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shawtuzi · 1 year

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i’m still deciding whether i want to write for ellie or abby in my next tlou fic but until then pls enjoy these construction worker!eren hc’s bc i am sooo thirsty for him

cw include: black fem!reader, lots of fluff, lots of smut, eren being the cutest thing ever

sfw

construction worker!eren whose only dream in this life is to have a pretty wife with a litter of kids and a big ass house to go with it. he’s already slipped a gorgeous fat rock on your finger and talks of getting pregnant with your first child were slowly but surely happening which meant he was getting closer and closer to what he truly wanted most.

construction worker!eren who is a total mommas boy!! his mom is so very dear to him and to know she adores you just as much as him makes him so so happy.

construction worker!eren who looks so cute in his everyday work outfit. whenever he’s got his hard hat on around you you can’t help but knock on it a few times but it’s okay he thinks it’s super cute.

construction worker!eren who starts his day a six-thirty every morning and is always home by five o’clock on the dot. his morning routine consists of giving your forehead and lips a sweet good morning kiss as soon as his eyes open, a quick fifteen minute shower with music softly playing in the back (usually the trapsoul album by bryson tiller), making a big ass pot of coffee bc lord knows he’ll need it with the airheads he works with, quadruple checking to make sure there’s food in the fridge and pantry for you, another sweet kiss to your lips before he heads out, and then spending five minutes trying to pry you off of him while you beg him to take the day off. “m’sorry sugarplum i cant take off today, gotta save up for that big house we want you know how it is,” he’d always say before shushing your whines with a kiss full of tongue n passion.

construction worker!eren who is so tired and sore when he gets off work but is never too sore to accept one of your bone crushing hugs as soon as he walks through the door to your shared apartment. he’s always extra careful to make sure his hands that are usually covered in residue don’t touch your clothes even though you could literally care less.

construction worker!eren who facetimes you everyday around the same time to enjoy your company while he’s on his lunch break. usually the conversations consists of you telling him to make sure he’s applying a lot of sunscreen (bc this heat was nothing to play about), your plans for what you were making for dinner, and if anyone happened to piss him off that day you’ll surely hear about it.

“how’s your lunch?” you asked giving eren a loving smile as you watched him practically devour the leftover lasagna from last nights dinner. he wiped his mouth with a napkin before speaking, a content smile on his lips. “food is perfect honey tastes just as good as it did last night,” you smiled at his words but it faltered just the slightest bit when you saw how reddish pink his cheeks were. “baby have you put on any sunscreen yet? weather app says it’s supposed to be almost a hundred out today,” you pouted wishing so desperately that he was there so you could give his little sunburns kisses. eren observed his face in the tiny box on the corner of his phone, letting out a small hum. “don’t worry about me sugar i’ll put some on before we get off the phone,” he gave you a comforting smile which you returned. you folded your freshly manicured hands together before speaking, “so…for dinner i was thinking steak kabobs?” “now we’re fuckin’ talking”

construction worker!eren whose nicknames for you are sugar, sugarplum, honey, angel, and my honeysuckle (which is a type of flower heje)

construction worker!eren whose stomach is almost as big as his heart lol this man loves him a good home cooked meal!!! he doesn’t know what he did to deserve a wife who feeds him as good as you do but you best believe he thanks his lucky stars everyday for it. and yes he’s fs the kind of man to completely devour his food in record time meanwhile you’ve barely made a dent in yours, this usually leads to you splitting the rest of yours with him bc this man always has room to eat more food.

you had decided to make steaks for dinner and like usual eren had devoured his plate in less than ten minutes. “was it good my love?” you giggled taking a bite of the roasted potatoes you made as side. bc he had a full mouth all eren was able to get out was a satisfied sounding ‘mhm!’ eren had washed his dishes and put them away before making his way back to the table to keep you company while you continued to eat your food, love and adoration swarming in those jade irises of his. without a word you swiftly got out of your chair and got comfy on his lap. eren didn’t say a word but by the way he was looking at your plate you could tell he was dying for another bite. you cut off a piece of steak and held the fork up to his lips with a smile, “go ahead take a bite i know you wanna.” without a second thought eren took a bite and for the rest of dinner you took turns feeding him and yourself.

construction worker!eren who becomes even more attentive and loving than he already is once you’re finally pregnant!!! you have morning sickness?? he’s right behind you rubbing your back and even offers to brush your teeth for you after you’ve finished. you need your feet rubbed?? prop them up and he’ll get straight to work. he even takes more days off work than usual bc he misses your touch just as much as you miss his. ever since he found out there was a little him growing in you he frequently started talking to your belly.

construction worker!eren is a girl dad no ifs, ands, or buts!!!!! crazy story but he had the strongest feeling you were having a girl and low and behold on the day of your gender reveal you found out you were having a girl!! yes he cried like a baby himself and yes connie has it on video.

construction worker!eren who treats your daughter like she’s the finest china when she’s finally born :( the first time he did skin to skin contact with her he swore his heart was gonna explode with how much love his had for the tiny human in his arms. and once she was sound asleep in her lil bed he was quick to leave the hospital to buy you whatever foods you were craving—you deserved the best princess treatment for bringing his lil princess into the world.

construction worker!eren who keeps a polaroid pic of you, him, and your newborn daughter in his worn out wallet, showing it to everyone at his job…and a couple strangers….he rlly can’t help it you two are his pride and joy <333

“hey reiner did i ever show you this picture?” eren beamed holding up the polaroid in reiner’s face for the third time that day. reiner chuckled a bit before nodding, “yes eren you showed me, she’s a cute one you and y/n are lucky,” he smiled and eren nodded in agreement, still staring down at the picture. “yeah…m’the luckiest guy in the world aren’t i?”

nsfw

construction worker!eren who is six foot six and pure muscle. it’s a wonder how he eats so good and manages to look even better but hey! you weren’t complaining. he certainly was lacking down there either baby he’s the full package. his dicks eight and a half inches with two prominent veins on the underside that rubbed against your sensitive walls in the most delicious way possible.

construction worker!eren who has a raging breeding kink but is that really a surprise? whenever you two fuck and he’s able to rlly take his time with you i kid you not he has to cum inside you at least three times or he will not be satisfied. sometimes whenever he pulls out he’ll push down on your lower belly and watch his cum spill out with dark, predatory eyes. majority of the time he’ll use that as an excuse to fill you up for the umpteenth time bc he just cannot let any of his precious cum go to waste.

“so pretty,” eren had a lazy smile on his face as he watched three orgasms worth of cum ooze out of your puffy, spent pussy. just when you thought he had his fill and was ready for a much needed good nights rest you felt his one softening dick begin to harden up against your still trembling thighs. “eren…” you whimpered, but he just shushed you with a kiss mumbling a quick ‘jus one more’ before slipping back inside you with ease. he was extremely low on energy so he wasn’t quite able to fuck into you like a madman like he was before so he just settled for grinding into you. “o-oh honey! f-fuck!” you squealed wrapping your legs around his waist. between his swollen tip continuously bumping into your stomach, and the coarse hairs on his pelvis rubbing against your sensitive clit you were slowly but surely going dumb. “yeah jus’ like that, f-fuck yeah let daddy fuck a baby into you baby c’mon make me cum.”

construction worker!eren who is nawt a fan of quickies at all!! he’s a man that likes to savor the moment when it comes to sex and if he’s able to admire the faces and sounds you make then what’s the point?? when he’s got you all to himself expect to be occupied for the next couple of hours bc like i stated before he’s not satisfied until he’s cum in you at least three times and made you cum twice as much!!

construction worker!eren who is a certified MUNCH!!!! this man loves having his mouth on your pussy and yes if ur wondering he definitely eats it through your panties. he’s so sloppy and loud with it you’d almost be embarrassed if he didn’t completely turn you dumb whenever he tongue fucked your weeping pussy :(

“mm renny,” your brows scrunched together in pleasure as eren sloppily ran his tongue up and down your soaked folds. his hair was still damp from his shower and was slowly soaking the couch from the droplets falling from his locs but neither of you seemed to care. “couldn’t stop thinking about you today…i mean i already think of you all day but i kept thinking about you in that way and fuck it was so hard to focus. reiner almost ripped my head off from how distracted i was,” as he was talking he was pressing sloppy, wet kisses all over your cunt and the inside of your thighs. he inserted two fingers easily into your dripping center and couldn’t help the groan that rumbled in his chest when he saw how tight you were squeezing his fingers. “you got the prettiest pussy honey, you know that right?” he gave you a small smile before spitting directly on your clit making you jolt. you whined in embarrassment ofc and covered your face with a near throw pillow, whimpering out a pathetic ‘stop ren s’embarrasing.’ eren just hummed and attached his mouth back to your pussy, wrapping his slightly swollen lips around your throbbing clit, “m’never gonna fuckin stop my pretty little honeysuckle never ever.”

construction worker!eren who is a biggg fan of the 69 position. sometimes you suck him so good he tends to lose focus but you don’t mind in the slightest. your big strong man never stops working whether he’s on or off the clock so if he gets a little consumed in his own pleasure who are you to snap him out of it?? if you’re putting some serious work in he’ll moan n groan so loud into your pussy you could cum alone just from that!!

construction worker!eren who had the prettiest moans *sighs dreamily* he’s never shy to let you know you’re making him feel good and it’s so fucking hot hearing his breathy whines and moans especially when he accidentally overstimulates himself which he happens to do a lot heh. you’ve definitely had a couple complaints from neighbors bc of the noise but he don’t even give a fuck!! he knows it turns you on more than anything to hear him be so vocal so why on earth would he ever stop??

construction worker!eren who was soo nervous when you suggested having sex while you were pregnant. it was no problem for him at first but once you started showing that’s when the panic started to settle in—he was so afraid he’d accidentally hurt you or the baby that he kinda went on an sex hiatus much to your dismay, but after some convincing be finally gave in.

you were on your side and he was spooning you from behind, giving your shoulder or neck a kiss of encouragement every once in a while. “jus’ let me know if it hurts at all or you’re uncomfortable okay? cant believe you talked me into this…” eren mumbled into your shoulder. you replied with a soft ‘mhm’ your patience wearing thinner by the second. it had been a good couple of weeks since you and eren last had sex and you were almost sure you were beginning to lose your mind. you’d finally had enough when he came home from his morning jog looking like an absolute dream with his chest heaving and brown baby hairs sticking to his forehead. that’s how he ended up here: one hand securely holding onto your small bump while his other was slowly pushing his dick inside your awaiting entrance. “oh wow…” your eyes fluttered shut in pure bliss, toes curling once he bottomed out. “f-fuck that feel okay hun?” it felt more than okay. you brought your hand to your clit and began rubbing quick circles to dull out the stinging stretch. eren peeped this and replaced yours with his own, the rough pads of his fingers on your clit had your lips trembling. “y-you need to stop this—hah! sex strike and fuck me more please i—i miss this,” eren heard your plea and nodded feverishly. god was he a fool for ever depriving yourselves of each other, he will never be doing this again.

#eren smut #eren yeager smut #eren jaeger smut #aot smut #eren x black reader #eren x black fem!reader #eren fluff #eren yeager fluff #eren jaeger fluff

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padfootagain · 3 months

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Something Good (XXVIII)

Chapter 28 : Curtains Close

Alright, this is our last chapter! Thank you all for reading, I’m quite sad to finish this fic… Hard to say goodbye to those two…

I hope you like this last chapter!

****

Pairing: Ben Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Fluff angst, Slow burn, professor AU.!

Summary: Coming out of a divorce and trying to get used to being a single mom, while teaching your classes at University, you thought your life could not get more complicated than it already is. But when you are asked to take care of the theatre club with the colleague that you really can’t get along with, you realize that everything can still get ten times more complicated in your life. And when you start actually liking Professor Barnes, the troubles only grow exponentially…

Word Count: 2124

Masterlist for the series – Ben Barnes’ Masterlist – Main Masterlist

“Alright, alright, Giselle… look at me…”

“I can’t do it… I can’t sing…”

“Of course, you can sing. You’ve done it dozens of times this year, you can do it.”

“But what if…”

“No “what if”! You’re gonna get out there, and you’re gonna blow their minds away! Come on! Kick all of their asses out there, girl!”

You offered the girl your palm for a high-five, and even though she was still nervous, she still giggled and gave you a high-five.

“Come on, let’s go!”

You heaved a discreet sigh…

… crisis 57 averted.

“Y/N!”

And there came crisis 58…

“The guy playing the piano in the orchestra is sick!” Nathaniel told you, running towards you with panic all over his features. “What do we do?! We can’t perform without a piano!”

You were backstage with the whole group of your students, as well as the university orchestra that were playing the music for the show. Or well, were supposed to…

Your mind was racing a thousand miles a minute as you stared with a blank expression into Nathaniel’s eyes.

“Ben will play,” you answered him. “He plays piano very well, and he knows all the songs.”

“But then who’s helping with the costumes?”

“I am.”

“You’re already helping with the props!”

“I’m a woman, multitasking is my specialty.”

“But…”

“Go get ready for your first scene, we’ll be just fine.”

Nathaniel nodded, fully trusting you.

Oh… what a mistake he was making…

You frantically looked around, looking for help.

“Ben!”

The man you loved turned around, hair a little messy and his glasses slightly lopsided on his nose. He too seemed on the verge of a mental breakdown, and yet he seemed calmer than you were. Although, you reckoned it wasn’t that difficult of a task…

“You’re alright?” he asked, seeing the worry obvious on your face.

“The pianist is sick. You need to play.”

“Me?” he asked, his eyes growing a little round.

“Do you have a better idea? You know of a pianist who would come and play a show that starts in less than thirty minutes?”

“No…”

“Then… you have to do it.”

“Okay…”

He nodded, taking a couple of deep breaths.

“I can do it.”

