it several times before managing to set it on the hotel bed.

Spinning spinning spinning

Squeezing his eyes shut against the endless whorl of colors around him, he pants into the stillness for a moment, until the wheezing of his own chest begins to scare him. Shaking the medicine weakly, he exhales as much as possible before drawing a deep breath—praying that it will work this time.

It doesn’t. Of course it doesn’t. It may have stopped his chest from wheezing for now, but—there’s still no room, no air, no one to—

Martin.

Jon curses himself for the thought at once.

No, he doesn’t…he doesn’t need…

Running a hand through his overgrown hair draws up a memory, gentle and light, of warm hands pulling his hair up while he’d been ill, warm hands brushing against his own in the hall, warm hands checking his forehead for fever, supporting him when he’d fallen, even after everything—

His own hands still shaking, he picks up the phone and calls.

“J’n?”

Martin picks up after a few rings, voice low and slurred with sleep.

Oh, shit—

Jon stares wide-eyed at the clock, makes the time conversion in his head, and…it’s four in the morning in London.

“M-Martin I…I’m so sorry, I didn’t—I didn’t realize the time, I—”

“No no, it’s—” he breaks off to yawn for a moment. “It’s alright, what’s going on?”

I shouldn’t have called.

“Really Martin, just—go back to sleep, I apologize—”

“Are you alright?”

The concern evident in his voice sends a ripple of guilt through Jon’s empty stomach.

“I’m—”

“Don’t say you’re fine, you don’t sound fine at all,” Martin says, and Jon can hear the rustle of fabric as he sits up in bed. “Are you ill?”

How do you know these things? Jon wants to ask, but refrains—instead swiping a hand across his brow.

“Jon?”

Oh, right.

“Err—I don’t know, exactly. I’m um—heh—”

Can’t breathe

Another coughing fit bursts from him, and he holds the phone far away from his face to spare Martin’s ears. Even with the medicine, it’s somehow more ragged than before, every bit of his lungs on fire has he struggles to contain it. When he at last manages to settle it, he picks the phone back up, voice whittled down to nothing more than a haggard whisper.

“Sorry—” he sniffs, swiping a tissue to stem the renewed flow of his nose. “Sorry, I suppose I might be ill.”

“No kidding. You sound awful, Jon. Have you got your inhaler?”

He remembers.

…of course he does.

“I-I do, it’s just—” he sighs heavily, letting his forehead drop onto the palm of his hand. “It’s not really working.”

“How do you mean?”

“I mean—it helps a little, but…not for long.”

“So it’s not asthma then?”

“I suppose not.”

They let the silence hang for a while, and Jon lets his eyes fall closed, not wanting to hang up the call, wanting to keep Martin’s presence with him somehow.

“What’s really wrong, Jon?”

And there it is again, Martin’s ability to read him even without seeing his face. Tears begin to sting, hot and relentless, behind his eyes, and he tells himself it’s from the fever, wants to tell Martin that’s all it is, but—

I’ve got to be honest.

He trusts me and I’ve got to be honest.

“I don’t know, Martin,” he whispers, sniffing back the congestion that’s rounded out the consonants of his name. “I don’t know, I just—I just wanted to talk to you.”

I miss you, he wants to say more than anything.

He knows he cannot, or he’ll actually start to cry, and that wouldn’t do to put him through that.

“Okay,” Martin says, keeping his tone light—but Jon can hear the concern behind it all the same. “Okay, that’s alright, Jon—I’m glad you called. What can I do to help you feel better?”

Jon can’t help but let out a quick laugh at this, a bit damp and gasping, as he swipes quickly at the tears now spilling from his eyes.

“Nothing, Martin,” he says, still smiling a bit. “Just…good of you to answer.”

“Jon, I—” he cuts himself off, sighing a bit shakily. “Jon, I’m worried, I—can I stay on the line with you a bit? I can—here, I can read you something, or-or we can talk, or—or we could just sit, it’s alright, just…just don’t hang up, alright?”

Jon can’t help but bury his face in his hands, shoulders shaking with choked-back sobs.

“Jon? Are you there?”

Sniffing quickly, Jon replies.

“I-I’m here, sorry, I—”

He sniffles again, scrubbing a hand over his eyes.

“Thank you. I would—”

His pride nearly stops him from saying it, anything but to admit he needs help—

“I’d love it if you read to me.”

Though he cannot see his face, Jon is absolutely certain of the wide smile broadcasted all the way from London.

“Of course, Jon. Whatever you need.”

He allows the gentleness of Martin’s voice to carry him away with the tide, pulling his small boat away from the shore, and into the oceans of sleep.

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #TMAHCweek #jonmartin #sickfic #hurt/comfort #my writing

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starrypawz · 3 years ago

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For the ns*w asks! Gerry/Nemo and... 22? 🥺🙏

22. after a near death experience

ALSO ON AO3

It doesn’t happen the night of.

Both of them are still too shaken up, final dregs of adrenaline wearing off to leave bone gnawing fatigue. Too wound tight to do nothing than get behind closed doors, spend far too long in the shower, and then cling to each other throughout the night and hope for dreamless sleep.

The next morning is normal.

It’s almost insulting witnessing the day begin as if everything is fine and that Nemo Ainsley and Gerard Keay hadn’t had a brush yet again with a particularly intense manifestation of primal horror and this particular brush had been too close for both of their tastes.

Nemo stirs first, to the sound of birdsong and the rattle of a bin lorry (shit, forgot it was bin day). Early morning sunlight filters through a few pin hole pricks in the blind and they blearily stare at the clock on the bedside table.

Early, too early. Too fucking early.

They almost died the night before, but no today it’s as if nothing happened, it’s too fucking early, there’s sunlight trying to get into the room, there’s birdsong and rattling bin lorries. And Nemo does have to wonder briefly if anyone out there really has any clue how close they are to meeting a grisly fate on a regular basis.

Gerry shifts in his sleep, lets out a little concerned sleepy sound and an arm reaches out, seeking Nemo out. Nemo settles back down, tucks into his side and tries to sleep through this insulting normal morning.

It’s not long until they feel Gerry stir, pull them in closer and Nemo clings to his shirt a little more and buries their face into his chest. Feels the gentle rumble as he mumbles, “It’s morning-” “Mhmm-”

“It’s morning,” Gerry repeats, a little louder.

“I know,” Nemo nuzzles the soft fabric of his shirt, breathing in the familiar scent of his Nemo feels the rumble of a chuckle, “Bloody hell it’s morning,” and pulls Nemo close to him before he gently moves, rolls, long body pressed against Nemo’s.

Nemo can feel the warmth of his body pressed against him, always warm, sometimes too warm but right now that is just what they need. Needs the warmth and the weight slightly pressing Nemo into the mattress.

“I know,” Nemo grins back. Let’s their fingers slide up to cup his face, Gerry takes a moment to press his forehead to theirs before Nemo’s fingers disappear into soft, dark hair, Gerry leans into the touch, lets Nemo’s nails run gently over his scalp.