“Of course, you can! You’re amazing!”

He chuckled at that, his cheeks turning a bright shade of pink, but he quickly grew serious again.

“Someone has to take care of the costumes.”

“I’ll have to do it…”

“You can’t, you’re already helping for…”

“… the props, I know… but there’s nobody else. We’re literally the only adults here!”

“Technically, the students are adults too.”

Right at that moment, you heard something falling down and breaking, it was coming from one of the dressing rooms.

“Okay, we’re the only real adults,” Ben confirmed. “We need an extra pair of hands though, you can’t be taking care of everything that is going on backstage at once.”

But you shrugged, silently telling him that there was no one else in this theatre who could help…

The realisation struck both of you at the same time.

“MILES!”

“I’ll go find him in the audience! You make sure nobody died in there,” Ben told you, nodding towards the dressing rooms, and you let him go find his friend.

Ben spent a couple of minutes looking around, desperately looking for the old man… he was ready to give up and ring him when he heard the loud voice he knew so well ring through the theatre.

“Ben! What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to gather the troops before the show?”

“Miles! Wonderful! I was looking for you! Hi George! Thanks for coming!”

“Ha, it’s a pleasure to see the work of our favourite lovebirds,” George laughed, shaking Ben’s hand, who merely blushed in response.

“Miles, I need your help. You have to help us with the costumes…”

“Ha, no! I’m here to watch the show, not participate…”

“Someone in the orchestra is sick, which means that I’ve been promoted to pianist, and Y/N can’t handle everything backstage on her own. We need two people to organize everything. She’ll tell you what to do, but we need an extra pair of hands. Please, Miles…”

The old man heaved a sigh, straightened his Hawaiian shirt, but nodded anyway.

“I see. I’ll help then.”

“Thank you!”

Ben gave him a hug, sighing with relief, making his old friend chuckle.

“You’ll owe me a good bottle of whiskey.”

“At this point, anything you want.”

“A double-date between George and I and you and Y/N?”

Ben blushed fiercely at his friend’s teasing, but nodded anyway.

“Yeah… yeah… whatever…”

“Wonderful!”

Miles followed Ben backstage, and you couldn’t stop yourself from hugging the retired man, who merely chuckled as he hugged you too.

“Alright, tell me what to do, boss,” he told you with a mischievous wink, and you let out a relieved chuckle.

“Thanks for helping…”

“Ben told me. It’s my pleasure.”

“Alright, I’ve just avoided another catastrophe as David broke a lamp, and almost destroyed his costume, but it’s fine…” you babbled away. “Erm… would you mind checking the lights, we’re supposed to open with red lights, but they weren’t set yet fifteen minutes ago…”

“I’ll go take a look,” Miles nodded.

He disappeared down the corridor, leaving you and Ben alone. You could hear the buzzing of the theatre being filled with spectators. Your heart was pounding, your head was spinning.

Your phone buzzed to reveal the name of your ex-husband, and for a minute you thought about the million things that could have gone wrong with Sally… and you didn’t need that now.

But instead of announcing a sickness, tears or a trip to the hospital… you found a nice message from Liam.

Good luck for tonight. I know that we haven’t always been on the same page you and I, but I will always be here for you if you need me.

I know that sometimes I act like a selfish prick. But I’m proud of you.

Good luck to you and Ben.

It was followed by a picture of Sally wearing her cutest toothy grin and Liam, both of them holding up a piece of paper covered with pink glitter, saying in a messy handwriting Good luck mommy.

You brushed a tear away.

“Babe? You’re okay? What’s wrong, darling?”

You looked up at Ben’s worried expression, and merely showed him your phone. His expression softened, and he smiled at the cute picture.

“Wow… coming from Liam that’s…”

“Surprisingly mature?”

“I would have said nice, but… yeah,” Ben nodded.

“Who knows… perhaps he’s really trying to be better this time around.”

“I hope so.”

You exchanged a tender smile, but then Ben looked around at the empty space filling the corridor. There was no one around, only the distant sound of the spectators waiting for the show to being and the shushed sounds of the students getting ready.

“Well, now that I am performing… do I get a good luck kiss?” Ben asked, wiggling his eyebrows and making you laugh.

He still took a step closer, and the smirk he shot you was definitely dangerous, almost lethal…

“Hmmm… Ben, we’re working…” you protested, looking away.

But he took another step closer, and you didn’t walk away.

“You say that like you don’t kiss me every day in either my or your office.”

“Shh!”

“Love, we’re both consenting adults. Relax. We’re not breaking any rules. Besides, it’s almost 8:30pm… we’re way past office hours.”

You laughed at that silly argument, but when Ben wrapped his arm around your back, when he cradled your cheek in his large palm, you didn’t move away. On the contrary, you wrapped your arms around his neck and leaned into his touch.

“Good luck for tonight,” he whispered, his mouth inches away from yours.

“Good luck.”

Before he could say anything, you were leaning up to press your lips to his. And like every time you kissed him, everything else in the world vanished…

… until you were interrupted by loud cheers.

You both pulled away in a hurry, but broke into laughter as you turned to the students you had grown very much fond of along the year.

“Wow! Love birds!” Nathaniel cried, clapping.

Ben rolled his eyes.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough…”

Laughs lingered for a minute, but then everyone was gathered in the empty space behind the stage. The light was low, it was almost time, only five minutes left.

You took Ben’s hand in yours, and he smiled.

“Well, good luck everyone for tonight,” Ben spoke, his voice firm and yet made a little hoarse with emotions. “I think I can say that I speak for both Y/N and I when I say that… it’s been a real pleasure to work with all of you this year. In fact, it’s been an honour. I’m very proud of the work we’ve done, and I’m very much proud of all of you.”

You saw a couple of students brushing tears away, and you struggled to hide how emotional you were yourself.

“Tonight’s the big night. Let’s show everyone how hard we’ve been working. But most importantly… have fun! Enjoy tonight, you deserve it. And I’m expecting an awful lot of cheers by the end of the show. So… come on!”

You both placed your hand before you, and soon everyone was gathering in a circle, hands upon hands.

You cheered.

And then it was time for the show to begin.

The show was a brilliant success.

Everything went smoothly, but then again, you had rehearsed relentlessly the previous weeks. It was paying off now, as you were bowing before the cheering crowd before you, holding Ben’s hand in yours.

As you walked backstage again, your body buzzing with adrenaline, there was a mix of sadness and excitement pulling at your heart. On one hand the excitement of the performance and the applause, on the other hand the sadness of knowing that it was over.

There was a pregnant pause, the sound of conversations and people gathering their stuff loud now that people were about to leave. There was some food and drinks at the ready, but you were unwilling to go take care of that part of the evening now. Instead, you all remained standing, your students still in their costumes, looking at each other in silence.

And then Giselle was hugging David, and Nathaniel turned to you, and everybody was hugging, an emotional mess as you struggled not to cry.

“Congratulations, everyone!” you said, your throat tight. “You did so good tonight! We all did so good!”

“It was by far the best performance we’ve ever done,” Ben nodded.

“But now, the important question arises,” Nathaniel said, turning to both you and Ben. “What musical do we do next year?”

You both let out a laugh, surprised by his reaction, and believing in a joke, but your students were already lost in conversation.

“Hamilton!”

“No, we could do West Side Story!”

“Or Les Mis!”

“You’re short enough to play Gavroche, for sure!”

A wave of laughter.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough, kids! Go get changed, we have some celebration to do!”

You were soon alone again, just you and Ben. You exchanged a smile, tender and emotional, and you were about to rush into his arms when you heard the familiar voice of Jasmine, along with Mary, your head of department.

“Congratulations!” Jasmine ran into your arms, making you laugh. “God! That was AMAZING!”

“Thanks!”

“It was… pretty good,” Mary congratulated you both, which, coming from her, was the best you would ever have.

“So… we can keep the club open for next year?” Ben asked, and he sounded relaxed, almost playful, but you weren’t fooled. You noticed the way the muscle of his jaw jumped.

Mary merely laughed.

“Yeah, I reckon we can keep it running for another year! And who knows… perhaps we can find a new colleague to assist you next year, Ben.”

You both frowned at that.

“What? Why?”

“Well… you weren’t happy about it in September, I assumed…”

But Ben shook his head, laughing, and slowly took your hand in his.

“Let’s say that we have reached an agreement,” he grinned, and there was something cocky in his gesture, a proud glitter in his dark eyes.

It was Mary’s turn to laugh.

“I see. Well… congratulations for that too, I guess! Can’t wait to see what you will plan for next year!”

You turned to Ben, staring into his dark brown eyes, the tenderness held in his gaze almost too much. You gave his hand a squeeze.

Yes, indeed… the future offered many suns and surprises…

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll find something amazing for… many years to come…”

#ben barnes #ben barnes x reader #ben barnes x y/n #ben barnes fanfiction #ben barnes fanfic #ben barnes series #fanfic #fanfiction #writing #series

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bratzforchris · 1 year

Note

would love if you could writing a calum fluff! anything you have in mind

Five More Minutes

❃

Summary: You hate mornings, but being with Calum makes them a tiny bit better

Pairing: Calum x gender neutral reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 431

A/N: This was originally a slash fic I took from my own AO3 account (@sgfgsun). It is under the same title<3

❃

Calum opened his eyes when he felt your bony elbow dig into his ribcage. He chuckled as he saw you sprawled out, hogging most of the blankets, limbs taking up nearly all of the bed. Your face was smashed into a pillow, all your hair puffy and fanned out, and Calum was pretty sure that was a string of drool hanging from your plump, pink lips.

The dark-haired boy tried to gently push your foot that was currently digging into his stomach off, only for you to sleepily grab his wrist.

“Mmmm stop…” You whined, your scratchy morning voice on display. “I need my beauty sleep.”

“You’re kicking me in the stomach with your feet,” Calum huffed. "How am I supposed to get my beauty sleep when I'm being kicked?"

He really couldn’t even pretend to be mad though. He loved the way you always used the “beauty sleep” excuse. You’d been doing it since you two had started spending the night together as a couple last year, and he still thought it was one of the cutest things about you.

“I can’t help it. I just naturally sleep this way.” You mumbled, face smushed into the pillow still.

“If you a) stop kicking me and b) get up, I’ll go on a coffee run.” Cal bargained, knowing just how much you loved vanilla lattes and blueberry muffins from the café down the street.

“Five more minutes,” You groaned. “It’s early.”

“It’s ten-thirty. That’s literally not early.” Running a tattooed hand along your back, Calum kissed your hair, carding his fingers through the strands.

“I will cut you.” You huffed, knowing his ‘manipulation’ tactics were working.

“You wouldn’t dream of it.” Calum laughed evilly and started tickling you.

“Stop! I’m up! I’m up!” You wiggled and squirmed.

Calum’s heart swelled at the sound of your bright laugh. Not to be dramatic or anything, but he was pretty sure that laugh was the reason he woke up every morning. “That’s what I thought.”

“You know what tickling means.” You fluttered your eyelashes innocently.

“And what’s that?” he asked, raising a brow.

“You gotta pay the kisses tax.” You smiled.

“Says who?” Cal fake rolled his eyes, knowing it would get a reaction out of you.

“Me!” You cheered gleefully, wrapping your arms around Calum's shoulders and peppering his cheeks with kisses.

“Ugh fine. Only cause you’re cute.” Calum smiled, straddling you and peppering your face with kisses.

“Also, about that latte…” You mumbled into the kiss with a smile.

“Lattes are only for people who get up on the first try.”

“WHAT?”

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moralesluvr · 2 years

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CABIN FEVER | SR

♡ pairings & aus : fem!reader x spencer reid

♡ summary: after jj plans a cabin trip for a group getaway, you unexpectedly have to share a cabin with spencer reid (who you aren't exactly very fond of), leading to a night of surprises and confessions.

♡ warnings: fluff, stupid spencer being mean, pining, two characters being hopelessly in love yet oblivious

♡ a/n: well HELLO!!!! its been like what....five months since i've written? crazy, i know! anyways i wanted to start writing for my darlings in the bau so here's a new fic! i hope you enjoy <;3

♡ got a request? | masterlist ♡

You'd like to say that you were a nice person. You got along with everyone, and you were always cordial to those that you weren't exactly close with, or even friends with, for that matter. However, this rule applies to everyone except one person- that person being Spencer Reid.

You didn't exactly hate him- no, never, but the two of you were always butting heads. He was witty and often had to make a smart or stupid comment about everything, even when the circumstances were far from humorous, and you knew he did it just to annoy you. The both of you had worked in the BAU together for years, and he was tolerable as long as the both of you were in the field, totally focused in on the task at hand. But any other time? Gosh, he could really be annoying.

JJ was one of your best friends from the BAU, and she had recently planned a camping trip for everyone to go on- just to get away for a little bit. And of course, despite you knowing that Spencer was definitely going to be there, you accepted the invite and began packing your bags.

It was Sunday, and you'd be staying for four days, so you packed one extra of everything, just to be careful. You grabbed your keys and other necessities and got into your car, typing the address into your GPS and cutting the radio on.

You're happily jamming out to your shuffled playlist when JJ's contact name flashes against your radio screen, and you click answer as you smile, "Hey, JJ! What's up?"

"Don't kill me," she starts, and that immediately starts to worry you. You sigh as she finishes her sentence, and you can hear the sincerity in her voice, "So...I accidentally under booked the cabins. There was supposed to be one for each person, but we're one short so..."

Your lips immediately flatten out as you sigh, "Please don't tell me I have to share with you know who."

JJ pouts on the other side of the line. "I'm sorry, I really am. He's not that bad-"

"Jen! He is terrible!" You protest, your GPS telling you that you're twenty five minutes away. "He's so annoying and he's always making fun of me."

"I know, love, I really am sorry. Do you think you can you deal for just four days?"