Gerry’s lips meet the tip of their nose, corner of their mouth and then on the lips. And then again, and then there’s the flick of his tongue against Nemo’s bottom lip, and again a little harder. Today it’s gentle, a question. Which Nemo answers by opening their mouth and letting their tongue slip into his.

Gerry pushes them into the mattress a little more as he kisses. Little kisses at first, slow, gentle. Less the usual teasing Nemo tends to expect from him even as the kisses deepen. Nemo’s content to let him take his time, and let their fingers wind through his hair. His kisses shift, going from lips to wherever he can reach on Nemo��s neck. Those kisses start sending little flutters that make Nemo tense up their thighs.

He pulls back eventually, smile soft and that gives Nemo another little flutter, but this time it’s the pesky fluttering of their heart which at times is a lot harder to deal with than other places.

“You seem happy,” Nemo teases

“I mean, the fact we didn’t die last night helps-” “Helps?” He grins, this one a little more impish, “Waking up to you really helps-”

Nemo groans playfully and Gerry rubs his nose against theirs, Nemo’s hands leave his hair and settle around his shoulders.

“So are we just cuddling this morning or?”

Gerry kisses Nemo again, catches their lip this time and Nemo grins into it, “I mean ‘we didn’t die last night cuddles sound good,’” He catches their lip again, harder.

“But?”

“If you want I can at least go down on you,”

“At least?” Nemo grins

“Mhmm,” Gerry’s grin is slow and playful as he nibbles at their lip. Rolls his hips against Nemo’s and Nemo can feel him half hard against them as he ruts a little harder.

“Use your words,” Nemo tuts and pokes his nose

“Ok fine…” He pouts for a moment, “I can go down on you and then if you want.” he pauses and reaches out to run his thumb over Nemo’s lip. “Fuck you into the mattress?” A kiss, “Let you ride me?” A kiss with a bite that makes Nemo squirm, “Could bend you over, let you grip the headboard and-” “Gerry!” Nemo squirms their mind running wild.

“I’m doing what you told me,” He smirks.

“Brat,” Nemo huffs, reaches up and grabs a lock of dark hair and tugs, hard. And chuckles as he moans and Nemo’s pulled into a painfully soft kiss.

“So?” He sighs and playfully flicks his tongue against the tip of Nemo’s nose.

“Hurry up and fuck me already,” Gerry chuckles, gives a slow roll of his hips against Nemo again and then rolls to the side. Grabs the waistband of Nemo’s shorts and edges them down and they’re discarded somewhere around the foot of the bed. Moves again to kneel in front of Nemo, let’s his hands slowly trace up to their thighs and pulls a little, Nemo eagerly parts their legs in a way that makes him twitch, he lingers on the soft, warm skin of their thighs for a little before a finger runs along from entrance to clit, fingers lightly

“I thought you were eating me out,” Nemo squirms, one hand grabbing the bedsheets.

“I’m getting to that, be patient,” Gerry tuts and then looks up with a smirk, “Little ghost,”

Nemo feels their cheeks redden even in their aroused state at the endearment and resists the urge to shove their face under a pillow.

Gerry’s fingers as always slide in slow, two fingers easily slipping into warm flesh and he lets out a pleased little noise as he starts to work, leaning forward to plant the occasional kiss on Nemo’s lips. Settles into a slow, deep rhythm that he knows could bring Nemo over the edge very quickly if he wanted that.

Not really, not this morning he wants to linger a little and bask in the middle finger they both threw up to The Slaughter last night and likely The End in general. He sets his pace slow, grins as Nemo squirms just from running his fingers just next to their clit and occasionally teasing their entrance with the promise of a finger or two. Nemo swears at him once and it’s music to his ears.

Gerry catches the bedside clock then grins.

“Wow, it’s early enough we could go out for breakfast afterwards and it would still be… normal people breakfast time-”

“You know what I want, a double sausage and egg McMuffin-” Nemo’s brain switches to the fact a lot of the time food is a much more enticing pursuit than sex. Or at least has been for the most part before they got mixed up with Gerry.

Gerry laughs “McDonald’s really?”

“What? We nearly died, I want a fucking McMuffin.”

“A mcfuckin,” Gerry wheezes. His rhythm thrown off for the moment.

Nemo snorts and swats the top of his head.

“I mean unless you have another idea,” Gerry pauses for a moment, runs through a few options, in his head of other places they could go and then,“Actually,McDonald’s doesn’t sound that bad,” And grins, “We’ll make the most of ‘we didn’t die last night sex’ and then on my honour we’ll find you the best double sausage and egg McMuffin in at least this borough,”

Nemo snorts, shudders a little as he curves his fingers to make them squirm. “Mmm, also I think us not dying means I get to bend you over later,” “Oh?”

Nemo bites their lip as his thumb rubs at their clit. Their hands sliding under their shirt to tease their nipples.

“I mean we do have that new dildo to try out,” Nemo grins, and their brain wanders to all sorts of fun thoughts about just how they’ll give their fellow Goth some much needed payback. That and the work of Gerry’s fingers making them squirm. “We do,” Gerry grins, fingers curving again and the way that Nemo easily takes a third finger makes him rock his hips against the bed. “So?”

Gerry grins, letting his fingers slowly play over warm, wet flesh,“We’ll make the most of ‘We didn’t die last night sex’ then on my honour we’ll find you the best double sausage and egg McMuffin at least in this borough and then tonight you can bend me over and do your worst with that new dildo-”

“Promise?” “I’m a Goth of my word,” “I’m holding you to it, especially about breakfast,”

“I swear,” He pulls out his slick fingers, and lies on his back, “Now please come sit on my face?”

#tma #the magnus archives #tma nemo #gerard keay #gerry keay #attempts at smuttery

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yellowocaballero · 4 years ago

Text

Desolation Destroyed My P****: Web!Jon, Gertrude/Agnes Repressed Homoeroticism, and Gerry faking his own death

Another installment in the slowly complicating Web!Jon AU based off The Convention on Chronographer Lane/The Monster at the End of This Book. You don’t need to know anything about the other two installments, the main story, or the actual Web!Jon story that will get WRITTEN once I’m done with Space Cadet. Full story under the cut. GERTRUDE POV BABY LET’S GO DON’T BE A COWARD AND EMBRACE THE GERIATRIC LESBIANS.

CW for body horror

2002

People did not call Gertrude for favors.

Somehow most of the community had fallen under the impression that it was a bad idea to owe a favor to Gertrude Robinson, because she always came to collect. Gertrude had worked hard to enforce this. Most of those in her...field knew better than to ask an enemy for favors, and Gertrude made a habit of collecting enemies. She was not in the habit of collecting friends.

Allies, maybe. She could count her allies on one aging hand and have fingers left over. Unfortunately, Agnes Montague was one of them.

Also unfortunately, Agnes disliked and distrusted the Institute so severely she only ever called when she knew Gertrude would be in her own home - so, at one am, on a Saturday. The shrill blaring of Gertrude’s almost unused home phone startled her from her nightly reading, and she was forced to bookmark her place before picking up the phone.