You give her a groan, but you know you can do it, so you agree to room with him. JJ claps on the other side of the phone and you can practically hear her smile in her voice, "I owe you one, Y/N! I love you!"

"Love you too," you grumble, clicking the red decline button as you turn your radio back up. Would it really be that bad to room with Spencer? Who knows, maybe the two of you might get along? He was kind of cute...

You shake your head to get rid of your absurd thoughts. He was your co-worker and your literal insufferable, built-in nemesis, plus, he was a couple years older than you- which was embarrassing, because you were way more mature than him.

Almost thirty minutes pass until you pull into the lots of the cabins, the private residence beautifully decorated with vanilla colored decor and a bunch of land and activities set up outside. You spot Penelope and Emily roasting marshmallows by a bonfire, and you immediately get out of your car and lock it, joining them. Emily immediately jumps up to hug you, "Y/N! Hi!"

Penelope hugs you from the other side and you smile against them both, "Hello my loves!"

The three of you sit down and occupy yourselves with busy conversation until you hear a familiar voice, the same annoying, excruciating one that you hate.

Spencer.

He's being a usual chatterbox, talking Morgan's ear off, and you're glad that he doesn't spot you. A couple of more cars pull up and you assume that they're JJ, Hotch, and Rossi. You feel a pair of arms come at your waist and you instantly recognize your best friend, "JJ!"

She hugs you and you hug her back, your eyelashes fluttering as you smile. "Missed you."

You're catching up with a lot of the team members, and everyone gathers around the fire as they make themselves snacks and s'mores. You feel a presence next to you and you're awfully confused until you look over, and your jaw immediately clenches.

"Don't even think about it." You hiss at Spencer, who just gives you a warm smile, "Think about what?"

He's playing dumb, and you give it twenty minutes before he starts acting a fool.

And you were right. He's just talking away and making jokes and they would've been funny if all of them weren't about you. He loved to pick on you for a reason that you could never quite fathom, and it was starting to get a little bothersome. Everyone's laughing, though, and some of the jokes make your lips curl upwards until he makes one that you wish you didn't hear. Somehow, the topic of respect was brought up, and Spencer had said that the only reason people respected you was because you could never "look down" on anyone. And at first, you didn't get the joke, until you realized it was about your height.

You rose up from the log that you were sitting on and pushed the door open to your cabin, throwing yourself on the bed as a tear slipped from your eyes. It wasn't anything to cry about- maybe you were just being sensitive, but you had enough of his stupid jokes that were always targeted against you. You silently let the tears fall until you heard the door swing open, and you immediately dry your eyes. You look over to see who it is, and you nearly cry when you realize it's Spencer.

"I'm sorry," he starts, and for the first time, he actually sounds sincere. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, I just thought we had that kind of relationship where we could make fun of each other."

Now you feel bad. Not because you're crying or because you're hurt, but because maybe- just maybe, you had gotten Spencer and your relationship with him all wrong. He notices that you're crying and his eyes soften, "Y/N, please say something."

"I'm fine," you wave it off, "It's okay. I'm just gonna get ready for bed."

You grab your belongings and walk into the bathroom, where you shower and slip on a pair of yellow pajamas. You tie up your hair in a ponytail and pad out back to the king-sized bed, and you groaned lightly when you realized that you'd have to share it with Spencer tonight. After his joke, you weren't sure if you wanted to even see him.

He's already in bed, and his hair is wet- so you assume that he took a shower at another one of the boys' cabin. He's reading, his glasses laying on the tip of his nose while his book rests in his lap. He's shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of fuzzy socks and green sweatpants, and he actually looks kind of...cute.

Pull it together, Y/N.

You climb in on the other side and roll over, climbing underneath the covers and turning the lamp off.

"Good night, Y/N." Spencer says, turning his own lamp off and setting his glasses on the night stand as he sinks into the peeled sheets of the bed.

"Night..." you murmur, but you can't sleep. It's too cold and you're too lazy to get out of bed to turn on the heater, and plus, all of Spencer's shifting is keeping you from even falling into a small doze.

"Spence?" You call out, and he rolls over to face you. It's dark, so he can't see you, and your noses slightly bump as you turn onto your side. He laughs, and you laugh too, and for the first time, he isn't being absolutely insufferable.

"I can't sleep," you whisper, and he whispers back that he can't sleep either.

"Hey," you start, "I'm sorry I was such a jerk to you. You always just made those jokes and I deflected because...well, if you couldn't tell, I don't handle those things well." You laugh airily, and your eyes ache a little when Reid reaches over to turn the lamp on.

He's so cute. His curls are damp, some of them messily dried around his face. His nose has a little red indent from where his glasses were sitting, and you find it adorable as you smile.

God, what was happening? Were you catching feelings for Spencer?

His voice snaps you out of your thoughts, "I was the one that was being a jerk, I constantly made fun of you and made jokes without ever realizing that you weren't okay with it," Spencer says, "I'm sorry."

"It's okay, It's all good now." You whisper, smiling.

"You're really pretty."

What did he just say?

"Huh?" You ask, dumbfounded and a little nervous.

"You're...I said that you're really pretty." Spencer repeats, and you want to ask him to say it again, just to be sure. But you don't, you just reply, shaken, "T-Thank you. You're pretty too."

"I'm pretty?" He asks, a little confused, and you nod, blushing.

"Pretty boy." You smile.

"Pretty girl," he whispers, and you realize how close your faces are when you feel his warm breath fan against your face. He smells of autumn and cookies and all things warm, and your skin tingles with excitement as his lips graze over yours lightly before kissing you. The kiss is sweet, and you feel his hand snake around your waist underneath the covers as his other hand cups your cheek. You melt, and your smile breaks the kiss, "Oh my Lord."

Spencer smiles and rolls over, turning off the lamp before pulling you in by your waist, his head buried in the crook of your neck, "Goodnight, pretty girl."

"Goodnight, pretty boy." You smile, your eyes fluttering shut as you drift off to sleep.

#❝*⁀➷ gabbis.works #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x you #dr spencer reid #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds angst #criminal minds x y/n #criminal minds x you #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction

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kiwiana-writes · 2 months

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Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your five favorite fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers! Spread the self-love. ❤️

I love that you sent this to me while I was still asleep, BEFORE the conversation we had this morning about me having 259 fanworks on AO3. I mean, I think you would have done it anyway, but still: asking me to pick a top five is extremely cruel and unusual behaviour 🤣

So. In no particular order in reverse chronological order because I just went through my works list to decide, kiwiana's five favourite kiwiana fics (at least today, because I definitely have the 'can't pick favourites' flavour of neurospicy):

Like loving the stars themselves

[RWRB, Alex/Henry, E, 7.2k words]

When he emerges out the other end of the alleyway and almost runs straight into a solid blue wall that wasn’t there last time he visited this area of town, Henry assumes his wandering thoughts have conjured an illusion. He blinks, and blinks again, but it’s still there: NORA’s unassuming back wall, the broken chameleon circuit now over thirty centuries out of date to blend into her surroundings the way she’s supposed to, her anomalous presence a wrench in Henry’s carefully laid plans. Alex is here. Or, Alex is a Time Lord, and time is complicated; Henry keeps meeting him out of order, and it's been a while.

I just... I genuinely think this is the best thing I've ever written. Along with Much Ado, it's the fic that is most strongly Peak MJ Vibes, and I am really fucking proud of the story crafting in this one. I LOVE writing fics, particularly one-shots, that have such a strong sense of the wider world they sit in while still being a satisyfingly complete story in their own right, and I don't think I've ever done that better than I did here. If you have no knowlege of Doctor Who, I PROMISE you do not need to be scared of this fic lol.

Puck It

[RWRB, Alex/Henry, E, 9.7k words]

“I’m English, dear,” Henry tells him, and fuck if the nickname isn’t doing something to Alex too. “Our national sport is rugby, and we play it with a lot less protective gear. Though,” he adds thoughtfully, “rugby players do wear mouth guards, which means they have the significant advantage of generally keeping all their teeth.” “We wear mouth guards.” It’s a common misconception, and one that annoys the shit out of him. “And I’ve still got all my teeth. Wanna check?”

HOCKEY! HOCKEY! THE GREATEST GAME IN THE LAND! This fic is so wildly different to what I intended it to be, but I absolutely love what it turned into. The college hockey AU that is somehow not quite a college AU and not quite a hockey AU, but is also definitively both. I love love LOVE both Alex and Henry in this, and I adore this fic.

With so much of my heart (that none is left to protest)

[RWRB, Alex/Henry, E, 65.5k words]

Alex is a former child star struggling to make the transition into being seen as a serious actor. He jumps at an opportunity to perform on stage in the UK, seeing it as a way to break free from the typecasting and show what he can really do. But he wasn’t prepared to star alongside someone he hates. // Henry is a recent theatre graduate who accepts an amazing role in a queer reimagining of Much Ado About Nothing. And then it turns out his co-star is none other than the man he’s been hopelessly pining after for years—even though Henry made a terrible first impression when they met. // It’s… well, it’s practically Shakespearean.

First of all, I dropped chapter one of this fic one year ago today, so happy ficaversary to Much Ado! And... yeah. There's no universe in which this fic doesn't end up in my top five. I wrote this fic in a ~five week fever dream and it's probably only coherent because of @celeritas2997 and @ships-to-sail putting in a bunch of hard beta work lmao. It's just SUCH a love letter to theatre, to Shakespeare, to the power of queer joy. All things that are so fucking important to me!

And all the rest's illusion

[Schitt's Creek, David/Patrick, T, 1.8k words]

The first time David uses the word 'queer' to refer to him, it brings Patrick up short.

AKA 'MJ projects their feelings about how goddamn amazing the word queer is and makes a bunch of people cry, apparently'. This was a little bit of a spite reaction to ahistorical, ~q slur~ takes on queer as an umbrella term and I stand by that. Also, whenever I'm feeling like my writing isn't important/doesn't reach people/isn't adding any value to the world, I read through the comments on this fic and have a good cry. If YOU are feeling Not Queer Enough, I highly recommend reading through the comments on this fic and have a good cry even if you're not a Schitt's Creek person.

How much love will you happily take

[Schitt's Creek, David/Patrick, T, 8.0k words]

The trouble is, they don’t really have any privacy outside of the store — at least one member of David’s family is always at the motel, and Ray has never met a boundary he won’t cheerfully skip over. Neither of those seem like the ideal place to say 'so, I’m actually a virgin' or 'funny thing, apparently my dick’s so big no one wants to have sex with me', but the store hardly seems like an appropriate place to have that conversation either.

This started out as size kink and turned into eight thousand words of psychological kink analysis. I gave MULTIPLE people a humiliation kink with this one and I am, not joking, exceptionally fucking proud of that. LOVE to help people realise things about themselves with my writing.

#five favourite fics #kiwiana-writes

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whatdoeseverybodywant · 10 months

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You’re the Only Girl for Me - Chapter 5

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS

Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated ❤

All OC Characters belong to me

Taglist: @christinabae @southerngirl41 @reci24 @jeyusos-girl @jeyusosgirl @melaninsugababy @baconeggndcheez @bemybabiibish @jstarr86 @nbanenefrmdao @purplehairgawdess @arination99 @alyyaanna @m3llowww @gomussy @jeysbae @babysyhsy @bebesobrielo @empressdede @venusesworld @harmshake @mustafumilf @theninthwonder

NOVEMBER 23RD 2020

Incoming text from Josh Fatu: good morning, can’t wait to see u tonite ❤️

Airielle stared at the text message with a smile on her face. Even though she was happy she was also extremely nervous, this would be her first date in 3 years since…Airielle quickly shook her head trying to get rid of those thoughts. She jumped when Yasmine burst through the door carrying shopping bags. Airielle rolled her eyes as Yasmine passed her a Victoria’s Secret bag.

“Just something sexy to wear.” Airielle laughed and thanked her. “You nervous? It’s been a while since you been on a date.” Yasmine paused “Even though I still think those other two should count but whatever.” She shrugged.

“Yeah im freaking the fuck out honestly.” Yasmine reached over and grabbed Airielle’s hands, giving them a squeeze.

“Just remember, you are not defined by what happened to you. You are the light that refused to surrender.” Airielle smiled softly and looked away from Yasmine. “I know I give you shit about getting back in the dating scene,” Yasmine grabbed Airielle’s cheeks to make her look back at her. “But I just want you to know how proud of you I am. Just have fun and be free.” Airielle pulled Yasmine to her in a tight hug.

“Yo bro.” Josh looked over at the door when Jon came strolling through.

“I know this ya house, but I could’ve been naked.” Jon shrugged and plopped his body down on the bed.

“You ready for tonight? I can’t believe she actually agreed to go out with you.” Josh sucked his teeth and glared over at his twin.

“What the hell that's supposed to mean?”

“You ugly as fuck uce” Jon laughed then held his hand up, trying to shield his face and body from Josh’s hits. “Aight, Aight Damn.”

“If I'm ugly, you ugly. We twins jackass.”

“I hope you got my girl some roses.” Trin said as she came into the room and sat on the bed next to Jon. Josh nodded and scrubbed his hand over his face. If there was an emotion beyond nervousness, that's what he was. Trinity noticed and placed her hand on his shoulder.

“This gon be my first- first date since high school man, The last time I was this nervous was with the boy’s mom.” Jon and Trinity winced at the fact he wouldn’t say his ex-wife’s name. “And I was fifteen, i’m thirty-fucking five, why am I so nervous?”

“Cause you like her uce. And technically yall already went on y’alls first date.” Trinity nodded her head in agreement. “Just be yourself man, she gon fall in love with you.”

Airielle looked at the clock and cursed. Josh was supposed to be at her place in 30 minutes and she still didn’t decide which dress to wear. She let out a sigh of relief when Yasmine came into her room holding her IPad, on facetime with their other cousin Ashley.

“As the family fashion expert. We need your help.” Yasmine flipped the camera and showed Ashley all of the dress, shoes and jewelry options they had.

“Bitch are those my earrings!” Yasmine rolled her eyes and sucked her teeth.

“Focus Ashley-”

“I’ve been looking for them everywhere hoe!” Airielle giggled and took the IPAD from Yasmine, turning the camera to herself.

“I need your opinion Ash, I’m stuck.” Ashley rolled her eyes and nodded.

“Fine,” She muttered. “Show me again.”

AIRIELLEJONES

liked by trinity_fatu, kaylabraxtonwwe, yasmine_jones and 190,000 others

AIRIELLEJONES: It's okay, I know you're obsessed 🌹

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trinity_fatu: and isssss!!

uceyjucey: 🤫

yasmine_jones: oop 👀

Yasmine had just finished curling the last piece of Airielle’s hair when there was a knock at the front door. Airielle felt like she had to throw up. She was about to run into the bathroom when Yasmine stopped her and pushed her towards the door.

“No running. Go enjoy yourself.” Airielle nodded and took a deep breath before opening the door.

“Damn,” Josh said lowly, licking his lips as he shamelessly raked his eyes over her body. “I mean,” he cleared his throat. “You look beautiful.” He felt his cheeks heat up as he passed her the bouquet of white, red and pink roses.

Airielle took them. “These are so pretty.” She said as she lifted them to her nose to smell them.

“I mean, beautiful flowers for a beautiful woman.” They both stared at each other before bursting out into laughter.

“That was so corny,” She said as she shut her apartment door and started walking towards the elevator. He chuckled as he followed her.

“Yeah aint gon’ lie. That wasn’t my best work.”

Josh had just pulled up in front of the restaurant and Airielle was about to get out of the car when Josh stopped her.

“Whoa, whatchu’ doin?” Airielle froze with one of her hands on the handle of the car door. She turned her head and frowned at him. “Opening the door?” She said as more of question and Josh chuckled.

“Nah, don’t touch that.” He said getting out and rushing over so he could open the door for her. “I got you.” He said as he held out his hand for her to grab. She rolled her eyes with a smile and grabbed his hand, letting him help her out of the car. She smiled wider when he didn’t let go of her hand as they started walking towards the restaurant. He only let go of her hand to hand the valet his keys and a twenty dollar tip.

“Wow, this place is nice.” She said as the host led them to their table. She smiled at Josh as he pulled out her chair for her.

“Yeah, Jon recommended it. Said he takes Trin here all the time.” They sat there in silence. Glancing at each other over their menus, sending secret smiles to each other.

“So i’ve been told.”Airielle started off, breaking the silence between them. “We technically already had our first date.” Josh nodded with a chuckle.

“I mean, technically yeah. So what this’ll be our.” He stopped to count on his fingers making her scoff. “Third date.”

“You did not just count to three on your fingers.” He shrugged with a laugh as the waiter came over to take their orders. Once he walked away Airielle turned her attention back to Josh. “Ok, so tell me something about you that I don’t know.”

“Damn,” Josh said as he blew out a breath of air. “I can play the piano.”

“Oh wow foreal?” She asked, eyebrows raised in shock and he nodded.

“Yeah, me and my brothers. My momma kept us busy so we weren’t tearing up her house. It was so much shit she put us in man, uh- karate, soccer, baseball. Man, any sport that you could think of my mom had me and my brothers there. No your turn.”

She placed her chin on her palm and smiled at him. “I used to dance and cheer competitively. My parents' garage is literally full of medals and trophies.”

She narrowed her eyes at him when he started to smirk. “That’s kinda hot.”

“I was a kid Josh.” She chuckled and threw a piece of her dinner roll at him when he shrugged.

The rest of their date went amazing. They never ran out of stuff to talk about. They didn’t even realize they were the last two people in the restaurant until the waiter came over to tell them.

On the ride back to her apartment, they stopped to grab some ice cream. Neither one of them wanted the night to end. After he parked in her complex’s garage they walked slowly to her apartment, holding hands.

“This was like the best date I've ever been on.” She said, turning towards him as they stopped in front of her door. Her statement made him feel good.

“Yeah? Me too.” He said with a wide smile. Airielle was about to turn to walk into her apartment when Josh stopped her by grabbing her hand.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked and Airielle nodded immediately. She honestly thought she would have to make the first move. He grinned before pulling her closer to him and wrapping his arms around her waist. He hesitated before leaning head forward and capturing her lips in a soft, tender kiss. They stood there, lost in eachother only breaking apart at the sound of a loud squeal and a loud clanging sound, like something had dropped coming from inside Airielle’s apartment.

“Sorry.” They both chuckled at Yasmine’s muffled voice. He gave her another kiss before telling her that he would text her when he got home. After he walked away, Yasmine ripped open the door and yanked Airielle inside.

“Bitch tell me everything.”

Happy Thanksgiving (if you celebrate it.)

Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated ❤

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thealtofvalleyxdoodles · 2 months

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IM SUPPOSED TO BE WORKING ON THIS FIC FOR MY FRIEND BUT UHHMMMMM DAD GHOST AND UNCLE SOAP HAVE ME IN A CHOEKHOLD RN.

LIKE- I couple of twins boys and a little girl?? yes, me thinks so.

Dad!Simon who buys his kids only what they need whereas Uncle!Soap who buys them whatever they hell they want.

Dad!Simon who tells Uncle!Soap off for it, but really doesnt mind-until there's five huge twenty gallon totes in his basement and/or garage. Filled with nothing but T O Y S.

And Uncle!Soap finds it SOOOO funny-so he keeps doing it! Whatever they want-wether he's just babysitting or wether it's their birthdays/xmas, he'll buy it-just so hear Dad!Simon say, "Jonny, she didnt need that new teaset! Her old one is just fine." or "Jonny! My son in not old enogh to use a foikin PISTOL! WUT VA HELL, MATE!?"

Dad!Simon who will make whatever his kids want-or buy them fast food whenever they want cuz his kids DO NOT like his cooking-

Uncle!Soap you forces the food he makes down their throats-not latterly-"C'mon now, Dillian! Ye wanna be big n strong like me n yer pop, ye!? well boi-ye've got tah eat yer colliflowa!" or-or-"Lillyyyyy, pleasee, Sweets! Eat your cabbage! It's good f'ye!"

Dad!Simon who does NOTHING to help Uncle!Soap when his picky ass kids dont like the food.

Uncle!Soap, even if he's in his fourites, will fake cry to make Simon's kids eat the food he made. "I-I spend THREE HOURS makin you ungreatful lot food-N YE DONNAE EVEN EAT IT!"

Dad!Simon who notes how well Jonny plays with his daughter and sons. Doing ballet with Lilly, or taking Dillian to the skate park to ride his skateboard that Jonny baought for him last month. Teaches him how to ride it too. Or taking Xavier to the library so he can check out the world's most inappropriate books.

Dad!Simon who thinks to himself at night: 'Damn...what if the kids called him "daddy Jonny" instead of Uncle?' and pushes the thought away-only to slowly slip his hand inside of his boxers as he thinks of all the ways he'd fuck Jonny in his bed-

Uncle!Soap who thinks the same things as Simon-even went to the boys' middle school and told off the mother and father of their bullie-who thought it was a good idea to punch Zavier in the face.

Dad!Simon who finds out about this and UNcle!Soap has to hold this mad down for thirty secounds before Simon just laughs and says, "Whatter ya, Gay?"

and both of the men who laugh and laugh and laugh over that-but both are thinking, "For you, I am."

#valley speaks #Valley writes #Valley's drabbles #idk what this is #just thoughts #call of duty #cod mw2 #simon riley cod #call of duty modern warfare #ghoap #dad!simon ghost riley #Uncle!Soap #ghost x soap

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mediumgayitalian · 6 months

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bruh currently writing more of the naomi fic and doing some research and the minimum wage in texas was THREE THIRTY FIVE in 1997 🤡🤡 like what the hell am i supposed to do with that

#i thought seven twenty five was bad #jesus fucking christ

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impishtubist · 6 months

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happy birthday, krabapple <3

Your fics have brought me such joy since the LiveJournal days, so here, I knocked up Remus for you. I hope you have a great rest of your day <3 @lizlemonbennet

(many thanks to the discord for doing a plot spitballing session with me many many moons ago regarding remus getting pregnant and his students being mad about it, y'all are the real mvps. also I hope someone writes the 100K version of this someday.)

---

At first, Harry didn’t bat an eye at the owls that swept in periodically throughout breakfast that morning, dropping off letters for Sirius before flying off again. Out of everyone in the household, Sirius got the most correspondence, and it wasn’t unusual for there to be a flurry of owls in their home for the first few hours of the morning.

He did take notice when the pile grew to be twenty letters, and then thirty. Even more noticeable, Sirius wasn’t even opening them.

“Er, Sirius,” he said, after the fortieth owl swept in and then out again. “You didn’t get voted Sexiest Wizard Alive again, did you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Harry,” Sirius said, giving him a smile that was only slightly strained. “That contest isn’t until May.”

“Do you have another fan club?” Teddy asked.

“No.”

“Okay,” Harry said, “then why aren’t you opening your mail?”

“I want to enjoy breakfast with my boys!” Sirius said, though the cheer in his voice sounded slightly forced. “It’s your first day home from school. I can read the mail later.”

“Isn’t that Hermione’s handwriting?” Teddy piped up, pointing at a letter near the top of the pile. Before he could stop himself, Harry snatched it up, his Seeker’s reflexes outwitting Sirius’s.

“Dear Lord Black,” he read out loud, fending off Sirius’s attempts to grab the letter with one hand, “I am incredibly disappointed to learn that Professor Lupin will be unable to teach for the rest of the school year--and, most importantly, will be unable to oversee our NEWTs--thanks to your actions, and I hope that you take this into consideration in the future should you decide to procreate again…”

Harry wrinkled his nose and tossed the letter at Sirius. “Gross, Sirius.”

“I didn’t write the letter! Take it up with Hermione.”

“Are they all like that?”

“At least there aren’t any Howlers this time,” Sirius said, slumping back in his chair. “I’ve been getting them for days, ever since Remus announced his pregnancy and his intention to take a leave of absence starting at the holidays. Your classmates are very upset.”

“Your timing could have been better,” Harry said. “In more ways than one.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Come on, Sirius.” Harry rolled his eyes. “Remus is almost five months, yeah? You know what else was almost five months ago? My birthday. You two are gross and I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” Sirius got up for more coffee. As he passed behind Harry and Teddy, he kissed them both on top of the head. “Your friends do, though.”

“It is your fault their favorite and most competent professor is out of commission for the rest of the year.”

“I will personally write every single OWL and NEWT student a glowing letter of recommendation. No matter what their scores are this year while Professor Lupin is on sabbatical, they will have their pick of jobs after graduation. Happy?”

“That includes us, right?”

“Yes, of course it does.”

Harry stuck out his hand. “Deal.”

Sirius shook his hand, and then Teddy’s, and at that moment Remus came into the kitchen. He had stopped being able to fit into his own clothes, and was now stealing Sirius’s sweaters and joggers. Those wouldn’t do for much longer, Harry thought, but figured that was a battle his guardians could fight on their own.

“Oh, dear,” Remus said, spotting the pile of letters. Several had fallen to the floor. “That’s…”

“At least a quarter of the student body,” Sirius said.

“I’m sorry, love.”

“As your eldest has so helpfully pointed out, it is all my fault.”

“Well,” Remus said with a wink, “not all your fault.”

“Right!” Harry said, standing abruptly. “I’m off! Come on, Teds. Let’s get out of here before they get more disgusting.”

#okay i'm sorry that remus was only in this for like five lines #but he's still very pregnant and it's sirius's fault!!!!!#lizlemonbennet #wolfstar #sirius black #harry potter #sirius black raises harry potter and teddy lupin #remus lupin #breed that old man 2024

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idolatrybarbie · 10 months

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lover, be sweet masterlist

pairing: marcus pike x fem!reader

word count & rating: 1.8k | explicit - minor free zone!

summary: cuddles. guilt. the sensual caressing of plucked poultry. they don't make Pepto-Bismol for shame, do they?

warnings: references to and discussion of sex - hence the explicit rating, depression, loneliness, guilt & shame, angst, dissociation, citizen kane (1941) dir. orson welles, a few lighthearted moments but don't get your hopes up people, reader is described as slightly shorter than/the same height as marcus, very dramatic metaphors, very lightly edited, bea regresses to using writing as therapy again.

notes: hi - i am sad. this is a fic about me being sad. if you read it you might be able to figure out why i'm sad. i don't love creating from a place of sadness anymore but i am sick of talking about it to people that care about me and my girlfriend marcus pike is, like, right there. so this is me being sad. i am going to try to not write a fic like this again (sad for the fact that i am sad.) we'll see how successful that mission is. we out here.

It’s you who brings up the ‘M’ word. Well, two words: moving in. They come out of your mouth haphazardly one night. A long night of dinner and drinks with wonderful sex after.

It’s been six months. The question, what if me staying over was more…permanent? Marcus is silent for about thirty seconds before he simply kisses you, asking if he needs to start bringing boxes home from work. This is what makes you recoil emotionally, shaking your head as you say you’ve had too much wine. You fall asleep in his arms with your heart pounding and cold.

How are you supposed to tell Marcus that the last time you lived with someone you knew, it ended disastrously? Not just a shit roommate—lives ruined, emotional wounds that never quite healed. A friendship of almost a decade down the drain because the one person you trusted in the world couldn’t grow out of the role they’d locked themselves in. How do you tell him that your family only started treating you right when you moved hours away, that you need an allotted amount of time alone lest you turn into the worst person alive?