She never spoke first on the phone, and old precaution, but Agnes knew that. “Don’t worry. I’m only calling for business reasons. I need another favor.”

Gertrude’s lips thinned. “Agnes. It’s been a while.”

Six months and a week, not that Gertrude was counting. The last time Agnes had called her up asking for a favor was the first time they had ever spoken: a request for help escaping her cult. It had been a long, messy business. The burn scar had only just healed.

They had a moment of sentimentality, then. A moment of sentimentality that had begun so many years ago as their lives were tied together in that forest, and stretched forward in time and space to culminate in a single mistake. It was a mistake Gertrude was afraid she was still making now.

“I would have called, but it was still dangerous,” Agnes said cheerfully. She had been a morose and sulky woman, when Gertrude first met her. She had brightened considerably since they had won her freedom: like the turn of winter into spring. “It’s settled down quite a bit, which is why I need the favor.”

“You still haven’t paid me back for last time,” Gertrude said mildly.

But Agnes just laughed, warm and soft, despite the cold welcome. “I feel like we both got something out of that arrangement, don’t you?”

They did. Gertrude wasn’t sure which arrangement Agnes was referring to. “Fine. What is it you need? Within reason, Agnes. I’m not sure I have another great escape in me.”

“I need three false identities,” Agnes said, shocking Gertrude deeply. People only tended to call Gertrude when they need something murdered or blown up. Not that she minded. “You know everybody, and I’ve been a bit cloistered these past few years. I have a source who knows some people, but the person that we’ve been avoiding also knows those resources, so they’re right out.”

“Running an underground railroad, are we, Agnes?” Gertrude asked archly.

Agnes laughed again, and despite herself the sound still rang something buried and cold in Gertrude’s heart. “I figured I’d try my hand at the good guy thing. What can I say, Gertrude? You were a good influence on me.”

“Don’t mock me.” But Gertrude sighed anyway, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I’ll get you in touch with who I use. If you give me your email I can connect you.”

“...what’s -”

“Never mind. I’ll pass your phone number along. Goodnight, Agnes.”

But the line crackled and fuzzed, and Agnes didn’t hang up. Neither did Gertrude. When Agnes spoke again it was soft - not hesitant, Agnes was never hesitant, but gentle. Agnes, Gertrude had found, could be more gentle than anybody else. “We never visited that lake.”

“Those are just dreams, Agnes,” Gertrude said - harshly, maybe unkindly. She didn’t know how to be anything else.

“Not to me. I - no, John, don’t eat that, you don’t know where it’s been!” Agnes sighed, sending a crackle of static over the line and catching Gertrude’s attention severely. “I have to go. Goodbye, Gertrude. Thank you for your help. Call me sometimes, will you? For personal reasons. I gave you my number for a reason.”

Gertrude hung up on her, deciding not to dignify any of that with a response. She hardly had the time to make - personal phone calls.

What foolishness. Agnes had infected her with such foolishness.

Gertrude went back to her book, mind working furiously, trying to remember if she had ever read of a ‘John’.

*****

Unfortunately, ‘John’ was about as common a name as they came.

Gertrude herself scarcely had any time to follow-up. Judging from Agnes’ words and tone, John was a child of some sort - had Agnes kidnapped somebody else’s child? Her child? (Gertrude had a very ridiculous thought for a moment before dismissing it, before grudgingly accepting that Agnes was made out of wax and that nothing was technically impossible). She gave Agnes her guy’s phone number and wished she could wash her hands of the matter. What Agnes did from now on would hopefully be none of her business.

Gertrude wished she could delude herself into believing that.

But Gertrude’s work was picking up, the rituals coming in faster and faster, and she found herself running about much more than she should at her age. Emma was invaluable, Fiona worked hard in research, and Michael was...sweet, but she trusted them with little information and trusted them less to watch her back. She couldn’t dedicate the amount of time she wanted to a hunch.

To make matters worse, Mary Keay had seemed to misplace her child. She was torn up about it, in her...own way. Gertrude wasn’t concerned. The boy was seventeen. He’d be back in three months with another two piercings, a Grateful Dead shirt, and no money. Goodness knows Gertrude had done it enough at his age. Did kids still trail along at Grateful Dead concerts? What was Gerry always listening to these days, Green Day? Green Day concert.

As such, it was two weeks before Gertrude even had time to follow up with her contact. It only took minimal application of her blackmail before he spilled what Agnes had him make, and the full details therein. Most importantly, her new listed address. That, at least, ought to be real.

As Gertrude rode the Underground to the humble London neighborhood where Agnes had apparently escaped her followers, sneering at young men who tried to give her their seats, she flipped through the paperwork. Agnes Montague, twenty seven - my, wasn’t she vain - born in London, England. All of her details seemed fairly legitimate. New NIN, credit score, false history, the usual. So it wasn’t her she was trying to hide.

The second file was more interesting. There was her mystery John. Jonathan, apparently. Jonathan Montague.

Gertrude’s eyebrows crawled up. What was her game?

The announcement of her stop echoed smoothly through the train, and she quickly folded up the papers and stuffed them back in her purse. It was a short walk from the station to the flat complex where Agnes was now staying, and she found herself ridiculously wondering what Agnes would look like.

Would her hair be the same color, the color of licks of fire straining into the night sky? Her eyes the same forest green, a rainforest any woman could drown in? Her skin rosy and soft, with full appearance of youth and longevity, never to age or decay? Gertrude was only barely sixty, but she was feeling her age with every year. Her living had been hard, and it was finally catching up with her.

What else would catch up with her, once she knocked on Agnes Montague’s door?

Apartment number 426, 1446 Frederick Street. The strange thing about it was the welcome mat set outside the door. There was a little smiley face. It was so incongruous with Agnes, yet so oddly fitting, that Gertrude found herself smiling.

She knocked once, twice. Her lockpicks were up her sleeve. Hopefully Agnes wasn’t home and she could snoop, but -

The door opened to reveal Gerard Keay, looking down at a loose crumple of bills in his hand. He was so busy counting them out that he didn’t see who was standing at his doorstep.

“Thanks, mate, we -” Gerard finally looked up, and his face whitened. “You aren’t pizza.”

“So I’ve been told,” Gertrude said dryly. “Are you going to let me in?”

He let her in.

******

So that was where Gerard had gotten to.

Agnes, who had been pulling soda out of the fridge in their small kitchenette, was much happier to see her than Gerard was. It was the first time anybody had been happy to see Gertrude suddenly turning up at their doorstep in a very long time, and it made Gertrude almost uncomfortable.

“I’m here for business reasons,” Gertrude felt the need to tell her, as she glared Gerard into sulking miserably on the couch. He had dyed his beautiful hair some nasty black color, which was either for disguise purposes or for...what was the word...goth? Goth purposes? Gertrude was very thankful she did not have children.