You’re over here three out of five nights of his work week. Marcus is the one person in the world you seem to never be able to get enough of. And yet you can’t help that lingering instinct, a stutter in your gut that births a brood of unwanted doubts and insecurities. You live alone. You like it like that. Liked it like that, maybe.

You’d like to move your dishes into the cabinet downstairs—the chipped set of Corelle that Marcus has eaten off of all but once, telling you the plates reminded him of the ones his mother had in Chile. You’d like to wake up with fresh underwear after showers with the man you love only a drawer pull away; his sheets to become your sheets, and yours his. Bender doesn’t like your couch as much as Marcus’ and you’ve been meaning to sell it anyway.

There is a life that could be lived here. A future within these red walls. But you won’t risk it. You will not make that mistake again. Some things are not meant to be shared, and maybe this is one of them. Better to be in solitude half the time with him than isolated all the time without.

But all this stays in the background. Marcus doesn’t bring it up again, doesn’t push. Part of you assumes that he’s forgotten—he drank a lot of wine that night too. Or perhaps he assumes your life has had enough change for a little while. The new job and all that comes with it.

After months of unemployment and steadily weaning yourself off of babysitting other people’s pets, you’ve found one. It’s not much—the pay or the pleasure in doing it—but it is something. You wake up at seven o’clock to be ready for eight and out of the house by quarter past. The drive to D.C. is busy, an increasingly miserable twenty-seven minute commute that everyone on the road slogs through together.

Marcus is happy for you. He’s happy you leave the house for some other reason than to visit him, and he likes to hear about your work day. The people are fine, nice even, and you tell him that. Neither he nor they can stave off the low mood that takes hold of you with every coming cold season, but you try not to focus on that.

Marcus is aware, but he doesn’t bring it up beyond a simple question of how you’re feeling sometimes. He gets warmer as the world outside does the opposite, softening beyond what you thought possible. Your boyfriend is a sourdough starter, not that you’re complaining. The sex you have is sweet and slow. Lovemaking might be the only appropriate turn of phrase. He can’t seem to stop saying it—the ‘L’ word—every time he’s inside of you.

Your dreams are an odd combination of the Palace of Versailles and Orson Welles’ Citizen Kane. A spotlight, a projector. The many versions of yourself, all of whom Marcus loves. The many versions of yourself, most of which you do not.

Mirrors. Lots of them. You’re grateful now when the shower steam makes the glass in Marcus’ bathroom sweat, sparing you from looking into another one. Being so walled off feels like lying to him. You can’t help it. Maybe it’s the intimacy of telling Marcus that’s getting to you. Might it be easier to stand at a pulpit and do a speech on how you feel? Direct. Factual even if the words aren’t confident.

Some Thursday night, three weeks after the ‘M’ word, you pull your car into the driveway beside your house…and sit. Headlights on, engine idle. Right now is the perfect time to freeze and stare out at the dust settled over the dashboard. You only move when knuckles rap on your window. Marcus, of course. His breath is as warm as his soul, fogging up the dirty glass.

You turn the car off, pulling the key from the ignition. He opens the door for you when you make a move to grab your bag.

“Hey,” he says. His voice is already laced with concern.

“Hi.”

“Are you okay?”

“What? Yeah. Just…thinking.”

Marcus glances at the empty driver’s seat. “In the car…with the engine running?”

“Got home a few minutes ago,” you say. You don’t know how long it’s been.

Marcus senses your fragile footing, redirecting the conversation. “Do you want to come over tonight?”

“I don’t know,” you say. The words are highlighted by a puff of white past your lips. “Been a long day.”

“I’m making roast chicken,” Marcus says, trying to entice you. “We can lay on the couch. I’ll give you a foot massage.” When he sees you aren’t biting, he adds, “We can watch Pacific Rim. Again.”

You smile as the slightest bit of fire sparks in your chest. “You’ve got a deal.”

Marcus waits at the front door as you collect Bender from your living room. Then he leads the way across the street, unlocking his own door and letting you in first. The cat in your arms leaps gracefully away, ready to find a new spot to nuzzle into.

After a hot shower alone, you feel more like a person. No length of time spent under the water is going to get rid of the guilt masquerading as hunger pains, though. Marcus is already working on dinner when you make your way downstairs. His waist apron hangs over his hips, crimson to match everything else; a thoughtless purchase on your part except for the mental image of him wearing it with that adorably taut face he makes when focusing.

Seeing that exact expression now as Marcus rubs margarine over the plucked, pink body of a whole chicken makes you laugh a little. He looks up at you, hearing the noise, a smirk pulling at his lips.

“You like what you see?” Marcus waggles his eyebrows suggestively.

“The sensual caressing of dead poultry?”

He makes a face. “When you put it like that…”

“I speak the truth, the whole truth—”

“And nothing but the truth. You forget that you’re dating a man of the law, y’know.”

“How could I forget?” you ask, coming up behind him. Wrapping your arms around his waist, you peer over the side of Marcus’ arm to watch him season the chicken with various spices on the counter. “You’re always here to protect me.”

“I’m glad you know that,” he says. “And I really mean always.”

Marcus can’t see the look of curious confusion that crosses your face. “Of course,” you mumble into his shoulder.

The chicken is placed on a baking pan lined with tinfoil before it disappears into the oven. Marcus washes his hands thoroughly, tossing everything into a sink of hot and soapy water before he finally embraces you. His hugs are a godsend. You melt into his arms and let yourself be held. Then, another twist of your organs. The feeling plagues you like heartburn, showing up at the worst of times. They don’t make Pepto-Bismol for shame, do they?

Marcus must feel you tense up, because he asks, “Alright. What’s wrong?”

Pulling back from the hug, he stares at you—the heat of a thousand carefully probing suns.

“Nothing’s wrong,” you say. Clearly he doesn’t buy it, taking in the way your eyes are starting to water like the Potomac.

“Well that’s just not true. Honey, please just… I want to help you.”

“I can’t move in with you,” you whisper. The first tear falls when you blink, a warm trail falling slowly down your cheek.

Marcus tilts his head. “What?”

“I can’t move in with you,” you repeat a little louder. “I’m not—I can’t.”

“That’s okay,” he says. “If you’re not ready—”

“It’s not about being ready,” you say, pulling yourself from his grasp. “It’s about…I don’t know. I love you. And that’s huge, and the last time I lived with someone I loved it ruined my life. I can’t do that with this. With us. I won’t.”

Marcus gently calls your name as you turn away from him, hands steady against the granite countertop. You can’t look at him. You’ve told the man you love that you can’t take the next step of further knitting your lives together. Of starting anew as a pair. There is no timeline to feed him. No amount of months given will tide him over because there's no expiry date on this feeling of yours. It simply is; there was a time before it existed, but you’re almost certain there will be no after.

That crawling specter of loneliness hasn’t haunted you for six whole months, and you would like to keep it that way. Even if the knowledge that you’re missing minute details about Marcus in your time across the street kills you the slightest bit; even if you want to show him that you’re all in on this, what your boyfriend doesn’t know is that you are a nuclear reactor. The disaster happened a long time ago, but the ground is still poisoned. The air is teeming with radiation even if he’s been slowly sipping the water.

You say, “I don’t know when I’m going to be ready.” Not now, if ever. Breaking your own goddamn heart.

“That’s okay,” Marcus says. “There’s no rush on it. You could take a million years. I’m still going to be here.” He takes you back into his arms, cradling your head against his body.

This doesn’t fix anything—doesn’t fix you, but you don’t want Marcus to do that anyway. For now, this works. Right now this is okay.

#marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #the mentalist fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #marcus pike x you #*lover be sweet #ppcu fanfiction #pedrostories

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superbattrash · 2 years

Text

Bruclark Week Day 7: Free Space

Alternative title: The Unspoken Thing

WE DID IIIIIIIIT AND ON TIME TOO. Dear God, remind me to plan stuff like this better next time, alright? Anyway, here’s that merbruce thing I was going to write. It’s loosely based on a piece of art by @katsuyacrimson - I’ve been graciously allowed to post the picture with my fic. The art is at the end :)

Bruce’s tail is amazing. It’s an odd mixture of purple and iridescent; so large that the fins could probably cover a small child if Bruce wanted to. Not that he has that kind of control yet obviously, seeing as he’s been a mermaid for less than five minutes at this point. Still, Clark can’t help but stare as Bruce moves the huge tail around experimentally; like he’s trying to get a feel for it despite it being a part of himself. The blues in his tail become visible when he moves it, and they complement his eyes so beautifully. Some are warm, some colder. Some almost violet while others are bright blue, so light they can almost rival Bruce’s eyes in beauty. Almost.

Clark watches as Bruce holds up a hand – his fingertips replaced with sharp little claw-like tips, purple and scale-y just like his tail. So far that’s the only parts of him that have changed but judging from the way his jaw is tightening by the second, it’s more than enough.

He does look rather strange with half the batsuit on and the only exposed parts of him – except his face – being brightly colored. Purple does suit the darkness of the batsuit though, Clark thinks. Not that that’s what he should be focusing on right now, and he is most certainly not going to tell Bruce that that’s what he’s thinking about. He quickly lands on the ground next to Bruce and crouches down. It’s odd, having to sit down to look Bruce in the eyes.

“I’m sorry, I am so sorry,” Clark exclaims for what feels like the hundredths time in the last thirty minutes. He really should have been faster, should have protected Bruce somehow. He’s supposed to be the strong, invulnerable one.

“You’re just as susceptible to magic as the rest of us,” Bruce mutters like that’s an excuse. It sort of is but not a very good one.

“Yes, but-” Clark feels incredibly guilty despite Bruce having thrown himself in front of the beam of his own volition. It doesn’t make him feel any better that Bruce would sacrifice himself for Clark, believe it or not. There’s a reason Superman is on the team. He can handle himself and take a hit.

“Kal, just-” Bruce takes a deep breath and nearly pokes a lens out of his cowl when he tries to pinch the bridge of his nose with his mer-claws. He drops both arms in his lap. Or, where his lap is supposed to be. Is it still called a lap if it’s on a tail? “Shut up.”

“I didn’t see her in time,” Clark explains. He tries to go on but Bruce speaks over him.

“I know, would you just-” Bruce sighs exasperatedly. He’s clearly trying very hard to be patient with Clark, which is nice of him. Too bad it doesn’t make Clark feel any better. “Just go home, alright?”

“I can’t leave you like this,” Clark argues. There is no way he’s leaving Bruce stranded in Metropolis stuck in mermaid form. He wouldn’t leave him even if he still had his own two feet.

“I’ll be fine,” Bruce insists even as he wiggles around to get his tail situated in a way that lets him sit up straight.

Once again, Clark will never voice any of his thoughts out loud. At least not the quieter ones, hiding behind his worry and guilt. It’s just so weird seeing Bruce uncoordinated like this. He’s swaying back and forth like he can’t quite keep his balance.

“How will you even get home?” Clark asks, trying his best not to stare too long at Bruce’s beautiful tail. He’s not doing a very good job of it.

“I’ll figure it out,” Bruce says with an odd shrug. He nearly tilts with the movement. Sitting on a tail is apparently much different than how Bruce usually sits. Which isn’t much when he’s out as Batman.

“Can you even survive outside of water?” Clark bursts out. He knows it’s a stupid question and that he should probably just let Bruce be, but it isn’t in his nature to leave his friends behind. Especially when that friend is Bruce. Clark has never actually had much contact with mermaids but he’s the best Bruce has got right now. Arthur isn’t with them on this mission, which in hindsight is a big mistake, but Hal has already contacted him.

“Kal,” Bruce says. His voice jolts Clark out of his muddled thoughts.

“What?”

“I’m a mermaid, not an actual fish,” he reminds him. There’s a hint of amusement in Bruce’s voice which is a good sign. He doesn’t usually take the time to laugh at Clark on missions unless he feels safe enough to do so. He shifts on the ground and is back to his usual stern self in less than five seconds though.

“I know,” Clark says. “But-”

“I am talking to you like I’ve always done, Kal,” Bruce says and this time there’s a tinge of annoyance to his voice. “I am still me, just with more-” He looks down at the shimmering purple tail occupying the space where his legs are supposed to be. “Tail,” he ends awkwardly.

“I know.” Clark bites his cheek as he thinks. He doesn’t want to cause Bruce anymore trouble, but he still feels like he needs to help in some way. “What can I do?”

“Just find the witch,” Bruce says.

“I will,” Clark promises with all the conviction he can manage. He’ll look through the entire galaxy if need be. Although he’s pretty sure Diana must’ve caught up to her by now. There’s no way that witch could’ve outrun Wonder Woman.

“I know,” Bruce says and his lips twitch like he wants to smile reassuringly at Clark. It might just be his imagination though.

“Call me if you need me, okay?” Clark says one last time before he stands. He’s not planning on going home until he knows what happened to the witch.

Bruce grunts, which is the closest to a confirmation he’ll give Clark.

Four days. It takes four days for someone to reach out to Clark. It’s obviously not Bruce himself who calls, he’s way too stubborn. It wouldn’t be so bad if only he’d had something else to keep his mind occupied but the rest of the League has it covered. Clark caught up with Diana fast enough, but it turned out that the witch did outrun her, which had to be a first for the princess. Not to worry though, Diana has a plan to catch her and sent Clark home. He was of course happy that she knew what to do, but a little disappointed that there’s nothing he can actively do to help her out.

Which is why he’s thrilled to get the call four days later, even if he’s a little concerned that he hasn’t heard anything in from Bruce in four whole days. It’s not like they text every day or anything (well, Clark texts Bruce silly images and updates of his day, which Bruce responds to about half the time), but he’s used to seeing Bruce often. What with his situation he hasn’t even been able to go out as himself, much less as Batman.