But Agnes just smiled at her, as if she saw straight through. Which was ridiculous. There was nothing to see straight through. “It would be pretty strange if you stalked me until you found my address and showed up at my home in the middle of the day holding lockpicks for business reasons, Gertrude!”

“It’s for personal reasons.”

“There we go. I would offer you some pizza, but it seems that it’s not here yet.”

“So it seems.” Gertrude turned her eyes on Gerard, who wilted. “I hope this is a valuable lesson in checking to see who is at the door before you answer it, young man.”

Gerard mumbled something.

“I know for a fact your mother did not raise you to be this careless.”

“My mother barely raised me at all,” Gerard grumbled.

“Fine. Then I did not teach you to be that careless.” That got an actual flinch out of him, and Gertrude sighed. “What is going on here, you two?”

“It’s a very long story,” Agnes said.

“Containing very many events I am under pain of death not to tell you about,” Gerard added. “Are you going to tell Mum I’m here?”

Gertrude sighed.

The flat was small, clearly newly rented. They had very little furniture, and what they did have was clearly liberated from charity shops and kerbs. Their living room held a battered television, one of those gaming consoles Gerard liked so much, a scuffed and thoroughly singed coffee table to match an equally singed couch, and a pair of overstuffed bookshelves. A cutaway wall revealed a small kitchen, with a nook that held a rickety kitchen table. None of it seemed particularly out of the ordinary for two young people, strongly resembling Gertrude’s own first flat.

She cautiously sniffed the air. No smell of candles. Hm.

She was just about to push the matter of how exactly the Messiah of the Eternal Flame and a bookseller’s son met and became flatmates when a crash and a thump echoed from the hallway. Gerard jumped off the couch, and Agnes bit her lip. Another rattle echoed from the hallway, and something deep in Gertrude’s mind recognized the sounds as those of a caged animal.

“What is that,” Gertrude said flatly.

“I’ll check on him,” Gerard said quickly, fleeing into the hallway. He knocked on one of the doors - Gertrude noticed that there were two on each side, three bedrooms and a bathroom - and said something quietly against the door, before cracking the door open a few inches. Gertrude couldn’t see what was inside, and she couldn’t maneuver herself closer without alerting Agnes.

There was another crash, and Gerard slammed the door shut quickly. He grinned broadly yet anxiously at Gertrude, tittering a laugh. “It’s nothing! Nothing to see here. Would you like a cuppa, Gertrude!”

“Hm,” Gertrude said.

They gave her a cuppa. She sat on the couch, Agnes and Gerard anxiously standing in front of her wringing their hands, and pretended to sip the cuppa.

“Promise there’s no human flesh in it,” Gerard said. Gertrude arched an eyebrow at him until he sighed, took it, took a small and exaggerated sip, and then passed it back.

It was only then that Gertrude tried some. She couldn’t help but smile. Agnes’ tea was always perfect.

“Can one of you tell me why, according to the government, you are now legally siblings?” Gertrude asked archly. She put one hand down on the cracks between the sofa cushions beside her, pretending it was for balance. “Without lying, please.”

Agnes shrugged helplessly. “Gerard didn’t want to live with his mother anymore and I wasn’t doing anything important.”

“We thought about faking a corpse but was afraid that would just excite her,” Gerard said, depressed. “Hopefully when I don’t turn up she’ll just assume I was eaten by a book.” He affected a faux-nasally tone that did, admittedly, sound a lot like Mary. “ ‘If he’s too incompetent to survive he’s no good to me as a son. Good riddance to bad rubbish, his whole line’.”

“Gerry won’t let me immolate her,” Agnes said seriously.

“She’s my mum, Agnes!”

“Immolating parental figures is very therapeutic.” Agnes patted him reassuringly on the shoulder. “When I set everybody who ever loved me on fire, I felt great about it.”

“It seemed very cathartic,” Gertrude said dryly. She dug her fingers deeper into the crack between the cushions until something soft and thread-like rubbed between her fingers. Bingo. “Why the false identities? Why not simply let Gerard live with you until he turned 18?”

“We want him declared dead,” Agnes said simply. “And we want him to have an actual identity for when that happens. This is the best way to keep him away from his mum. Besides, Gerard Montague has his A Levels and a diploma for uni. ” She shrugged. “And hopefully he’ll be staying with me for quite a bit longer than a year.”

Interesting. They really did know each other. Maybe they were even really friends - although Gertrude was forced to wonder what a woman in her sixties and a teenager had in common. Gerard had mentioned wanting to go to university, but they had all known it was a pipe dream. Dreams like that often were. Gertrude neatly withdrew her hand from the cushion, folding her hands over each other in her lap. She rubbed the thread between her hands, satisfied when she felt its loose, sticky elasticity.

How interesting.

“And Jonathan?”

Both of them froze.

Gerard broke first, laughing nervously and high pitched. “Who’s that?”

Gertrude lifted her hand, showing both of them the thin strand of spider-silk pinched between two bony fingers. Both Agnes and Gerard whitened. “I imagine it’s whatever Avatar of the Web you have locked in the back room that is responsible for these.”

They winced simultaneously, glancing at each other. Doubtlessly trying to come up with a cover story. Gertrude sighed, standing up from the couch and straightening her skirts. Nothing for it then. Her Glock was still strapped to her thigh, and a hunting knife at her other.

Gertrude knew very little about the Web. Just, she suspected, as it liked. It had no rituals, and held no explicit threat to the safety of the world. It was a threat, for sure. Even worse, a threat that Gertrude knew infuriatingly little about. But it was not the most immediate threat, and as Gertrude spent every day drowning under more and more immediate threats she held very little time for those which weren’t promising to end the world anytime soon.

Maybe that was why Gertrude was fully planning to leave this flat and never mention its inhabitants again - not to Mary, not to Dekker, and not to whatever scattered remnants of her cult that Agnes had left alive. Whatever Agnes wanted, it seemed to be closer to a normal life living with her friend than anything world-destroying. And whatever Gerard wanted...well, he was a good boy. He wouldn’t do anything dangerous to anybody other than himself. Mary didn’t have to know. Perhaps it was even for the best.

“You really don’t want to go in -”

“Gertrude, please, he’s in a rather delicate stage right now -”

Another thump against the door. As Gertrude left the living room, crisply walking down the thin and crowded hallway until she stood in front of a thin and battered-looking door, she could slowly begin to hear the faint but distinct sounds of...chittering. Skittering. It was a sound she had heard only once before, during a brush with the corruption.

Gertrude raised a hand to knock at the door.

A hand shot out, pale and thin, and clasped Gertrude’s wrist in its grip firmly. Despite herself, Gertrude’s breath caught. Agnes’ touch still did that to her, it seemed. When she glanced to the side, she saw Agnes standing next to her, mouth stubbornly set firm. Her long and silky orange hair tumbled over her shoulder, glimmering under the soft lights.

“The world’s a cruel place, Gertrude,” Agnes said. “We’re just trying to look out for each other.”

“We all chose this life,” Gertrude said, voice tinged with reproach.

But Agnes just set her jaw stubbornly. “We didn’t.”