Alfred is too dignified to call Clark’s name (the image of Alfred calling “Master Kent” from the balcony makes Clark smile though), despite knowing that Clark would hear him and instead does the rational thing and calls his phone. How Alfred got his number Clark doesn’t know, but he suspects one of the kids might have given it to him. He doesn’t mind, he’s just happy someone called him. He’s been worried sick.

“Master Kent,” Alfred greets him when he arrives at the manor.

“Alfred,” Clark says warmly. It’s always nice being invited into Bruce’s home although he wishes the circumstances were different. He likes it way better when it’s just him, Alfred and Bruce having dinner. Or in reality it’s just Alfred making them dinner and then leaving them to converse amongst themselves. Clark likes spending time with Bruce either way. He’s missed him a lot these past few days. “Good to see you, how are you?”

“I’ve seen better days,” Alfred says honestly but vaguely enough that it feels rude to ask more questions. “And you, sir?”

“I’m alright. Worried about Bruce though. Is he here?” Clark asks despite being able to tell exactly where Bruce is from his heartbeat alone. It’s not like he chooses to listen for it, it’s more habit than anything.

“Very much so,” Alfred nods towards the stairs that lead up to Bruce’s bedroom. “He’s upstairs, sulking.”

“How did you get him up the stairs?” Clark can’t help but ask. He’s not sure who ended up taking Bruce home, but there’s no way he’s crawled up those stairs even if he is ridiculously strong.

“I bribed Master Jason after Master Bruce was knocked unconscious,” Alfred says conversationally. Like it’s a thing that happens often. Clark knows better than to comment on it.

“With what?” Nothing seems to be able to convince Jason to do anything, although if anyone can make Jason do something, it would be Alfred.

“Knocking Master Bruce unconscious,” Alfred says simply.

“Oh.” Yeah, that’ll do it. Clark feels bad for Bruce though. “Is he alright?”

“I wouldn’t call you if all he needed was company, Master Kent. I know you’re a busy man.”

“Oh no, I don’t mind,” Clark is quick to reassure. “I was just wondering what I can do to help.”

“You can make sure he’s still alive in there,” Alfred says and it’s the first time he’s sounded irritated through the whole conversation. Irritated, but also worried.

“What do you mean?” Clark asks.

“He looks like a neanderthal, Master Kent, and he hasn’t come out of his room in several days. He’s not eating, and I doubt he’s able to shower by himself.” Alfred follows him up the stairs.

“Oh, that’s, uh.” Clark doesn’t really know what to say to that. He’s quite sure Bruce wouldn’t want a helping hand taking a shower – much less Clark’s helping hand. There’s this… unspoken thing between them. They’re not supposed to act on it. At least that’s what he’s gathered from Bruce’s grunts and side-glances.

“I cannot carry him myself or I would’ve forced him out already,” Alfred explains. “Never mind the fact that Master Bruce won’t let anyone into his room.”

“Ah, got it.” This Clark can do. This he’s basically made for.

They stop outside Bruce’s bedroom but judging from his heartbeat he hasn’t heard them approaching. He doesn’t sound agitated per se, but there is definitely something off about him.

“He’s locked you out?” Clark asks after he’s jostled the handle.

“Yes.”

“There’s no extra key?” It doesn’t sound like Alfred to give up so easily. Clark knows for a fact that all of Bruce’s children (and Alfred) know how to pick a lock. His own apartment has been the victim of their skills more than once.

“I’m afraid he’s taken them with him. All seven.”

“And?” Clark asks because he knows there’s more to it than that.

“He’s jammed the door from the inside,” Alfred sighs.

“Ah,” Clark says before looking through the wood to see the chair Bruce has shoved underneath the handle. “Are you very fond of this door?”

“Have at it,” Alfred says with an elegant swoosh of his hand. “But do mind the handle, please. It’s original.”

It’s not exactly hard to break a door when you’ve got Clark’s strength, but the manor does have a very sturdy interior. Clark makes sure to merely knock it off its hinges gently. Or, as gently as one can anyway. He’s pretty sure he’s ruined the chair that was in the way though. Alfred doesn’t seem to mind.

“Best of luck,” he says before leaving Clark to it.

Clark looks around the room. Nothing seems out of place, except for the broken chair and the door in his hands. He rests it gently against the wall; still covering most of the doorway.

“Bruce,” he calls. He knows better than to simply appear by Bruce’s side if he’s barricaded himself in his bedroom. Something must be really wrong.

“What do you want?” Bruce’s speech is slurred and coming from the bathroom. It’s no surprise to him that Clark is here which Clark isn’t sure is a good or bad thing.

“Alfred is worried about you,” he calls out as he approaches the bathroom door. He really hopes he doesn’t have to break this one down. “I am too. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Go away,” Bruce says. There’s movement on the other side of the door; sounds of water moving around. Maybe Bruce has finally decided to try for a shower?

“Bruce, come on,” Clark tries. He doesn’t look through the door in case Bruce really is in the shower but he’s very tempted. Just to make sure Bruce is alright, of course. “Alfred says you’re not eating.”

“I said I’m fine,” comes Bruce’s gruff answer.

“I’ll believe that when I see it,” Clark says as he makes the decision to ignore Bruce’s personal space. It’s not like it’s the first time anyway. “I’m coming in.”

“Clark, wait, no-”

Clark opens the bathroom door (and is silently glad it wasn’t locked) and steps inside. It smells odd in the room, not unpleasant, but not how it usually smells. Not how Bruce usually smells. Clark looks to the shower but that’s not where Bruce is. He’s in the tub.

And he looks horrible.

No, not horrible, Bruce always looks stunning, but he looks exhausted and like he hasn’t slept in days. Alfred is right; the – from what Clark can tell – four days old stubble on his face is slowly turning into a full-blown beard and it somehow makes him look older than he is when combined with the dark circles under his eyes. There’s water in the tub but barely enough to cover his tail as it lays curled around him. It looks like it’s grown – or spread at the very least. More of Bruce’s waist is covered in scales and he’s even started turning purple near his temples and ears.

“Oh, Bruce,” Clark says, despite knowing how much Bruce hates being pitied. “What happened?”

“It keeps getting worse,” Bruce mutters. He’s keeping his hands under the water, but Clark suspects the scales on his fingers have spread as well.

“And the eating?”

“I can’t hold anything with these damn claws,” he says and finally holds up his hands. It’s not nearly as bad as Clark had anticipated but he can see how it would be tough to hold onto a fork or even a spoon with the slippery scales covering his fingers.

“Why not just ask Alfred to-”

“To what? Feed me?” Bruce interrupts bitterly. “He’s done enough already; I can’t ask him to do that. I can’t ask anyone to do that.”

“Okay, alright, I get it,” Clark says gently but firmly. There’s no reason to push the issue right now. “I’m here now though, so what do you need? What can I do?”

Bruce is quiet for a while and then sighs heavily. Even he’s not stubborn enough to refuse help after what looks like four days in his own tub. His ribs are poking out more than usual and he looks pale where he’s still got human skin.

“I need fresh water, but I can’t turn the knob,” Bruce mutters. “My skin- scales- the tail gets irritated if I’m not in water.”

“Alright, let’s start there,” Clark says.

It takes a little maneuvering, but they manage to move Bruce’s tail from the drain enough that they can let the water out. Bruce can lift the appendix himself now, but it takes a lot of effort, and he looks like he’s about ready to fall over so Clark carefully lifts most of it for him. As soon as the water is out Clark plugs the drain again and opens the faucet.

“Hot or cold?” he asks as he holds a hand under the spray.

“Hot,” Bruce says quietly. He’s huddled together and it makes Clark’s heart ache. Bruce is usually so confident, but he’s been stuck in his bathroom, clearly embarrassed to be seen. How has he even managed to sleep if he’s been in the tub all these days?

Clark fills the tub as much as he dares, making sure it doesn’t splash over the edges even if Bruce moves around.

“Alright,” Clark says as he dries his hands on his pants. “Next up is food. Anything particular you’re in the mood for?”

“Something soft,” Bruce says. He’s scrunching up his nose like the thought of food is making him ill. “My teeth hurt.”

“Your teeth?” Clark stops in the doorway to look at Bruce. He can’t help but x-ray him quickly but there doesn’t seem to be something wrong with his teeth at all. Bruce has excellent teeth. When he looks up again, Bruce is glaring at him. “Right, sorry, something soft, coming right up.”

Alfred is thrilled that Clark not only got Bruce to talk to him but also managed to find a way to make him eat. Something soft is easier said than done but Alfred knows Bruce better than anybody and he’s the fastest cook Clark has ever seen. He’s made a tomato soup by the time they’re finished talking about how Bruce is doing. He hands Clark a small piece of bread as well, because “He can’t survive off liquids, that silly boy.”

It's clear as day that Alfred is worried, but he seems calmer now that Bruce has agreed to eat something. Now the question is how Clark is going to have Bruce actually eat the soup? He takes the tray Alfred has made ready and goes back to the bathroom, where Bruce is resting his chin on the edge of the tub. He looks like he’s about five minutes away from falling asleep, but he bolts upright when Clark enters the room.

“Tomato soup,” he says as he eyes the bowl.

“With bread,” Clark says with a smile as he holds up the small roll. Bruce stares at it like he could eat it straight out of Clark’s hand. Hmm. “Alright, I know you’re going to say no-”

“So don’t say whatever it is you want to say.”

“Shush,” Clark huffs. “I know you’re going to say no, but this is how we’re going to do this, okay? I’ll hold the spoon all you have to do is eat. Are your teeth so bad you can’t swallow?”

“I swallow just fine,” Bruce says and there’s a hint of a smirk on his face that has Clark feel a little faint. It’s that unspoken thing again.

“Alright, okay,” he says and clears his throat. “I’m not going to make you say ahh unless you want me to do the airplane thing.”

“Shut up,” Bruce huffs but obediently opens his mouth when Clark holds the spoon out towards him. He wraps his lips around the spoon and moans.

Clark nearly drops the spoon at the sound. He plays it off as well as he can, but of course Bruce notices. He always notices everything. It’s not like he can blame Bruce for enjoying the first proper meal he’s had in days.

Clark thought it might be odd or awkward to feed Bruce, but they’ve known each other for years and years. They’ve been stuck on alien planets together, fought aliens and super villains. They’ve even had to bandage each other’s wounds, for God’s sake. It’s not like Bruce is eating the soup off of Clark’s naked body.

He really does drop the spoon when that thought runs through his mind.

Bruce sends him a quizzical look but doesn’t comment on it. It’s not like they can’t rinse the spoons off; they’ve got plenty of water nearby. It’s when it comes to the bread that Clark really starts to struggle.

It’s not the whole dipping the bread in what’s left of the soup, it’s the fact that there’s nothing between Clark’s hand and Bruce’s mouth now. He has to breathe through his mouth and pretend like he doesn’t feel his fingers tingle where Bruce’s lips grace them as he bites at the bread. He’s being awfully nice about this whole thing, but Clark suspects he’s just trying to make it as easy on Clark as he can.

There’s no way to explain the flutter in Clark’s stomach those few times Bruce’s tongue accidentally touches his skin. God, he really needs to get it together. When the last piece of bread is gone, he feels both relieved and disappointed. He’s not going to look closer at those feelings right now. First, he has to take care of Bruce.

“Okay,” Clark says, trying very hard to ignore how breathless he sounds. “Next is the beard.”

“What?”

“Alfred isn’t a fan.”

“I’m not surprised,” Bruce shrugs. “It makes me look like my father when was too busy to take proper care of himself.”

“Good to know it’s in your blood,” Clark comments as he puts the bowl and spoon back on the tray. “Now, how do you want to do this?”

“By myself but that’s not really an option,” Bruce grumbles.

“No, it is not,” Clark agrees. “So stop sulking and lean your head back so I can reach your neck.”

It’s not been on Clark’s yearly bingo card that he gets to shave Bruce’s face but he’s not complaining. Or at least he isn’t until he actually has to do it. Even if he hovers in the air, he can’t get the right angle without making Bruce sit in a painful or at the very least awkward position. He can’t very well ask Bruce to leave the tub either even if that would make this easier.

“I can’t really-” he tries. “This isn’t going to work if I can’t- um.”

“Spit it out, Clark,” Bruce says, and Clark does his very best not to look at how his Adam’s apple moves when he speaks. His neck looks so long like this, exposed and vulnerable.

“Can I sit in the tub with you?” Clark asks before he can think too much about it.

“Excuse me?”

“It’s just that I think it’ll be a lot easier seeing as you’re more comfortable in water and there isn’t really room for your tail anywhere else and I can’t really- I can’t reach you properly any other way.” He really hopes he sounds more confident than he feels.

“Hm,” Bruce grunts, which... isn’t a rejection. And then Bruce scoots forward in the tub, making room for Clark to sit behind him.

Clark gapes but only for less than a second. Then he strips off his shirt and pants. At Bruce’s raised eyebrow Clark merely smiles. He’s not going to get naked, but he also doesn’t want to leave in soaking clothes. He steps over the edge of the tub and shuffles around until he can sit comfortably behind Bruce. It’s a good thing his tub is so ginormous.

It’s intimate. Odd but not unpleasant. Clark never thought he’d be able to do this, to be this close to Bruce. There’s obviously a reasonable excuse for it now but he still wouldn’t have thought Bruce would allow him to do this; to help like this.

Clark doesn’t actually shave much, himself. He has his heat vision, and he knows how to use it. There’s been a few times where he’s had to use a razor though and he’s happy for the practice now that he has to hold a blade so close to Bruce’s neck.

Bruce, on his part, doesn’t seem to mind at all. His heartrate is steady, his body calm. There’s no physical sign that he’s reacting to their close proximity which leaves Clark both relieved and a little disappointed. It’s the theme of his feelings today, it seems.