It was a we that didn’t include Gertrude - but, of course, so little of Agnes’ life did.

Gertrude let her hand drop to the doorknob, and she didn’t meet Agnes’ eyes as she twisted the knob and let herself in.

Some part of her felt it very idiotic, to walk into what she knew was a spider’s lair. A ridiculous part of her mind couldn’t help but hum the little nursery rhyme she had learned as a girl. But if it was truly dangerous Agnes would have prevented her from going in, instead of asked her to. Some part of Gertrude trusted that, a part of Gertrude that somehow still survived despite everything.

It wasn’t that Agnes appealed to the softer side of Gertrude. It was more that Agnes appealed to the hardest and cruellest parts of her, her tough outer shell, that ached for a reassurance that even a woman raised in utmost cruelty could make the choice to be kind. That there was still goodness in the world. If even a Messiah of the Eternal Flame could smile like that, could look at Gertrude with those deep and unfathomable eyes, then maybe all of Gertrude’s efforts weren’t for nothing.

The room was white. No, not white - just covered in long, ropy strands of spider-web. Different shapes and sizes, different lengths and thicknesses. Some of it was wispy and gentle, like cotton fluff, while some of it was closer to rope. It wasn’t arranged in a spider’s beautiful pattern, an elegant nest: it was more like an explosion, as if it was thrown anywhere and everywhere without regard.

The webs didn’t cover everything in the room. A bed was clearly visible, draped with webs as it was. There was a closet, and several boxes stacked in the corner with loose clothing draped over them. That was every piece of furniture and personal item in the room. It was a minor miracle that the living and dining rooms didn’t have more spidersilk in them - a testament to Agnes and Gerry’s tidiness, or a sign that the inhabitant rarely left the room.

The inhabitant of the room was curled on the bed. It - he, perhaps? - was sitting upright against the wall, knees curled up against a chest, forehead resting on the knees. He was half-obscured by webs, but Gertrude could immediately tell that the figure wasn’t very old. Gerard’s age, or perhaps a bit younger.

The webs did little to obscure the four arms - two flesh, two hinged and black and hairy - curled around the boy’s body.

The boy didn’t look up when he saw her. Gertrude wondered if he even noticed. She was only just beginning to wonder what the thumps were when one of the spider arms lashed out and crashed against the wall, shaking the room.

Hm. This was Gertrude’s first Web Avatar, but if they all looked and acted like this then she could only assume that they would be much more obvious than they are. New, then. Maybe as new as those identities Agnes had applied for.

Normally she’d torch it and go home, but with both Agnes and Gerard in residence that option was out of the question. Her curiosity had been satisfied: she could turn around now and leave the room, knowing what it was Agnes and Gerard were protecting. She could let the inhabitants of this flat fade into obscurity, secure in the knowledge that none of them wished to harm her or the world.

But Gertrude was a bit too curious for her own good, or perhaps a bit too soft, because she found herself stepping forward.

Her low-heeled boots didn’t slide on the web, but it did stick. When she lifted her feet they tracked up thin spiderweb, and she resolved to burn this outfit once she made her way back to the Archives. After a few breathless moments, Gertrude found herself standing in front of the boy, who hadn’t seemed to notice her yet. Poor situational awareness. He’d fit in well with Gerard.

“Jonathan.”

The boy looked up at her, and anybody else would have bit back a scream.

He had eight eyes - black, glistening, unreal. Bulbous and unsettling, they skittered and twitched in strange directions, as if uncertain how to work or how to see. New, brand-new. Uncontrolled. The boy’s mouth parted in slight surprise, but it was obviously difficult to read any sort of expression.

He didn’t say anything. Gertrude found herself absently wondering if spiders had tongues.

“Do you know what is happening to you?”

The boy stared at her, long enough that Gertrude found herself wondering if he still clung to sentience, before slowly nodding his head. Good.

“Then you know how to stop it,” Gertrude said sharply, and the boy sat up straighter. “Stop moping about, now. Look around. You’ve destroyed your room.” She gave the boy a moment to look around, expression still inscrutable, before she went back on the attack. “You’ve sulked long enough. Put away those arms, now. Go on.”

The boy stared at her, coarse black spider arms twitching and curling.

“You know what’s happening,” Gertrude said firmly. “It’s your body. Not theirs. It’s your body, Jonathan. Bend it to your will. Not theirs.”

Slowly, disgustingly, the arms began to recede. They slid back inside his torso, sucking into his ribcage, shifting and clicking and chittering, until there was nothing left but an ordinary chest. Gertrude was even now able to recognize his shirt. It was one of Gerard’s. Green Day.

“Your eyes now. Come on, hurry up. I haven’t got all day.”

The eyes pulsed and twitched, bubbling strangely. One of them whirred, glistening with a thousand fractals.

The boy opened his mouth, and garbled speech came out. “I can’t...I can’t…”

“You have no choice. You must, so you will. Come on, Jonathan. Listen to me. It’s your body. It’s not theirs.”

The eyes melted back into Jonathan’s face, and that was so disgusting Gertrude politely looked up. She had seen worse, but no point in subjecting herself to it. When she looked back down she was shocked to see, for all appearances, a teenage boy.

He had a thin, severe face, and large cloudy grey eyes. His hair was curly and matted, and despite his posture Gertrude could tell that he was the kind of short and built that was straining up against an imminent growth spurt. His skin was a light brown, with thin lips and features that suggested mixed ancestry. He looked very much like a regular, if somewhat striking, teenage boy.

“There you go,” Gertrude said, “that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Who the fuck are you,” the rude child said.

“Jon!”

She had been so focused on Jonathan, that she hadn’t noticed when Gerard and Agnes entered. Gerard practically jumped onto Jonathan’s bed, mindless of the spiderwebs, and folded him into a tight hug. Jonathan clung back desperately.

“Don’t worry us like that,” Agnes said. She had appeared at Gertrude’s elbow, and moved forward to sit on Jon’s other side and give him a tight hug too that he returned just as fiercely. She looked up at Gertrude over Jon’s shoulder and mouthed ‘thank you’ to her, which she waved away. It had hardly been anything.

“I think I’m rather owed a full explanation now,” Gertrude said pointedly. “And I think young Jonathan needs a bath.”

“What? No, I -” Jonathan separated from Gerard, and sniffed his shirt. He pulled a disgusted face. “Ew. Yeah, okay.”

******

They did not give her the full story. Gertrude wasn’t sure what she was expecting.

Oh, they gave her the broad strokes of it. All three of them were ‘old friends’, despite one of them being sixty and the other two being actual teeangers. Gerard and Agnes, especially, gave off the air of having known each other for years. They both seemed less familiar with Jon, though no less affectionate. Gertrude felt like she was trying to put together a puzzle with mittens and no idea what the final image would be.