“Is this alright?” he asks, because despite being able to read Bruce’s physical response, he still wants to make sure Bruce is comfortable. Or as comfortable as he can be with Clark pressed up against him.

“Yea,” Bruce says softly. “Yes, it’s- it’s fine.”

There’s slight skip to his heartbeat and Clark frowns slightly. He’s not a lie detector; there are many reasons why people’s hearts skip a beat. Embarrassment, excitement, even rage. There’s no one clear answer to explain it, and yet… Bruce’s heart never skips a beat. It races in the heat of a fight; it slows when he (seldomly) rests, but it doesn’t skip.

There’s no way to comment on it without a) overstepping the boundaries Bruce has set about personal space (the mental kind, the physical can’t really be respected right now) or b) sounding like a creep, so Clark settles back and ignores it. Mostly ignores it.

He lathers up Bruce’s face gently – which he probably could’ve done himself, but there’s no way Clark will let him try if it ends up with those mer-claws piercing his skin. Bruce may have many scars, but he doesn’t need to add facial ones to the collection. He’s got enough everywhere else. Clark bites his lip as he carefully makes sure Bruce’s neck and chin are covered before he moves onto his cheeks. The hairs catch on his skin, but Bruce doesn’t seem to mind the slight pull at his face.

Clark’s hand is steady as he slides the razor over Bruce’s skin. He barely presses down; doesn’t have to with such an expensive razor. He rinses it in the water and mentally makes a note to change it again when they’re done. He wonders if the pool Bruce uses to swim laps would be more comfortable for him. Bruce might need to stay in water for several more days; there has to be a better way to do this; the tub may work for shaving but for sleeping? He’ll have to have someone looking over him constantly.

There’s another skip in Bruce’s heartbeat and then: “I never thought I’d willingly let you this close with a blade.”

“Neither did I if I’m honest,” Clark says. He waits a beat or two, carefully gliding the razor over Bruce’s skin. “I’m glad you did though.”

Bruce turns his head as Clark rinses the razor. His eyes catch Clark’s.

“So am I,” he says quietly. He’s staring at Clark like he’s trying to see through him. His nostrils flare and there’s a faint purple shine in his eyes. Clark wonders if it’s always been there and he’s just never noticed or if this is part of the mer-curse. “I’ll give you a scalp massage as a thank you,” Clark offers just to keep the mood light.

Bruce chuckles and they settle in comfortable silence as Clark works.

He finishes shaving Bruce’s face and neck, careful not to cut him. He rinses the razor once more and then puts it on the edge of the tub. He’s just about to reach for Bruce’s face again with the warm washcloth when Bruce flinches.

Bruce lets out a soft sound and starts shivering. Not even a second later he groans quietly and Clark stops moving all together.

“What? What’s happening? Did I hurt you?” Clark asks worriedly.

“No, I- I don’t know what’s happening,” Bruce mutters but he’s staring down at his tail.

“Happening?” Clark echoes and moves around so he can see what Bruce is talking about. “What- oh.” Clark’s face feels like it’s on fire as he looks at… he’s not even sure what it is he’s looking at, but underneath Bruce’s navel, in the scales of his tail, a small opening has appeared. It seems to be throbbing in time with Bruce’s pulse and it looks wet and warm and-

“Jesus-”

“That, uh,” Clark stutters. “It looks like-”

“I know what it looks like,” Bruce bites and twists away as much as he can when they’re pressed against each other. “Stop staring at it!”

“I’m sorry.” Clark turns his head upwards to stare at the ceiling. “Does it hurt?”

“No, it doesn’t hurt,” Bruce hisses. He’s doing some of his breathing exercises, but they don’t seem to be working. After a minute or two Bruce huffs in frustration. “I need you to leave.”

“What?” Clark asks and forgets to keep his head turned. “Why?”

“I just-” Bruce’s nostrils flare again, and he seems to flinch back from Clark as his skin flushes all the way down to his chest. “I need you to not be near me for a while.”

“But Bruce-”

“I’m not-” Bruce interrupts. He closes his eyes and breathes very slowly through his mouth. “I’m not asking you leave the house, okay? Just this room, just for a little while.”

“Oh.” Clark flushes a little at how relieved he feels. “Okay.”

It’s awkward, stepping out of the tub and going back out to Bruce’s bedroom, but mostly because Clark doesn’t know what he did wrong or what’s happening with Bruce.

Bruce keeps his word and calls out for Clark softly fifteen minutes later. He seems to have calmed down and the opening or whatever it was - not that Clark is looking for it! - is gone as well. Clark isn’t an expert in mermaid anatomy and he’s not going to ask Bruce about it after the reaction he had, but he has an inkling. It’s not something he’ll ever bring up unless Bruce does, but… he can keep that thought for himself. That feeling.

Despite their rather awkward and abrupt shower session Bruce is more than willing to let Clark stay at the manor. Clark is pretty sure it’s because he’s horrified to let his children see him like this and now that he’s already let Clark in, it’s easier to accept his help. Either way Clark is happy to stay and help out. Especially as the days pass and they still haven’t heard anything cure-related from Diana.

It seems the curse is worse than they originally thought. The more time goes by the more mermaid Bruce becomes. His teeth are soon too long for him to speak around them properly (it seems that’s why they were hurting); Clark wipes blood off his chin every time he tries because he keeps piercing through his own lip. The scales spread from his fingertips up his hands, all the way to his elbows.

The third day Clark is with him, Bruce stops trying to talk. Clark assumes it’s the teeth but when Bruce opens his mouth to answer a question Alfred asks by pure instinct, he hears why Bruce has stopped talking. Because he can’t. All that gets past his lips are small chirps and low humming. Bruce looks horrified and Alfred looks scared. This can’t be good.

By the fifth day Clark is done waiting. He’ll find Diana and figure out what’s going on. Bruce has to have help. Now. He spends more time under water in the tub than he does above and it’s worrying both to Clark and Bruce’s family. Even Jason has stopped by the manor to poke his head in and stare at Bruce. No rude comment or anything, which says something about how worried he is.

Clark finds Diana fairly easy; she’s at the Watchtower with J’onn and Wally. He’s been too wound up to search properly for her, even with knowing her strong heartbeat, so he has no doubt that he’s wasted time looking for her. He should’ve simply sent her a message, but he’s been too preoccupied keeping track of Bruce’s heartbeat since he left the manor. Clark doesn’t mean to sound accusing but he can see on their faces that he must have spoken rather roughly when greeting them. He swallows and tries again.

“My apologies,” he says. “I just- have we found the witch yet?”

“Yes,” J’onn says. He must sense Clark’s urgency.

“She was half Atlantean,” Diana supplies. “I needed Arthur’s assistance in catching her.”

“And?” Clark presses. “What did you find out?”

“We already sent Batsy the cure, Big Blue,” Wally says helpfully. “Arthur should’ve been by Bruce’s house like an hour ago.”

An hour ago. Clark would slam his head against a wall if he wasn’t sure he would break it before knocking his own brain into a working spot. He thanks them quickly before making the trip back to the manor. Has he really wasted so much time that he missed Arthur’s visit or was he simply too panicked to notice him arriving? He can’t be sure, and he doesn’t have the patience to figure it out. He needs to get back to Bruce.

Clark finds the entirety of the bat family in Bruce’s bedroom. They’re all talking amongst themselves; it’s happy chatter so Clark is hopeful. He enters just as Bruce walks out of the bathroom. Walks. On his two legs.

“Well, that’s better,” Bruce says as he pulls the shirt over his head. His eyes instantly fall on Clark. “How do I look?”

“Incredible,” is the first thing in Clark’s brain and he somehow forgets to catch it before it exits his mouth.

“Huh,” Bruce says with a slight nod of his head. “Does that mean you’re willing to share another bath with me even without my tail?”

“Oh, yuck,” someone says – sounds like Jason, but he’s not supposed to be here, is he?

It may just as well have been Tim or even Dick; Clark can’t focus on anything but Bruce and the words he’s almost certain Bruce just said. It can’t be right though, can it? Did Bruce just invite him into another bath? Being mer must have scrambled his brain. He looks fine though. More than fine, he looks…

“And that is our cue to leave, young sirs,” Alfred says and shoos the others out the door. Were they really all here? Clark feels rude for not greeting them properly.

“I seem to recall you owing me a scalp massage,” Bruce says when the last bat-boy is out of the room.

“Hey, it wasn’t my fault we didn’t get to finish that,” Clark points out. His chest feels light as he looks Bruce over. He really does look his best when he’s clean-shaven and on his own two feet. Although Clark might miss getting to take care of him.

“I promise I won’t pop a mermaid-boner on you this time,” Bruce says with a cocky shrug. He’s trying to cover up the slight blush on his cheeks with a confident attitude and Clark has missed this. Missed him being up and flirty.

“Too bad,” Clark grins because now that Bruce has mentioned it, it’s free territory. It’s not part of the unspoken thing. “It suited you.”

“I thought I told you not to look,” Bruce says as he steps closer.

“I thought I told you to ask for help,” Clark counters.

“I’m asking now.” He’s so close that Clark only has to flex his hand and he’ll be able to touch him. Bruce is well aware of this; it’s clear in his bright eyes. The purple is gone but his eyes are just as beautiful without it.

“Are you?” Clark asks.

“Please,” Bruce breathes so close to his lips. He looks from Clark’s mouth to his eyes, searching for something or saying something, Clark isn’t sure. The signal is clear as day though, he doesn’t have to say it: the unspoken thing now has words. “Help me out of these clothes.”

“You got it.”

#misha writes #superbat #superbat fanfiction #Clark Kent/bruce wayne #Superman/Batman #katsu's art below the cut #bruclarkweek2022 #thanks for letting me steal bruce's mer design from your art katsu

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raidermomma · 1 month

Text

Some of my favourite lines from my own fic, because I am a shameless exhibitionist.

Sephy was having a bad day in a week of bad days, which was rapidly becoming a month of bad weeks.

“How did you know that?” Rimmer sneered, in much the same tone as someone might ask, “why have you got two heads?” or “do you know your ear’s just fallen off.”

Of everyone though, her favourite person to level her complete lack of tact at was him. He had the emotional range of a tea bag, he was as enlightened as a black hole, he needed to remove the stick from up his arse. Sometimes it seemed wherever he turned there she was, like a five-foot nothing conscience attached to his hip.

She grinned and threw her popcorn at him. It sailed through his head and landed on the floor, where it crunched under Kryten’s foot as he came in.

“I was trying to get rid of him.”

“And you couldn’t think of a way to do that without starting a one-sided food fight?”

“Apparently not.”

“I didn’t recognise the genetic structure. Biologically speaking, they were a completely new life form.”

“She has a point there.” Sephy put in. “You are always saying his laundry basket could be classified as its own biome.”

Lister knew it had to end sometime. Rimmer and Sephy getting along was like the Earth suddenly spinning backwards on its axis, or a giraffe trying to get off with a gazelle. It was abnormal, it went against all known laws of physics and nature.

Lister was pretty sure they were both sufficiently sloshed to make the elephant in the room a little bit more manageable. It was still elephant shaped, but it had shrunk a bit. It was a baby elephant, or maybe a stunted elephant. Possibly a tapir.

“Sephy, please tell me you know the difference between kissing and sex. Because if I need to explain the birds and the bees to you we’re gonna need more whisky.”

“He’s such a dick.” Sephy said, apropos of nothing. Lister was forced to agree.

“No argument here.”

“A monumental dick.”

“Absolutely.”

“A colossal dick.”

“Oh, colossal.”

“Just an enormously stupid, lanky, clumsy, inconsiderate, stupid dick.” She forewent the glass completely this time and swigged straight from the bottle. “And I want him.”

She put her forehead on the table.

They weren’t supposed to keep drinking until the conversation veered right off the track, ran over the baby tapir or rhino or whatever the smeg it was, and went into the undergrowth.

"What were you thinking?”

“I was ordering a taxi.” Sephy rolled her eyes. “What do you think I was doing in the shower?”

“For once would it have killed you to listen to me?”

"It’s killing me having to listen to you now.”

“You are very lucky.” He continued as though she hadn’t spoken. “Very lucky that dingbat of a computer jettisoned the bomb without telling us, or our innards would now be our outers. Our guts would be a brand-new constellation.”

“Oh look.” She said, sounding mildly surprised. “My guts are still where I left them. Where did you leave yours Rimmer, in a jar under your bed?”

“I would prefer it,” he said pompously, “if you kept my arse out of it.”

“Rimmer, your arse is the last thing in the universe I want to think about.”

“Well so’s yours.”

“Fine. Then you won’t feel the need to watch me leave the room.”

She picked up an entire handful of mashed potato and smashed it full into his face.

“Four weeks!” He whined for the fifth time that afternoon. “Four weeks! You think they’d be over it by now!”

“Yeah.” Sephy was only half listening. “Mad how attached some people are to their bodies.”

“What? Oh no, that wasn’t a line.”

“Good job.” She dragged on her cigarette. “It was about as original as a cover of Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah.”

“There is a definite thirty-degree angle there. Honestly Lister, you couldn’t draw a straight line in a dot-to-dot.”

The tree said nothing, by dint of the fact it was a tree.

#red dwarf #arnold rimmer #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #fan fic writing #fanfic #fan fic author #writers on tumblr #writing #writers and poets #writerscommunity #fan fic stuff #fan fic #fan fiction #original character

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sitp-recs · 2 years

Note

Hi babes ! Hella specific rec ask but do you know any fics with

“Fuck, I want you.”

typa vibes ahahaha

👁️

I love this ask, and I certainly do! I went with my own interpretation of that line and I hope you meant it to include smut because these are all Explicit 🌝 enjoy!