“I’ve been keeping an eye on Jon for a while,” Agnes said apologetically. They were all sitting around the rickety kitchen table now. Gertrude passed her teacup to reheat, which she did with a smile, and Gerard was at the door accepting the pizza from a confused deliveryman. Judging from the amount of takeaway containers, these two hadn’t been doing a lot of cooking. “He ran away from his grandmother’s a month ago. He made it to London and lived on the streets for a few weeks until I finally tracked him down. He’s been staying with us ever since.”

“When Agnes got in contact with me and told me that she found Jon, I figured it was time to bounce.” Gerard put some plates on the table and slid the pizza box into the center. Agnes eagerly grabbed the pizza and put a slice on her own plate. At Gerard’s look, Gertrude held up a hand in a ‘no thank you’ motion, and he shrugged. “Agnes has been trying to get me to stay with her since she lost her cult, but I figured I would just ditch Mum once I hit eighteen. Then...stuff happened...and I don’t really trust Agnes alone with a teenager anyway, so I left. Easy.”

“Thank goodness she’s only left alone with two teenagers now,” Gertrude said. She glanced at Agnes, who seemed unrepentant. “Is anybody looking for Jonathan?”

She shook her head. “Parents long dead. His Gran...she won’t look for him. Nobody will. I doubt any of them remember he exists. ”

“Did Jonathan make sure of that?”

Abruptly, Gerard looked very uncomfortable, but Agnes just nodded calmly. “Yes, likely.” At Gertrude’s ticked eyebrow, she continued, “She’s alive. But Jon...he’s convincing. We think. So far as we can tell. Nobody’s going to be looking for him, even the police.”

“Did we tell you how he was getting money while he was on the streets?” Gerard asked gleefully. “Apparently he can walk up to Canary Wharf bankers and convince them he’s their cousin visiting from out of state and ask them for spending money. They just believe him! Isn’t that wicked?”

“It’s easy. All you gotta do is make them feel guilty for forgetting you were coming.”

Jonathan, dripping wet from the shower and dressed in some cleaner hand-me-downs, appeared in the doorway. He walked forward until he was leaning against the kitchenette wall, accepting the pizza Gerard quickly passed to him. Clean and human, he looked like any other teenager. The only thing that revealed him for what he was were his eyes: empty, lifeless, and dull.

“Hey, you’re still human!” Gerard said, perking up. “Are you feeling any better?”

“Yeah, tons.” Jonathan masticated his pizza, grease dripping down his chin. He locked eyes with Gertrude, who was careful not to blink as she stared back at him. “Who’re you?”

“The Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute,” Gertrude said crisply. “Gertrude Robinson.”

Jonathan’s mouth slowly fell open, revealing the primordial mass of globby cheese. Gerard was nearly bouncing in his seat, mouthing ‘It’s her!’ over and over again.

“I told him about you,” Agnes said quickly - so quickly that it could have only been a lie. “Only good things, believe me!”

“I’m sure.”

“Wait,” Jonathan said, eyes darting back and forth between Agnes and Gertrude - who, Gertrude was somewhat embarrassed to find, were sitting somewhat close. “She’s the girl -”

“Girl who helped me get those new IDs for you guys,” Agnes said desperately. “Although she’s more of a woman. Say thank you, boys.”

Both boys mumbled thank-yous through mouthfuls of pizza.

“How did it happen?” Gertrude asked Jonathan carefully. She was careful to keep that - pressure off her words. Very few reacted well to it, and she didn’t want to deal with a rampaging spider teenager again. “Your transformation. And don’t speak with your mouth full.”

Jonathan sassily made a show of swallowing the whole mouthful of pizza before he spoke. “I trapped my entire secondary school in a nightmare web where they all got turned into flies and eaten by spiders,” he drawled. “Oh, wait. I got bitten by a radioactive spider and ran away to London to fight crime.”

Gertrude gave him a very, very unimpressed stare. Jonathan smashed more pizza in his face. For a boy that must have been raised by his grandmother, he had no manners.

A grandmother that he had likely done something to, to guarantee that she wouldn’t look for him. To ensure that an entire town wouldn’t search for him. Wiping a life off the map like that - what kind of teenager would do that without a second thought?

A boy who found himself turning into a monster, fleeing the people he could hurt so he could reconvene with friends that understood?

Or a newly born monster that shed its old skin the minute it could?

Gertrude, as a younger woman, would have tended towards the latter. As an even younger woman, a child, she would have said the former. Now, she knew better than anyone how it could be both: a boy’s motivations propelled by a monster’s impulses, until even limbs of flesh were puppeted by silken threads.

The Web was the fear of manipulation and being controlled, Gertrude repeated to herself, a mantra so familiar that it had worn grooves in her mind long ago. Jonathan had already proved adept at the art: swindling money to survive, erasing the imprints that a life left behind.

Was she being controlled now? Was it any coincidence, that Jonathan ran into the arms of the one supernatural force in England that Gertrude wouldn’t shoot on sight? That he was lying in wait with the disappeared son of two people who had once been prominent in Gertrude’s life, a little boy she had seen grown up into a kind man despite all odds?

Jonathan had inserted himself neatly, cleanly, and absolutely into Gertrude’s life. And he had done it almost even without her noticing.

Of course, it was also the nature of the Web to make one ask these questions. It wasn’t just controlling - it was the fear of being controlled. By even thinking about this, Gertrude was playing straight into his hands -

“Gertrude.”

It was Agnes, sitting by her, looking at her with a softly sad expression. Her hands were in her lap, but they were twitching as if she wanted to reach out and take Gertrude’s hands in her own. They would be so different - they had always been different - but occasionally it felt as if whatever warmth they carried was the only heat that warmed Gertrude at all anymore.

“If you don’t trust him, trust me.” Something flickered deep in Agnes’ eyes, like a hearth. Maybe that was Agnes: a hearth, house and home. “You can trust me.”

“Can I?” Gertrude asked, mouth unexpectedly dry. “How can someone like me trust someone like you, Agnes?”

Agnes smiled, baring teeth white and perfect as wax. “There’s nobody on Earth like you, Gertrude. You know that just as well as I do.”

Both boys had their hands slapped over their eyes, horrified.

Maybe that was what convinced Gertrude: not Agnes’ promise of a safe place to rest in a tumultuous and dangerous world, but the fact that both these boys found that promise horrendously yucky. It wasn’t human - Gertrude had the feeling that no emotion from Jonathan could truly be human - but at least it was benign. In this world, sometimes that was the best you could ask for.

“Fine. I put them in your charge, then, Agnes.” Gertrude drained the rest of her tea, eyeing the leaves critically in her cup as the boys whooped and Agnes exhaled heavily. Her tea leaves read a bad omen. That was comforting: she liked to know what was ahead of her. “If I hear any statements about a strange boy swindling businessmen out of their salaries then I’ll know exactly who is responsible. Am I understood?”

“They weren’t missing it,” Jonathan grumbled, before Gerard elbowed him in the side. “Fine! Fine, you won’t hear anything about it.”

Not what she had said, but she’d take it. The supernatural was at its least dangerous when it felt scared and hidden. Nothing was more dangerous than an Avatar who felt themself above human laws and rules. Or, at best, Gertrude.

They never tended to live long.

“Uh. Ms. Gertrude.” Gerard awkwardly creased his greasy napkin, expression tight. “Are you going to tell Mum?”

“Tell her what?” Gertrude asked archly. “I hardly think what Gerard Montague does is any of Mary Keay’s business.” As Gerard broke out into a relieved smile, Gertrude added, “Don’t give me any reason to charge after you, Gerard. You’re impulsive and reckless. Your mother’s kept you safe from yourself so far, but you’ve decided that you no longer need that protection. Don’t make me regret keeping my mouth shut.”

Jonathan snickered, ignoring Gerard’s flush. “Whipped.”

“I’ll speak to you outside, Jonathan.”

This time it was Gerard’s turn to snicker as Jonathan flushed and straightened away from the wall. “You’re in trou-ble!”

Good lord. This was why she hadn’t had children.

But he followed her out the flat anyway. The flat complex was smaller, just a few buildings connected by sidewalks and catwalks, and the flats opened into the fresh air. As they emerged onto the first story, Gertrude let Jon lean against the railing and turn his head towards the sun. The wind blew softly, and Jon exhaled softly as he closed his eyes. Issues controlling a human form meant that he likely hadn’t been outside very often lately.

“Tastes weird,” Jonathan decided finally, as if they had both been waiting solely for his judgement. “Air back home always tasted like salt. Everything was fresh and clean. It wasn’t anything like dirty, smoggy London.”

“Go back home, then.”

Jonathan snorted bitterly. He had turned his back to Gertrude, leaning on the railing to stick his head out. As if she wasn’t a threat. “Can’t. Gran doesn’t know I exist anymore. Trust me, nobody’s missing me back home.”

“How can that be? There must be school records, any kind of documentation. You must have known dozens of people.”

“Ah, that’s the genius of it.” Jon turned around, grinning lazily at her. He leaned against the railing, elbows back and resting on top of the metal frame. “All I needed to do was implant a few strategic suggestions. Just on the people who interacted with me the most, or the people most responsible for me. Gran, Mr. Heathcliff, Ms. Robbins, Dr. Yung.” He wriggled his fingers experimentally - like a magician doing a magic trick, or a puppeteer pulling strings. “Every time someone asks them where I am, they tell them that I never existed. And, you, know, wouldn’t they know? Jon’s Gran would know if Jon existed or not. So they doubt themselves too. Maybe Jon was never here, not really. Maybe he was just...a faint dream. The kind you forget the moment you wake up.”

“And the papers?”

Jon shrugged. “A person’s in charge of those papers. Ms. Hastings, school secretary. When she sees my student file, she’s going to ask my headmaster about it. And he’s going to say - who? And she’ll remember that I was nobody to remember at all. And those papers will become just so much garbage. When the cop, the government clerk, whoever, remembers that there’s no Jonathan to remember, that’s it.” Jon grinned at her, a proud kid showing her a perfect score on a report card. “Anything is beatable, Ms. Gertrude, if there’s human error involved. You can build the most perfect machine in the world, but so long as a human’s involved in any step of that process then it can go wrong.”

“Did the Web tell you that?”

“My Mother trades in lots of secrets, Ms. Gertrude,” Jonathan said, and in the turn of a second his eyes hardened into beetle-black shells, black and inhuman, before he forcibly pulled them back in again. Jonathan grimaced, gritting his teeth as he kept the transformation at bay. “Sorry. Sorry. I - I don’t want to hurt anyone. I won’t. Agnes and Gerry are going to help me. I’m going to choose what kind of mo - person I am. I’m going to choose right.”

“See to it that you do.” Gertrude stepped closer, and she knew that her face was stony and cold. Revealing nothing, with no weaknesses or cracks to exploit. She had lost every weakness long ago, save one. “I know where you live, Jonathan. I know what you’re capable of - even more, I suspect, than you yourself do. Mind yourself, and I won’t have to find a solution to your problem.” She let her eyes glint, just once. “I’m very good at finding solutions, Jonathan.”

Jonathan looked away first, of course. He swallowed heavily. “Mother told me about you.”

“All good things, I’m sure,” Gertrude said dryly.

“She says I’m not ready yet. She said we have someone else for you, but I’m not ready yet. She says I’ll be the King one day, maybe, but not today. I’m...still hatching. It’s uncomfortable. It’s so -” Something haunted flashed through Jonathan’s lifeless grey eyes, and he shivered. “It hurts. So much.”

“So I hear,” Gertrude said, no trace of sympathy in her voice. “Good day, Jonathan.”

She left Jonathan there: shivering, alone, and human for now.

She would see him again, she knew. A frightened teenage boy who promised her that he’d be king of the Web one day was a warning sign if she’d ever heard one. But if it was a warning sign, then it was one Gertrude was meant to hear. A shake of a rattlesnake’s tail: a creature that wants to go through the energy of biting you as little as you want to be bit, so save us both the trouble.

And maybe Jonathan’s comment, so offhand he may not even have realized that he was making it, was a warning of its own: a spider in her own camp. Who?

Agnes was waiting for her, by the Underground station. She didn’t know she got there before her. Young people moved so fast these days. She smiled and waved when she saw Gertrude, as if they both had arranged to meet there.

“What is it now?” Gertrude asked, exhausted. “Another favor?”

“Just a thank you for helping me keep the boys safe,” Agnes said cheekily. She stepped up, carefully, brushed a kiss to Gertrude’s cheek. Gertrude, idiotically, let her. “Call me, okay? For personal reasons.”

“Maybe,” Gertrude said, to the hearth that burned low in her heart, “if it’s for personal reasons.”

It wasn’t until she was halfway home on the Underground, thinking about noting down the address of Agnes’ apartment, that she found herself wondering what the address even was. Thomas Street...No, Jackson? 144...5?

What was she trying to remember?

No matter. Getting old again. Gertrude continued making notes in her notebook, reminding herself to search for a spider’s web, as the train rattled on for home, and the warmth of a kiss lingered on her cheek.

#my writing #tma #gertrude robinson #agnes montague #gertrude robinson/agnes montague #gertrude/agnes #tma fanfic #the magnus archives fanfiction #gerard keay #jonathan sims #web!jon

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voidstilesplease · 4 years ago

Text

in another life

part one

"We have a bit of a situation," is what greets him when Stiles takes the call. Mason sounds winded on the other side. "Are you almost in town?"

His eyebrows shot up, "I'm perfectly well driving in the snow, Mason. Thank you for asking."

"Stiles,"

He rolls his eyes, "Thirty minutes tops. You guys are making me feel warm, huh." Stiles disconnects the call and almost regrets his decision to come home early for Christmas, but it's too late to turn back now.

~•~

He parks outside of Scott's house - the official pack headquarters even if Scott himself has not returned from college yet. He promises to arrive in four days while Lydia has scheduled a flight for next week. Malia is stuck with papers and can't fly until the 23rd. For now, Stiles is responsible for the pack until Scott returns - he resents that. He should've gone home first and changed into comfortable clothes, but Liam has rung him up, frantic, two more times after Mason's call. They won't tell what the problem is. Stiles figures if it were a life-and-death thing, they wouldn't delay information. They are vying for the drama is what's going on.