Phoenix in the Fire by @fw00shy (E, 1.4k)

Their first time was an accident. "Sex pollen," Draco claims, though everyone knows it was too much Ogden's after Puddlemere beat the Tornados 240-230.

Teeth by @amelior8or (E, 6k)

Potter’s been practically begging for it, for months, constantly staring until the air crackles with the intensity of it. Draco always stares back, until all it takes is a brush, a spark, before they go up like flash paper. The crash into each other is inevitable.

Like This and Like This (Dreams of Lace) by @primavera-cerezos (E, 6.6k)

Harry gets an accidental peek. He can’t think of anything else.

I'm lying when I'm looking away by InnerLilith (E, 6.7k)

Sometimes it takes a Purim party and a flapper dress for Harry to figure out what he likes. (Spoiler: He likes Malfoy.)

The Page Eleven Wars by fireflavored (E, 8.5k)

In a gossip-hungry post-war Wizarding World, Rita Skeeter has a wildly successful column in the Daily Prophet known as Page Eleven.

The Things They Never Say by @bixgirl1 (E, 9.3k)

Harry and Draco don't know how to talk. So they do other things instead.

Sex on Legs in Six-Inch Heels by Tessa Crowley (E, 9.6k)

Draco Malfoy is a brilliant freelance cursebreaker and the only one who can help the Department of Magical Law Enforcement with a very dangerous case, but more importantly, he's wearing six-inch heels, and Harry cannot handle it, he really just can't.

Can't Get You Out of My Head by Femme (E, 14k)

After he sees Harry Potter naked in the Auror showers once, Draco can't stop thinking about him.

100 Beats per Minute by @oknowkiss (E, 14k)

When Draco left the Magical World behind at nineteen, he didn't expect the cusp of thirty would find him comfortable and secure, with a stable life and a successful career as a sex columnist.

Potter's Insatiable Cock by FleetofShippyShips (E, 20k)

Potter comes out and starts frequenting gay wizarding clubs. Only, he can't seem to find anyone to hold his interest, much to Draco's ongoing amusement, until one night things become clearer, and he has a proposition for Draco.

Let's Go Outside by cryptonym (E, 24k)

Harry's done with the sofa, the hall and the kitchen table, baby.

Tuxedo Angel by tryslora (E, 25k)

Harry and Neville are looking for the infamous Dragon Lily, a Dark witch active throughout Europe and Asia. Instead, they find the Tuxedo Angel, a beautiful witch performing in Rome.

Your Place or Mine? by @l0vegl0wsinthedark (E, 26k)

"This person is so much harder to hate. And I’m supposed to hate Malfoy. How the fuck else am I supposed to limit this to just sex?"

I Bet That You Look Good on the Dancefloor by birdsofshore (E, 28k)

Harry felt lit up from inside as soon as he entered the bar. There were blokes dancing together, their bodies close to one another, not keeping a wary distance as Harry was always careful to do when he was near another man.

Moon-Eyed by @l0vegl0wsinthedark (E, 29k)

Draco Malfoy, Head of Veela Affairs at the Department of Magical Beings, does not do people favours. Harry Potter, recently turned werewolf, is not “people” – not to Draco anyway.

Here's The Pencil, Make It Work by ignatiustrout (M, 49k)

Harry thinks "Why is Malfoy working in a coffee shop in muggle London?" is a much simpler question than, "Are you going to accept that auror offer and, if you don't, what will you do?"

Finely Drawn Lines by @the-sinking-ship (E, 61k)

Draco doesn’t consider himself an artist (though the dozens of sketchbooks lining his shelves might suggest differently). Yet ever since Potter returned to Hogwarts, accepting a teaching position alongside Draco, his drawings have taken on a rather singular focus.

Can't Sit Still by wilteddaisy (E, 193k)

Five years after the war, Harry finds himself drawn to Draco Malfoy by memories that aren't his own.

#asks #anon #drarry reclist #fuck I want you #top notch trope

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tenderlywicked · 2 years

Text

The Devil Judge fanfiction rec list

NEW Additional Duties as Assigned by Yellowdancer21 (WIP)

Summary:

Kim Ga On never thought attending social events would be a part of his job as a judge, but working for Kang Yo Han means that many unusual tasks are simply additional duties as assigned.

Takes place somewhere in the middle of the series, right around episode nine.

and if i could i'd claim all my scars made by you by TechnicolorTango

Summary:

It's the end of a year and the beginning of a new one and Yohan's scars are aching. The scars from his father, barely visible now but some still peeking from beneath burned flesh, they ache in a way that causes Yohan to flinch, to cower, to clench his fingers into the covers until his knuckles go white. The scar that marrs the old lashings, the largest one, burns in the shape of a twisted cross along the expanse of his back, chokes him and suffocates him, leaves him feeling exposed and raw. There's another, across his palm, that he traces with his thumb reverently, and it aches but in a way that somehow dulls all the other pain, fills him with a taste in his mouth, oddly bitter and sweet at the same time.

(yohan is haunted by his demons but gaon is there to put him back together again)

And on the seventh day, God rested by godotismissing

Summary:

A demon called Gaon moves into the Kangs household. Yohan is not pleased.

Notes:

This was supposed to be a spooky fic for October but it didn't turn out that way. I honestly have no idea what this is now.

Anyway Gaon makes a lousy demon.

Ascetic Aesthetics by godotismissing

Summary:

K's journey into ascetism is derailed by Kang Yohan and his pesky associate judge, Kim Gaon.

Counterstatement (WIP) by godotismissing

Summary:

That cliche AU where Gaon is an associate lawyer, has a one night stand and messes up big-ly.

D.A. Butler, At Your Service by kolachess

Summary:

"Butler, what’s my schedule for today?"

“You have a one-hour meeting with Mr. Yeo at nine followed by a half-hour meeting with Dr. Jang at ten. You have set a reminder to call the Doosan Group representative at ten-thirty. Gaon-juinnim has a lunch date at noon.”

Choking on the spoonful of milk and cereal that just went down, he splutters without thinking, “With who?”

“Gaon-juinnim—”

“No wait, I didn’t mean to ask that. More importantly, what does Gaon’s ‘lunch date’ have to do with me?” he asks the bot a little incredulously.

“Gaon-juinnim does not have a lunch date scheduled with you, juinnim.”

...Is this bot getting sassy with me?

Or, five times shipper bot gets it wrong, and one time shipper bot gets it right. Spoilers up to episode 8.

Destroy Me More by saturate

Summary:

“What kind of monster am I becoming?” Gaon asks, then, and wishes he could regret it, this becoming. He knows that Yohan is a monster, in some ways. Knows that only another monster could stand on his level, be his equal, and Gaon yearns to stand beside Yohan with an intensity that hollows him out.

Yohan’s hand on his shoulder, his neck, his cheek. Gaon shudders. Wants more. Wants everything. “It may be hard,” Yohan says, and his ears are flushed red, like something in this is getting to him, too, “but it can’t be helped.”

Don't Judge a Book by its Cover by Indelible_Faith (TheWaterGoddess)

Summary:

A simple change in interpersonal relationships and everything shifted. And mere misunderstandings simply can’t break bonds forged in adversity.

Or, in which Kim Gaon sees a very different side of Kang Yohan one time, and decides to trust a little more.

don't wake me (if you won't be there) by TheAsexualofSpades

Summary:

Gaon knows he’s about to have a really rough week or so when he ends up snapping at Jinjoo over something really stupid.

A rough week turns out to be much worse than that when it turns into a fever so high he can't get out of bed.

Nowhere to run except inside his head and that's where they wait.

hitobashira by dryrsheet

Summary:

Kang Yohan comes to Kim Gaon one night in his office after the events of the series, and Kim Gaon takes him home. After Gaon realizes he may have set himself up to be used once more, he struggles with finding his place in the world he's helping construct around him, his grief, his guilt, and what he truly wants.

NEW hostage by TheAsexualofSpades

Summary:

The weight of the blade pressed against his throat makes it difficult to breathe.

NEW Indulge Me by ChampagneSly (WIP)

Summary:

(Coffee shop AU)

In a non-dystopic world (cut the background trauma by like 50%), in which Yo Han is still a judge and still a little bit manipulative and still wants to touch Kim Ga On from the first moment they meet, but in which Kim Ga On is a barista trying to pass the bar exam and Elijah is pretending she needs help with math she could do in her sleep because all Kangs are suckers for Ga On.

Industry Baby and Montero by godotismissing

Summary

It's by complete coincidence that Yohan happens to see the file on Prosecutor Shin's table.

For a stunned moment, he stops breathing.

"What is this about?" he asks casually after he has composed himself.

"Oh, just a cut and dry case of assault and attempted murder."

mask | masked | maskless by TheAsexualofSpades

Summary:

Being a judge for a live court show is difficult.

First, there is the persona. Second, there is the dedicated worker. Finally, there is a poor girl from the country whose mother taught her to keep her clothes looking nice and to wash her face twice a day.

Oh Jinjoo, the Right Associate Judge, has a lot of work to do. If only the others would make it a little less…everywhere.

Once you say it out loud, it can't be undone by Ivrigasked

Summary:

Alternative title: Five times Gaon catches Yohan off guard, and the one time he sees it coming.

out, damned spot by surgicalstainless

Summary:

What is a soulmark if not a prophecy, the future foretold?

All his life, Kim Ga On had felt his soulmark steering him, pushing him into a role prewritten. What if he went off-script?

What if he met his soulmate, and just… didn’t say anything?

NEW Pretty Boys Anonymous by sisilim

Summary:

A video call with an investigator, a judge, and a crime novelist, complaining about life. And some special someones.

Or: Pretty Boys and their Morally Ambiguous (maybe) Unhinged Middle Aged Men

(The Devil Judge/Beyond Evil/Strangers from Hell crossover)

Resonance by Mangacat

Summary:

It’s always a tug of war between them, isn’t it? Always a fight, always a dance.

The give and take their very own resonance.

NEW Rumour Has It by godotismissing

Summary:

Gaon and Yohan start trending on social media much to Gaon's displeasure.

NEW sit down calmly, take a stress pill, think things over by godotismissing

Summary:

After the argument about Soohyun in episode 12, Gaon and Yohan are locked in a room together to "resolve their differences."

Snatched Up by godotismissing

Summary:

Gaon doesn't think himself as particularly unlucky. After all, lots of people experience tragedy at different points in their lives. But he doesn't think anyone can claim to have lost both their parents and their dick in the same lifetime.

or Gaon wakes up one day with a pussy

Soulgaze by TheAsexualofSpades

Summary:

Severability. In the event that any one or more of the provisions contained herein, or the application thereof in any circumstance, is held invalid, illegal or unenforceable, the validity, legality and enforceability of any such provision in every other respect and of the remaining provisions contained herein shall not be affected or impaired thereby.

When Min Jungho tells him he’s going to need to take drastic measures to stay out of Kang Yohan’s awareness, he doesn’t think he means like this. (Featuring Demon!Yohan)

Star Wars: The Chase (WIP) by ItsJaneyDanny

Summary:

(Prior knowledge of Star Wars not required)

He felt Gaon right behind him before the young Jedi drew his lightsaber, turned it on and raised it for a strike. Yohan stayed still where he was. He took a breath and felt the force all around him. He was unmoved. The boy’s blade came down and stopped next to his head. He could feel the heat of it against the side of his face and he could see it out of the corner of his vision. It was blue, befitting for such a righteous warrior of the light as he thought himself.

“If you’re going to stab someone in the back you need to be more decisive,” Yohan said softly. The first words he would use to greet his new guest.

“Draw your weapon,” Gaon declared. Yohan smirked, he knew it was that simple. The young Jedi could not kill him when he did not have his weapon in his hands. He was unarmed, so to strike him down would be to commit an act against the life of the force itself. Kim Gaon’s perfect pristine moral self assurance would be damaged if he killed Kang Yohan. It was considered one step towards becoming a Sith Lord by the Jedi.

Trust Issues by godotismissing

Summary:

Shameless, self-indulgent smut because Yohan is fucking hot and Gaon needs to be owned.

All you need to know is, there's a chair involved.

We Have Always Lived Here by godotismissing

Summary:

A modern magical AU very loosely based on Beauty & the Beast From the moment he crossed the threshold, all the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. It was like stepping into a vacuum; sound, light, life even, was dulled. Gaon pushed, felt the house shudder awake, pushing back trying to smother him, testing, squeezing.

He held firm, frowning, until the pressure gave, and slunk away, the house's curiosity sated for now. Breathing was easy again and Gaon exhaled once, satisfied, the tension seeping out of him.

"Is everything alright?" Mrs Ji asked, concerned. She stood on the base of the stairs, ignorant or unaffected.

Who Holds the Devil (WIP) by Amethystina

Summary:

Three months have passed since Yo Han's final act of revenge and Ga On is struggling. Despite his best efforts, he hasn't been able to make much progress in straightening out the chaos Yo Han left in his wake. Each day, Ga On grows more and more frustrated, trying not to feel like a complete failure.

But, even worse than that, is the loneliness. Ga On knows he only has himself to blame for the emptiness he now feels, but he also can't help but long for what he once had. Which is why he almost doesn't dare to believe it when Elijah reaches out to him after months of silence. But Ga On knows better than to let the opportunity slip through his fingers. He's determined to set things right and, this time, he's not going to make the same mistakes.

What Ga On doesn't expect is just how overwhelming it will feel to suddenly have Yo Han back in his life. And that, maybe, he doesn't actually want things to return to what they used to be. Ga On wants something else entirely — something new, breathtaking, and frightening.

But oh so tempting.

And if you’re so inclined, you can also take a look at my fic How Much Do You Like Me? :) Beware of heavy angst, though!

#the devil judge #tdj #devil judge #Kang Yohan #Kim Gaon #the devil judge fanfiction #the devil judge fanfic recs #gahan #lawful husbands

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