Melissa opens the front door and beams when she sees him. She opens her arms wide for a hug, "Hey! Looking good, Stiles. FBI been taking care of you?"

Before he can reply, Liam appears from behind Melissa. "Stiles!" his face looks so harried, splotches of red appearing. "Sorry to interrupt, but you really have to see this."

Liam hurries back without checking if Stiles follows, but he scrambles after him with an apologetic smile to Melissa. The beta leads him upstairs to Scott's old room. From the hallway, Stiles can already hear two voices talking, sifting out of the open door.

"Look-"

"No, you look. I don't know why you guys took me here or why you seem so wary about me. But, Jesus Christ, for the hundredth time, I don't know you."

Stiles frowns, confused. One of the voices belong to Mason, the other-

He stops short by the doorframe, startled at the unexpected sight of Theo Raeken sitting by the foot of Scott's bed.

They haven't seen the guy since Gerard's plan to start a war between the supernaturals in Beacon Hills and the residents -and the subsequent flop. He left town less than a month after Tamora Monroe and her hunter lackey's escaped. They haven't heard from him since, and that had been two years ago.

Theo looks almost the same when Stiles last saw him. His hair is long, fringe falling to his eyes, and he has the same stocky build. His face scrunches in annoyance and impatience, and that's also not new. The only difference probably is his five o'clock shadow, reminding Stiles that he has also grown since then. He has always been clean-shaven.

Theo catches sight of Stiles by the doorway and his expression shifts to that of relief. "Oh, thank god, Stiles." He gets to his feet and crosses their small distance in two strides. Without preamble, Theo takes Stiles into his arms, clutching him firmly, as he buries his face in Stiles's neck.

Stiles is too stunned to push him away -and he should because there could be a dagger poised to pierce his guts any second now- but even Liam and Mason freeze in their spots. Liam snaps from his daze, and his eyes begin to glow yellow in a warning. Theo leans back and takes Stiles's face between his hands, ignoring the low growl coming from Liam. What's even more baffling is that he smiles. Theo Raeken smiles - not smirks, or frowns, or grimaces, but smiles. "You're here."

Mason finds his voice, "Wait. I thought you had amnesia and didn't know any of us?"

Liam retracts his claws and fangs when Theo turns back to them, seemingly unarmed. The beta scoffs, watching the way the chimera presses himself close to Stiles. For his part, Stiles is still recovering from the onslaught of uncharacteristic behavior from Theo and his blatant cluelessness of what's going on. It looks like the snow has given Stiles brain freeze from the long drive because he's only gawking instead of asking questions. The FBI should not hear about this.

"Of course, he forgets all of us, but not Stiles," Liam crosses his arms, a little bit of condescension dripping in his tone. "The ghost riders took him and basically erased him from existence, and Theo still remembered him, anyway."

Theo looks lost, trying to follow Liam's words, "Why wouldn't I remember Stiles?"

"Hm," Liam curls his lips. "Those were even your exact words before."

"Okay," Stiles says, having enough of this. He steps away from Theo, raising both his hands in a gesture of stop. He fixes his gaze between Liam and Mason. "What is going on?"

"I've been trying to ask the same thing," Theo interjects, scowling at Mason and Liam. "But they hardly speak to me and refuse to let me go."

Liam exhales, sounding exasperated. "He woke up in the hospital," he starts, ignoring Theo. "making a scene, insisting he shouldn't be in California, and that he was just in New York seconds ago."

"Liam's dad recognized him," Mason offers. "So he told Melissa who called us. Then, we collected Theo and brought him here."

Liam shakes his head, eyes on Theo. "But he keeps saying he doesn't know us, or even Scott."

"I don't," Theo steps forward again and tugs at Stiles's clothed arm. "Let's just leave, babe-"

Stiles promptly plants his feet to the floor and halts Theo, blinking rapidly. "Wait, wait, wait," he withdraws his arms and puts his hands in between them to establish distance. Theo has been evading Stiles's personal space like friends would, but Stiles draws the line at endearments. They're not friends, and he isn't a babe. "What did you call me?"

Theo frowns at him, a hurt look crossing his features. "Babe," he answers like it's not a questionable thing at all. "I called you babe."

"Wow," Liam scoffs, blinking in disbelief. "Not only are you amnesiac. You've also apparently gone mad."

Theo turns to Liam, getting a more violent shade of red in the face. He would've stepped towards him in a challenge had Stiles not intercepted him with a hand to his chest. Stiles is surprised that Theo even concedes. There's only a slight force in his touch that a chimera with superstrength like Theo can strike with no problem.

"I'll tell you what's crazy," Theo grounds his teeth, nose flaring at Liam. "I don't know what the fuck is going on or who the hell you two are. I don't know how I'm here. Some kind of-" he delays, struggling, and then spits out, "magic plucked me from New York, and put me on the other side of the goddamn State. I thought I was dreaming, but the nurses keep claiming to sedate me." his hands gesture back and forth at the two. "Then you strangers keep coming at me, saying my name like we knew each other, telling me I live in a car - I don't, okay? I have a fucking apartment in Manhattan. I live with my boyfriend, and Stiles and I were having a stupid snow fight when I lost consciousness and woke up in that damn hospital. That's what crazy is!"

Silence follows Theo's outburst. Stiles can feel Liam and Mason's eyes -and even Melissa's from where she's standing outside the room- on him. He only gapes at Theo's flushed face and heaving chest.

"Did you just call me your boyfriend?"

Theo transfers his eyes on him, looking gutted. "Of course, I did." His expression quickly morphs to worry, "Has something happened to you, too?" then his face falls in dread when he asks, realizing the situation. "You don't remember me?"

It sounds like Theo’s remembering the wrong things, but Stiles's only response is to stare. What's happening is too bizarre for his exhausted mind to process. He's glad that there's no maiming involved with this little reunion with an old nemesis, but he doesn't know what to do with all the touching and intent looking and the sudden selective amnesia.

Theo looks crestfallen for an awkward while before his face lights up again. "We have to call Tara. She-"

"Tara?" Stiles echoes loudly, rearing back and cutting him off in shock. "Your sister?"

He beams, nodding his head. "Good. You remember her. That's progress, I think."

Stiles blurts out before he can think to stop himself, "You think she's alive?"

Theo pauses. His smile slowly flattens out, until he frowns, eyes reflecting a little bit of alarm at the crass question. "Why wouldn't she be?"

And yeah, Stiles doesn't have enough brain cells to start explaining that.

Theo's confusion has to straighten out as soon as possible.

~•~

title from: The One That Got Away by Katy Perry

#steo #steo fic #steo ficlet #teen wolf #stiles stilinski #theo raeken #stiles x theo #parallel universe au #in another life #part 1 #fics tag #lol i'm trying to use christmas prompts for this #another sad excuse to write something

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